Monday, October 02, 2006

The Raven

I had a lovely break and possibly a life-changing experience at the men's retreat; time will tell. I think that last night, due to the experience of the retreat and resuming Zyprexa (an antipsychotic drug used in severe depressions and also mania), my head came above water and I feel much better today, though admittedly fragile. I can even wrap my brain around the idea of hope ("having to construct something to hope upon" --Eliot, "Ash Wednesday").

I wrote this sonnet today; it began in my too busy mind while I was watering the garden. (I couldn't post a sonnet for "Sonnet Sunday" because I was where bears proverbially shit.)

The Raven

Be quiet my head, suspend your ceaseless chatter.
The soup inside your skull is boiling hot
With details and demons—it doesn’t matter—
Whatever you thought you thought, you already thought.
Be quiet my head, the animals command you.
They have no words for water, air or food
And yet they drink and eat just as we do
But have no scent for being misunderstood.
See that large raven? When he calls he calls
For now and for forever, and when he flies
He has no thought of flying but never falls.
His being is his doing; he knows no lies,
Unlike his human brothers who march to war
And soon forget what they were fighting for.

I will not rate myself in kilorats or bunnies. Faith is all.




  1. Glad you had a positive experience.

    Your sonnets always impress the hell out of me. I like the imagery here, being something of a crazy nature new-ager myself. We have won over a group of deer here. Some of which will take bread from my hand. I think they might speak if only they had the right

  2. Thanks, Jarod, you are always so kind. I should go to your site more often and comment.


  3. Thanks CE,
    but my blog is more of a storehouse for poems I'm working on. It really isn't polished enough for true bloghood.

  4. Anonymous7:10 AM PDT

    Hi CE:

    Very nice sonnet. Maybe it veers into war-time polemic in the final couplet? You're good enough to know you could take more than few roads at the end. Speaking of war, the Virginia Quarterly Review has the recently discovered Frost poem written circa 1915, a strnagely ambivalent poem on war. Man, I do tire of the kneejerk 'war is hell' refrain.

    Anyway, I read it at Borders yesterday. You should take a look yourself.


  5. Jarod--I post unpolished poems here as well; my first drafts probably appear more polished due to practice, a place you will be in due time as you continue to work.

    Norm--I was ambivalent about the closing couplet, but my editor, Kathleen, liked it. And I trust her. I initially had another closing couplet, can't remember it now.


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