Thursday 14 July 2016

The Boredom of a Raven

The theme of the last "Pub Poets" open mic evening was "Raven and Skull" as it coincided with the book launch of Ashley Lister's new horror novel of that name. [Ashley co-organises the event.]

Ashley, as well as a talented and much published author, is an teacher in English and in Creative Writing, so it made sense to incorporate such aspects within my poem. (He's rather fond of Edgar Allan Poe, too.)

If you want to check out his book, it is available on Amazon - UK link below (available in other regions).
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Raven-Skull-Ashley-Lister/dp/1910720534

So - here is the poem:

The Boredom of a Raven

Once upon a time there lived
a raven in a wood
But unlike many ravens, this one
felt misunderstood.
Accused of being Poe-faced by
the others living there,
he faked a happy attitude to
make them look elsewhere.

But deep inside, he knew the other
birds were not to blame
He watched the other ravens –
how they all appeared the same.
They didn’t question anything  –
just flew from tree to tree.
They’d eat and sleep and mate and poop.
And squawk incessantly.

“I’m not the same as that lot,” said
the raven with a sigh,
“There must be more to life than this,
A life before I die.”
‘Twas then he saw a bald bloke
with a cool appraising look,
who was watching all the ravens and then
scribbling in a book.

The raven was most curious
and had a need to know
just what the chap found int’resting,
this writer down below.
He flew down to a lower branch
To get a better view -
but the bloke had shut his notebook;
Had other things to do.

The raven would not be denied
His sanity at stake,
so when the man left in a car
he followed in his wake.
He followed down the country lanes
into the town nearby
and when the car came to a halt
he watched with birdy’s eye.

The man approached some buildings then
he disappeared within.
The raven checked each window
With a sense of discipline.
And then he found a window
where he peered through thickened glass
He saw some youths, and saw the man!
It was an English class.

The raven learned of metaphors
Of similes and nouns
The placement of apostrophes
And when misuse causes frowns.
He learned to count the syllables
some poetry dictates,
Aliteration, assonance
And all that advocates.

He moved on to a maths class
Learning geometry and trig,
of logs and complex numbers
And nothing seemed too big.
The raven was content now;
no longer felt a fool.
It was a “happy” pairing:
A raven and a school.