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Yes, the love is gone. It flew away with all the ravens sent announcing the news of my betrayal.
By Iam Merida on 07.14.2013
The mad dictator cannot see that this boy in front of him is serious.
“You dare not.”
“You do not see what I dare.” The raven-haired boy breathes. His fingers loosen of the neck of the girl he holds.
“You will not,” the mad dictator tries.
“I will,” says the boy, and he smiles.
By YEsomebody on 07.14.2013
Black as shadow
A silent companion
To darkness and misery
In all their forms
Yet still a comfort to those
Haunting the shadows
Of truth and lie
And everything inbetween
By Cat on 07.14.2013
Wow, holy shit, raven is a complex word. Too much history behind it, too many stories. Starting with Poe. Goddamit, the pressure is big, big enough to break a mountain. I can’t write about ravens, no one can. Poe could, and he shall be the last one.
By Matthew Cunningham on 07.14.2013
He gave the order. The assault continued. Chaos fractured by moments of peace, time waiting to jump until steel found steel again.
By Criss on 07.14.2013
The raven sat perched on the windowsill as a grave reminder of what happened previously that day. Miss Clarabelle, perched like the bird on a hanging basket chair, held close a book, her eyes inseparable from the gloriously yellow pages of a lovely Voltaire book. She had no idea what had gone on just down the street that day which would immensely affect her in days to come.
At the beginning of our story…
Roxanne the curious mother of three even more curious children was just about ending her rather long day when her husband, Grant Boulevarde ran his new motorcycle into the beautifully painted vibrant black garage. She could faintly hear the scurrying feet of a child down the staircase, down the hall, and into the garage. The small voice of Annora Boulevarde echoed through the comfortably-sized house, “Father, can you read me a story tonight?”
“I would be honored to participate in that splendored activity!” he quietly, but echoingly replied.
The footsteps of two now retreated back up the staircase in to a rather unfitting room for a young girl such as Annora. In the room were pots and pans of all sorts and not a toy in sight accept for an unattractive and somewhat satanic looking stuffed bunny rabbit, laid on the dark pillows of her bed. Along with those seemingly misplaced attributes of the room, the only colors in the room other than charcoal black were grey, cream, and a once white floor. Grant shuffled around noisily with the bedding while Annora even more noisily stacked her pans next to the door. Then at last Annora ran to her bed and jumped in with a loud screeching sound from the springs of her rusty, old bed.
Grant sat on the end of her bed, as she lovingly held onto her frightening excuse of a child’s stuffed animal. Opened to a very dusty page, Grant held a book which will eventually be a bit of an important factor of our story.
He began to read, ” Once there was a little girl that lived in a little house in a little town with her little family. Her town was ordinary as was her drab house. But her family was anything but ordinary and they were more than extraordinary, they were
By Moira on 07.14.2013
tilt and glide wingspans wide
the black wind shines through time to time
if the wisps were gone
and the raven’s fallen
depends not on other
but flies through color
adjust and fly to fit the tide
for something is always by your side
make it owned through ways unknown
but keep the wings spread wide
By Meg Miller on 07.14.2013
It’s still sitting there, it is still perched on that branch
it’s been months since it’s tried to escape
I tried to shoo it away, I tried to push it away
but most importantly I tried to kill it away
it was no use, I gave up
rocks did nothing, neither did sticks
I didn’t want to try bullets
It’s still sitting there, perched on that branch
watching over me, watching over this
this thing I call a life
It watches me as I walk across the room
as I wake, as I eat, as I breathe
It’s still sitting there, it is still perched on that branch
It no longer wants to escape
It talked to me the other night,
He told me he was unhappy
He told me he was happy
He said it’s the weather
He said it’s my face
He no longer feels trapped
Therefore he no longer feels the need to escape
but I wasn’t forcing you to stay, I said
I know, said the Raven
but I needed you.
By Lola on 07.14.2013
Poe shmoe. This shit was truly terrifying. It chilled me to the core. I had never read anything like it. It was… eternal. Biblical, in a sense. It wasn’t just death, but beyond. The concept of hell had always seemed silly to me, but then I had always interpreted it physically until that point, and the devil as the equivalent as some sort of boogie man. But this was too real to be taken literally. This… this made me want to get my life back on track.
By Jesse B. on 07.14.2013
so dearest is that darkness, that casual and subtle black engulfing me. tragedy never seemed so free, yet so trapped within those gossamer wings.
By jordan on 07.14.2013
A week of trials and tribulations has followed me to today. The old me would have been in tears revisiting actions to bring such misfortune upon me. The new me, this me, knows each challenge could have been far worse and my true lesson lies in how I handle even the smallest issue. Today another challenger, larger than the others, shattered below me, and I fought the urge to surrender to the moment. I contained my fear and began the steps to remedy. My answer will not come today, so now I accept the challenge of waiting and prepare for the next. I looked outside after smaller discoveries made themselves known and asked what more is to come? Do I have enough strength for it all? Will these tests end leaving me with what I need to make the change. First a ladybug came, then a moth, then finally a dragonfly… all arriving a minute apart. Later my doubt returned and a mouse greeted me, and now, just before I lay down, a raven bids me goodnight. Transformation is upon me, resources to come, my guides stand ready at my side. The new adventure begins tomorrow.
By JDwrites on 07.14.2013
Raven. O Laben. Ya ni sé que es tal y cuál cosa. Todo se me mezcla en la cabeza como los ingredientes de un plato cuyo sabor no es dulce.
Intentándo escribir palabras; intentándo escribir versos, oraciones.
By Tohe URL on 07.14.2013
black, shadow circles idly over head…..
By Evan on 07.14.2013
Failure in despair ravaged by ravens plucking out eyeballs to feed their sense of mortification .
By Skim Bradsteen on 07.14.2013
that’s so raven was my boyfriends favorite show ever. he used to watch it while he ate ice cream (chocolate) while in his tighty whiteys every morning before school. he never missed an episode. even though he’s a little pansy boy i love him very much. he still sings
By Katiebops on 07.14.2013
that’s so raven was my boyfriends favorite show ever. he used to watch it while he ate ice cream (chocolate) while in his tighty whiteys every morning before school. he never missed an episode. even though he’s a little pansy boy i love him very much. he still sings the theme song every once in a while; and i’m like ” shut the fuck up, you sound like a little girl” and he’s like ” let me be myself for once god damn it!”. but oh god, if you only new
It’s dark as I proceed closer to the door. I can see the door handle slightly glow as the street light hits it. I am comforted in the fact I can see anything at all. As I grip the door knob, a shiver creeps up and down my spine. It was almost as if something went through me. I gently turn the knob, trying my best for it not to make a sound, then push the door ever so slightly just to take a peek before entering. Darkness. Hoping as I open the door, the street light will continue to lead me to my path. With each step I take, the creaks in the floor get louder. This old house is not forgiving. I see a shadow just out the corner of my eye; it is above me. I freeze. My eyes are steady as I look up to the high right, pleading with the street light to shine a little higher. A shimmer. It does not move nor do I. My heart is pounding in fear. What could it be? Bravely I turn towards my enemy pleading that I appear to be more of a threat than he. As my eyes adjust more to the darkness, I can see again. The black cascades down so softly from this creatures body. Feathers. I now am comforted knowing who I am up against. Fear no longer feeds my heart. Confidence moves my feet further into the dark room. However, his eyes do not leave me alone. Where I go, his eyes go. Perhaps, I am no longer a stranger to him as I thought, but rather an opportunity. Feeling vulnerable as I ponder his next move, I attempt to hide from his sharp, powerful and precise mandible. One could only imagine the damage it does to its prey. I feel my heart pounding again. I beg for it to be quiet as I don’t want to give away my hiding spot. Over my shoulder, I can feel his presence again. It’s too late. So graceful as he glides to me. Pain takes over and no matter how hard my fight, he wins, and darkness takes over.
By Kari on 07.14.2013
i memorized the raven perfectly
reciting its verse reminds me of when
i cried by the lockers
satisfaction is hardly fond
By Hayden on 07.14.2013
Barreling down from skies above waiting for the moment of crushing bones, feeling nothing all alone. The raven longs to love in skies but waiting patiently for the day he dies
By Erica on 07.14.2013
Black and unwanted. Like me. Like him. Like many others. Who have to be nicer than white folks. Because if you’ve worked any service job. You know white folks don’t give a shit about nice. But people of color work double time to be assumed as that all vanilla all tolerable all likeable-nice.
By Ruben URL on 07.14.2013
Raven. Bird. Dark. Evil? Nah. The Raven. Edgar Allen Poe. Po-etry. English. French. Bonjour! Bones. Chicken. Eggs. Chicks. Yellow. Popcorn. Candy. Music. Instrumentals. Carnivals. Cannibalism? Suicide? Shia Labeouf. Meekakitty. Watch Me Walk. YouTube. Boredom? …Yeah.
By hipster1hedgehog on 07.14.2013
Black wings swooped in the air, slowly trailing the air around its sleek wings and lifting the thin, small body from the ground. A small bush beneath it ruffled slightly, and the sand stirred from its lazy sleep only to settle comfortably once more.
“The power of physics at work.” The professor nodded his head, and the students gazed on in amazement.
By redpinkandwhite on 07.14.2013
The raven flew around the house driving the man crazy wishing he could have his long lost Lenore back for good. The raven was an ugly reminder of her demise, haunting him day and night. He couldn’t take it anymore, he knew he needed to kill the raven.
By Gilltyascharged on 07.14.2013
Poe was right about many things: the futility of life, for one. The macabre quality of his writing and the grainy nature of each poem illustrates his pointed thesis–that nothing is in your own command.
By Megan on 07.14.2013
The more time she spent away from him, the freer she felt. But when she slept, she saw his face again, his raven black eyes scolding her, warning her, it seemed.
By tonykeyesjapan URL on 07.15.2013
I stared at that raven every night. staring into its blackness waiting to see a glimpse of my soul in there. maybe it was just too dark and i was grasping at a side of me that did not exist.
By Chris on 07.15.2013
he was her wind
but in the black hues of the night
he perched on the shadows
by her room
claws tight in expectation
ready to attack.
By S on 07.15.2013
His skin was fair, but heart as black a raven.
By Vijayalakshmi on 07.15.2013
The ravens hop in a strange fashion, croaking like hoarse teenagers. They land everywhere, on the garbage cans, on the sidewalk, next to people who are eating, waiting for something to drop. Their feathers shine strangely, irridescent black, reflecting all the light that hits them in colors of the rainbow. They mock passersby and laugh in their odd way.
By Kate Settlemyre on 07.15.2013
There came a time where all the girls in our town was staring at the blue sky that never ends. They were all looking up, searching, searching for the raven that holds the truth. The truth that is their only hope. The raven that is their only hope.
By Angel URL on 07.15.2013
when i first read edgar allan poe’s poem, I had absolutely no idea what it was about. What is this raven doing in the poem? Why is the author talking about the raven? Who is this prophet?
By thedarkestsheep on 07.15.2013
trying to fight it was of no use. It kept coming back like an arrow stuck in front of a boomerang. Always missing the target, but returning to the owner. When they saw the raven they where looking for the ricoche.
By Stef URL on 07.15.2013
When I search about one word top journal in science in google, this website address came up. So, I clicked on it and arrived here. I was told to wrote anything about “one word” within sixty seconds. This is what I am doing right now. I am curious to know what will be shown next.
By TLThein on 07.15.2013
Death is signaled by the raven. Cold black skin, ominous eyes, hate filled voice. Die, Die, Die it screams and it’s easy to see why no one wants it around.
By Tosh on 07.15.2013
the letter fell through the slot with a soft plop.
it was done.
i immediately regretted it. i went weak at the knees, and felt faint.
what was I thinking? there was nothing i could do to get it back. i tried putting my thin arm through the slot, but i couldn’t angle it down enough. i tried prying open the door, but it was locked shut, solid metal. it was done.
i was fucked.
-one message recieved-
raven, how could you? are you ok? please call me, i’m worried about you. why did you send it to me, me of all people? i’m the only one too far away to help you. please, i’m on my way to the airport but i’m so scared i’m too late. honey, please be okay.
By Talya URL on 07.15.2013
the raven flew across the sky, it was time for the raven to return home, it was worried about its children, it had not been home in awhile. the raven swooped into its nest and was horrified to see its children there dead, the raven knew the offender was none other then the eagle.
By Andrew on 07.15.2013
Never more do I wish to hear the Baltimore Ravens fans gloat about their recent Super Bowl win. My team the Pittsburgh Steelers have done it many times, six to be exact.
By Jacqui on 07.15.2013
The first thing that comes to mind when I think of “raven” is Edgar Alan Poe and the second is “That’s so Raven”. Weird that they have nothing in common only opposite. Edgar Alan Poe was solumn and morose whereas Raven is bubbly and happy. They couldn’t be farther apart in similarities.
By Jenn URL on 07.15.2013
As I walked back from my run this morning, I saw a large black bird with a pointed beak sitting atop a chain-link fence. It was staring into someone’s yard, and all I could think was, “I wonder what died.”
By Amanda G. on 07.15.2013
What is it about Latin rhythms, they are everywhere I turn. I switch on the radio, I talk to friends and it is about dancing the salsa, tangos, even language of Flamenco is revealed. And yet, here I sit like a raven on a barren tree hunched over in my winter gloom projecting gloom and doom over all I see.
By Meredyth URL on 07.15.2013
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.