The Bard and Jester

Welcome Readers! Here you will find some real life experiences and musings that I'd like to share with you. So, come on in, if you have the time and I'll do my best to be entertaining... Please click on my sponsors' links!!! Established March 12, 2005.

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Location: New York, United States

I can be a clown, a poet, a fool, a romantic, a diplomat, a all depends upon the timing and circumstance.

Sunday, May 29, 2005


Originally uploaded by vraven.

There is tall and crooked gate
upon which rests an old, rusted rake,
a discarded shovel and a pair of shears.
Just beyond, stand people shedding silent tears
gathered in a circle before a mound
in a stone-lined garden absent of sound,
one patch of solemn brown amid the rolling greens
and the shining line of long, black limousines.

Beneath a golden treasure of ribbon-tied curls
is the soft, wet-eyed face of a little girl.
She holds flowers as she ascends the small knoll
and drops, at a weeping pace, each petal into the hole.

There comes a sound then, that of the preacher
who speaks in a voice with an unusual feature:
it inspires the circle into long, wailing moans
that fall spent among the cracks of tombstones...

Patrick Von Raven 1995


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Angel of death, raven plucking a bleeding quill from his heart... your magical journey upon this earth makes life meaningful.


June 14, 2005 3:25 PM  

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