The Holiday Spirit

Thursday, December 2Nd, 7:51 P.M.
Mood: Festive, Energetic
Music: Christmas Lights, by Coldplay

Happy Holidays all, it would appear that the season is upon us. Thanksgiving is over and I now find myself preparing for Christmas. Well, that and Meán Geimhridh, the Celtic winter solstice. I plan to build a replica stone circle in my back garden that will line up with the setting winter sun on Dec. 23Rd. But anyways back to Christmas. The season of giving is here, and so I think some thanks are in order. But before I start, please let me say that I am thankful for all you readers, it would be nothing without you. Now with that said, I think we should begin. (A small note, these are in random order, I just wrote them as they popped into my head.)


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*ahem* I, The Raven King, am thankful for:

Saphira Bjartskular, Dragons, Wyrms, Sea Serpents, Cryptids, Cryptozoology, Lake Monsters, Lochs, Europe, Computers, Blogs, Steve Jobs, Nikola Tesla, Bill Gates, JRR Tolkien, Skulduggery Pleasant, Albert Einstein, Tim Burton, Danny Elfman, Edgar Allan Poe, Ray Bradbury, John Keats, Uthire Pendragon, J.R.R Tolkien,Chris Marten, Thomas Riley, Coldplay, Phoenix, U2, Daft Punk, Paramore, Paranormal Researchers, Brazing Goggles, Mothman, UFO's, Point Pleasant, Paranormal Authors, Ghosts, Reptiles, Dido, The Broken Bells, Oingo Boingo, John Lennon, Pink Floyd, Aragorn, Gandalf, Tanith Low, Drake (from the tunnels series), Data, Edward Steam, Victor Evernight, Thomas Riley (the character this time), Barnaby Grimes, Black Tigers, Regular Tigers, Spotted Lions, Flying Snakes, Switzerland, Giant Lizards, Melangistic Big Cats, The British Big Cat Society, SteamPunk, Magic, Dragons (again), Poetry, Science, Gloom, Ipods, Laptops, Merlin, Music, Airships, Mysteries, His Majesty's Dragon (series), Evil Genius (book), Large Black Greatcoats, Purple Tinted SteamPunk Sunglasses, Alice In Wonderland, The Lord Of The Rings, Ghost And Paranormal Researchers, Truly Dedicated Cryptid Researchers, Apple Computers, Airman, Artemis Fowl, Space Travel, The Fact That Space Shuttles Are Getting Retired, Slashdot, Thinkgeek.com, Dracula, Brahm Stoker, Narnia, The Tunnels Series, Quantum Physics, Skulls, Blogspot, Dragons (yet again, I love them), KnightRider, Star Trek, The International Society Of Cryptozoology, The Loch Ness Monster Fan Page, Grooveshark, Night Vision Goggles, Etsy, Gifts, DARPA, Robots, NASA, Blender, Illusions, Free Software, DOSBOX, Playing Cards, The Prestige, BlendSwap.com, Instructables, Rush, Josh Groban, Enya, R.E.M., Soundtracks, Runes, Fantasy, Magic, Poetry, Technology, Science, Art,The Middle Ages, Books, Movies, Illusions, Dreams, Machines, Droid Phones, The X Files, Swords and Other Ancient Weaponry,Programming, Christopher Paolini, Ancient Sites (Such as Stonehenge), Mysteries, Dreary, Sad, or Gloomy Things, Robotics, Animation, Directing, Puppetry, Astronomy, Mechanics, Physics, Alchemy, History, Dragons (YES AGAIN), Writing, DIY, Dark Matter, The Unknown, The Universe, SteamPunk Couture, The Elvish Language, Science Fiction, Writing The Evernight Chronicles, Elvish Couture, Stone Circles, Gears, Steam, The Celts, Armor, Swords, Pikes, All Manner Of Cool Weaponry, Canes, Scarves, Theater, Thespians, Tophats, Goggles, Encyclopedias, Libraries, Black Leopards, Ireland, Scotland, Superstitions,

AND DRAGONS, DEAR, LOVELY WONDERFUL DRAGONS!!!!

And thank you again to all you readers out there! Take a bow!

Before you go, leave me a comment about your SteamPunk, Fantasy, or just cool Christmas ideas to help make this holiday season truly unforgettable.

Thanks,

The Raven King

The Minstrel - A Poem

Friday, October 8Th, 5:58 P.M.
Mood: Whimsical, Musical
Music: Remember When It Rained, by Josh Groban

A Note: This poem was written for a friend of mine, who is an author. It symbolizes all who write, read, and enjoy the stories that pour forth from the mind of a writer.


The Minstrel - A Poem
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Look upon the ink that traces,

gentle lines upon the faces,

Of the ancient, cracking pages,

of the tale yet to come forth.

See her hand as it goes flitting,

adding lines both new and fitting,

To the story waiting to be born.

Hour on hour 'til time grows late,

weaving tales of death and fate,

What could cause that such a state,

should intrude upon the mind?

So it seems that she is fated,

still she writes here unabated,

though the hour grows late and light grows dim.

Spinning stories, weaving tales,

from her open mind that hails,

To the stories as they enter one by one.

Words, like rain pours from her pen,

crossed out, revised, then scrawled again,

Upon the page as blank and white as snow.

Lives and stories,

deaths and glories,

come from the hand that strokes the page.

Ghosts that flit about the gloom,

stories, told inside the room,

were she sits and writes yet still.

Dreams they are, that pour forth waiting,

to be told, of love and hating,

upon the page that waits.

Dreams, for without them we are nothing.

For what are we ourselves?

I shall tell you.

Dreams.

The Brief Yet Wondrous Life Of A Flame Struck In The Dark - A Poem

Thursday, September 23Rd, 4:35 P.M.
Mood: Foggy, Slightly Bored
Music: Life In Technicolor Part 2., by Coldplay



The Brief Yet Wondrous Life Of A Flame Struck In The Dark - A Poem
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The darkness crept in all around,
and filled the air without a sound,



The utter darkness hung about,
that filled the senses, stilled the shout,


And brought to one a dreaded feeling,
so dark, so cold, and yet revealing,


Of the tears, the moans, the screaming,
and the places, cold and teeming,


With the creatures of most ancient and forgotten lore.


Then for a second, a brief second,
light burst forth, though darkness beckoned,

Shattering the darkness, dispelling the gloom,
lighting the contents of the forgotten room you stood in so long ago.


And for moment fire shone,
and lit the air, the dust, the stone,



In that place now so far away.


And then it flickered, waved and sputtered,
as the wind with sighs and mutters,


Sought to quench the flame so dear,
the light that banished
darkest fear,



And then at last there in the dark,
the flame dimmed to but a spark,



And then at last the flame receded,
though it's light was sorely needed,



And the dark came swirling back,
from the corners and the cracks,



And filled the room once more.



What is the flickering of the fire but a life?

To be born into darkness.

To bring light.






To live.







To love.






And to dim, in the fullness of time,

leaving the mystery of darkness as it was when we came.

Is it not extraordinary?

The simple life of a flame struck in the dark.
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Alone in the Dark, a Poem

Wednesday, June 16Th, 3:13 P.M.
Mood: Gloomy, Rested
Music: Sinkin' Soon, by Norah Jones



Alone in the Dark, A Poem
by: The Raven King





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Do not leave me in the dark,
for I am so afraid.


The grinning skulls with their empty eyes,
stare blankly into mine.


And all around the spirits stir,
and gently sigh my name.


They blew out the lamps,
and said good all,
and left me here in the dark.


Alone.


In the damp I sit.


Alone.

'Til morning comes.


Alone.


'Til end of time, for that is what I am.


Alone.

Alone!

Alone!

I cry from the depths of this cell that holds me.

In the blackness I clutch my heart, and weep.

Weep for all that is gone.

All that is lost.

All that I will never see again.

The warmth of the sun.

The smell of the new fallen rain upon the bare earth.

The sight of lightning illuminating the sky.

The sound of the trees as the wind tosses them to and fro.

All this I have lost.

All there is now is darkness.

And I.

Here.

Alone.

But am I?

For I can hear the spirits.

The souls of those who have passed before me.

And when I hear this I smile.

Though I may be alone in the dark.

For I know that when I join them, I can rejoice in their company.

But for now I am lost.

I

am

alone.

And will be until the day,

I leave this mortal toil.

And ascend into light.

"Til then I am here.

Alone.

Where am I? A Poem.

Thursday, June 3Rd, 8:52 A.M.
Mood: Poetic, Still Slightly Sick
Music: The Mall and Misery, by The Broken Bells





Where am I? A Poem.
by :The Raven King
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Where am I?

Would you happen to know?

I look all about me, through the rain.

Through the driving snow.

Through the crowds of people that come and go.

Never looking up from the cobblestone streets as they hurry
to the various appointments that their meager lives demand.

Why do they hurry so?

Why do they toil?

Don't they know that she is dead?

That I am alone?

That is why I ask, my friend.

Where am I?

For I seem to have lost myself, along with my way.

Please, don't forget yourself.

This is the only advice I can give you, oh fellow traveler.

For the road that this life has become is full of twists and turns,

of embankments, thieves, and chasms.

So go, go carefully.

And never forget to dream.
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