Saturday, July 22, 2017

The Raven-Whisperer’s Daughter…

The Raven-Whisperer’s Daughter…

 

In the dark ghost of twilight,
Silken fog with promise of frost,
She weeps shards of icicle tears,
For a father who speaks softly to harbingers of death,
Tall is he like a bare Winter Oak of five-hundred years,
With limbs like crooked branches and twisted twigs,
Her home is a stump-hollow pool,
Her bed a hummock of cobwebs’ steel-silk,
And she dances under a moon-ring,
Full-moon bright shines on the empty longing of her heart.

In the innocence of her fragile mind
She remembers
Gentle whispers of shared moments
Wise advice spoken from her father’s soul
Only meant to protect her
Safe from the folly of man
“Listen my child
Carefully as I speak
Be careful of those who come
Professing great portents
For they speak of greed
Disguised as guidance
But that is not their way”

Serenata is her name,
“Night Song,”
Sweet she sings as Muse of Lullabyes,
Knowing the Ravens whisper secrets of the dead in her father’s ear,
His word she believes,
She sees them perched on his shoulder,
“Kutcha, Kutcha, Kutcha!” they cry as they fly off,
Secrets delivered,
She shudders in the dim starlight,
Her lullaby turned sour and blue,
Yet still beautiful,
For she knows his dark words are true.

Caught unawares even within the walls of nature’s protection
The love of a human reaches out to her,
Careful he is in his approach,
Time is on his side,
For what he desires is worth the effort,
But she remembers,
Torn between what she knows,
And the newness of desire,
She must decide.

A brace of ravens swoops down,
Circling above her head,
“Kutcha, Kutcha, Kutcha caw!” they cry,
She hears whispers but cannot understand,
Burning with a new ache,
She wends her way through wood and glen,
To the secret place she first saw him,
A lone raven following,
Branch to bramble,
She is wary of bear or lion or wolf,
Yet driven in a way she doesn’t understand,
Her sweet song a burning whisper,
Pulling a shadow of night in her wake,
Her foot reaches a damp stone,
Burbling creek between her and the sheltered glen she seeks.

A final warning
From the raven who refused to leave her
“Remember, who you are
Your legacy
The future lies in you. . . .”
And then she saw him
With a bow and arrow in hand
Aimed at . . .

…Her father’s heart,
And she froze,
A firestorm of raging emotions new,
His words then pierced her surely and deadly,
“Whisper me Ravener, did my dead wife love me true?”
Serenata broke then,
Hearing her father’s simple answer – “Yes.”
The hunter’s bow dropped,
His tears echoed on her face,
She knew her love defeated by a ghost,
Raging and grieving was her lullabye,
As she sang it hunter climbed a tree and found a bough on which to sleep,
As Serenata reached the lines,
“If the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,”
Down came sleeping hunter to break on earth,
Raven flew to steal his dying breath,
“Kutcha! He loved you too…” first whisper she understood,
She turned and ran far to the cold North,
Ravens following,
And young mothers remember the song of her heartbreak,
Still gentle with horror today.

AquarianM & Dracula’s Woman
(C) 10/09/2011 (Poetry only)
By Daniel A. Stafford and Alexis Williams

Footnotes:
(1) “Serenata” is Italian for “serenade,” but the literal translation is “night song.”
(2) “Kutcha” is the healing raven spirit of Siberian Koryak shamans.