Thursday 23 March 2023

Three Poems by Laura Grevel


The Ravens Are Back   

(a sestina)


The ravens are back, much closer, talking constantly

to the huge owl who perches on the post by the road.

No one knows where he lives, he won’t say,

as he sits ice still and stares backward through the Moon

of the Morning that Floyd the Rabbit scorned

to salute on his way from Blueberry Patch


to Forest, thump thumping his remarks that patch

over his shortcomings and short temper that constantly

run Wes Weasel down through the scorned

weeds by the barn and drag him on down the rocky road

to a meeting with Cassandra the Snake, Queen of the Moon,

who says she has grown old hearing what these boys say.


“You rabbits and weasels ought to stay out of offices, and not say

what’s on your minds in this country.  There’s no room for a patch

of lawsuits like this, and I’d rather move to the moon

than to hear the bickering. And those ravens constantly

chattering and the owl sitting still, down that there road,

ain’t helping nohow.  And where is Libella?  Has she scorned             


us here in these hills of slanted hopes?  Where is that Moon

of Dragon Flies, that elegant soar-about who will say

what she wants, hovers, reversing, forwarding above the road

of our hearts, playing gayly, humming quietly in the patch of time

that begins evening, her flight a song that constantly

calls to the Bats of Night, as they dance to the moon


under the Milky Way, while I, queen of my moon,

am left to sort the salt from the wheat from the chaff scorned

by those who spend their hours flittering and constantly

dancing to the sway of the lighter beams of life, and say

nothing to those who cause consternation, requiring a patch

of decency, and calling all to come together on the Road


To Recovery, a road that is long and brambly and bumpy, a road

that leads to beatings and blood and trumpets, to call the Moon

of Chance, of synchronicity, that orchid’s song, that Gentian patch

of sound that proclaims a name of good that is scorned

by the suspicious populace, whose indecision will say

no to what the ravens call the confusion of constantly


complaining about the road of life gone awry that constantly

speaks to us wildly in moon beams of pale meaning to say

that we are meant to learn in patches, not to grieve the path we scorned.”


Floyd the Rabbit sits still

where dreams spun

between trees

shimmer with ravens

waiting for songs sung late.


Floyd is waiting for time

to say the word

to turn the world not too late

to share baked dreams

that cool crusted leaves

dripping butter names from trees.


Floyd speaks to trees

that stand against time

sent to tell who leaves

while others sit still

among the branches.


Floyd asks:

Have you heard the Owl’s last meal,

dropped by bleeding trees

dram by dram from dreams?

Have you tasted blood’s own time

raining salt that burns like stillness

when your songline ends?



Goddess of Beaver Lagoon

The beaver knew who she was

when she rode up on her bike.

It was the gloves she wore,

showed her power,

their greenness redolent of spruce.


The beaver waited for that spruce-iness

then swam steadily with nostrils above water.

He didn’t care about men,

ignored their electric fences,

sterile mown edges, attempts to build cities.


Here was the one who counted,

for whom he spent months cutting down trees,

planning and constructing dams, flooding forests, waiting,


til she sped down the hill, the greenness preceding her, as her steely eye

reviewed the standing copse of dead birch, ghostly grey, tops bare and broken, 

the piled wreckage in two creeks, stuffed with tree limbs and swamp grasses, 

causing the bodies-of-waters-held-back to reflect the sky perfectly in the 

stillness of the lagoon itself.


All progress stopped.

She took off her gloves,

greenness preceding and threw them in,

her donation to his dam pride.

Laura Grevel is a performance poet, fiction writer and blogger. Originally from Texas, she has lived in European for 22 years. Her written work is eclectic, tackling the immigrant experience, storytelling, nature, politics, and even grackle squawks.  In recent years, she has been published in Hear Her Speak, Unlatched Podcast, Poetry and Covid, Fevers of the Mind, WORD!, Poets Against Racism USA, Poetry and Settled Status For All, OpenDoor Magazine, DIY Poetry Zine, wildfire words, Dreich, Steel Jackdaw, The Melting Pot – a mental health anthology, American Graveyard – calls to end gun violence, and MORIA.  In addition, collaborating with two poet friends, she has a pamphlet out called Crone Chronicles.  Laura can often be found live online on international poetry Zoom Open Mics.  Her poetry performances can be viewed on her YouTube channel, including a collaborative video called “Girl Walking Across Europe” by Poets for Refugees, created as an act of welcome.
















1 comment:

  1. Laura gives the reader much to think about; the owl who doesn't need to impress anyone, to the dancing dragonfly. I enjoyed reading her delightful poems!


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