Featured Poet: Angela B. Chrysler

Angela B. Chrysler is a writer, logician, philosopher, and die-hard nerd who studies theology, historical linguistics, music composition, and medieval European history in New York with a dry sense of humor and an unusual sense of sarcasm. She lives in a garden with her family and cats. Learn more at angelabchrysler.com.

THE RAVEN AND THE CROW

Once through winter’s bitter chill when all the world was right,

Dearly did the Raven love, while Crow did love his flight.

O’er head the winds did howl and turned Raven to Crow,

And through that winter’s cold dark night, the Raven saw the Crow.

In that breath the Raven knew all there was to know,

As winter’s wind blew black and bleak, their hearts were bound as one.

“So like me. You are I. Come and fly with me.

If ever two were meant to love, ‘twould be you and I.”

Within that breath the other saw all there was to see,

Beating strong within their eyes, two loves meant to be.

Raven whispered all these words. She could not look away,

For tethered to the others’ heart, they were bound to stay.

Within their eyes they saw the skies together they could conquer.

There each day they’d spend their days devouring the other.

Within their hearts beneath their breast they did clearly see,

All the love that they could have, their hearts, their lives, deflowered.

And in that moment between them two, the Raven and the Crow,

Exchanged unspoken words of love that bound them to forever.

“If ever I was meant to love, my heart would beat for you,”

Need not the Raven say to Crow beneath the winter’s howl.

“Know that under every word, there only is, ‘I love you.’

The in and out of every breath, to you I say, ‘Amour.’

Within the first of spring rains, and ‘neath the summer sun,

There would I forever more love you and adore.”

All these things and so much more, the Raven saw from Crow.

“Within your eyes, so like mine, for you, my love, I’d soar.”

It was then the Crow stretched out his wings and did take flight.

Within his eyes, he did implore, “Follow me and fly.”

In likeness, Raven threw wide her breast and stretched her withered wings

But gnarled and maimed were Raven’s wings, battered by life’s storms.

Scars and blood made up her bones, too broke—too weak to fly.

From the ground, too scarred to cry, Raven watched her Crow.

The wind blew cold while Crow flew far imploring, “Raven, soar!”

But while the bitter winds ripped o’er, she could not leave the moor.

Crows forever they must fly, and Ravens they must soar

But Raven bleeding, broken, maimed, could join her love no more.

Despite their unspoken dreams that tethered him to she,

Raven watched Crow fly away. His words alone did bide.

“So like me, you are I. Come and fly with me.

If ever two were meant to love, ‘twould be you and I.”

ONCE UPON A SUMMER SUN

Once upon a summer sun, once while in my youth,

I grew to love my dearest friend and loved him in our youth.

I found beneath the summer sun, when I first loved my friend,

In silence, he had since loved me. To him alone I’d bend.

Once upon a summer storm, my love I did adore,

Until my love I lost one day to Autumn’s fire storm.

I searched for him alone in vain. I screamed inside. I mourned,

For in the wake of winter’s might, my love was there no more.

Through him I laughed and loved and sighed. Through him I could fly.

Without him I had ceased to breathe. Without him I had died.

Blanketed in winter’s cold without my lover’s warmth.

Slowly death I did consume, chilled as I called, “Come forth.”

In death, I searched. In death, I lived. In death I grew to hate,

My sweet and bitter “Incomplete”: my dire autumn fate.

Years passed by. My heart decayed for naught and in vain.

Toward death’s door and in the dark, I reached, succumbed to pain.

And only when I did submit with my final breath,

Did my friend from light’s last flame save me from my death.

At death’s door my love found me and pulled me from the dark.

From the dark he carried me, my love restored to me.

In his arms with laughter’s tears we rose up from the ash,

And there we kissed, we loved, we soared for always ever more.

SILENCE

There where the shadows rise, there the darkness it lies

There where I cannot breathe. Death now consumes me.

Taking my air from me. Gasping, I die for thee,

Wanting what I can’t see. Slowly I falter.

And the silence, it cuts me. The silence, it gores me,

Spilling my blood as the rain falls on me.

The wind passes o’er me, and my blood runs right through me.

There you cut into me. Slowly, you’ll take me.

Let the fire engulf me, while the pain, it consumes me,

And to you, I cry writhing, “Wash this pain from me.”

And the silence, it cuts me. The silence, it gores me,

Spilling my blood as the rain falls on me.

Slowly encumbered. Dying outnumbered,

Death now I’m vanquished. Broken and battered.

There on the cold, stone floor, I raise my eyes to the storm,

There where the crow doth go, left me to ponder.

And the silence, it cuts me. The silence, it gores me,

Spilling my blood as the rain falls on me.

THE WRITER

I write my final ode: “The End.”

My pen sits on my desk.

Sitting back into my chair,

I nod. “‘Tis done. My book. My ‘script.”

Without a doubt, I search the net

until I find the one:

The agent who I do believe

will love my work like me.

I prep the file and google search

until my eyes grow dim.

Once I’m sure I’ve done my best,

that’s it, and I click ‘send.’

Now I sit and wait and write.

Soon I have a “Yes!

Please send on this manuscript!”

I squeal and I hit ‘send.’

Now the waiting game, it starts.

“He’ll love this book like none before.

I’m sure that he will love Ka’llan,”

But doubt soon fills my heart.

I wring my hands.

I watch the clock,

then curse and slam my desk.

“It’s only been a single hour!

He’ll need more time than that.”

The next few days,

they pass with sweat.

I’ll need more antiperspirant.

Instead, I turn my thoughts onto

My friends, my cats, and booze.

“I’ll make a hoot,

I’ll draw them near.

They’ll love me. That, I’m sure,

For I have wit…A twisted sense!

I excel at idle charm.”

I then cave in and soon message

The NYC agent.

“This is my plan and my goal…

Just wanted you to know.”

His answer’s swift.

“That is fantastic…

Oh! And by the way,

Your book is very…”

Yes? Yes? Yes?

“…much under consideration!”

I squeal! I jump! I dance! I twirl!

But wait! What does that mean!?

“An exclamation point!” I cry.

“That’s great news, I’m sure.”

But time it stretches on and on.

My inbox stays mercilessly calm

The days mold into stale weeks.

Surely it can’t take three weeks

to love my book. Where’s he?

I stare. I study. I memorize

those few rare hopeful words

“Very much…,” I read and wipe my brow.

I can not read. I mourn.

The days droll on.

My heart sinks low.

My gut twists like a snake.

The coffee cups pile on my desk.

I really should clean up.

With black eyes sunken deeply in,

I weakly lift my head

My greasy hair sticks to my chair

“Just love my book,” I plead.

And so I sit and wait and lurk.

Each day my hope shrivels.

I take my pen and, just once more,

I pour my heart upon my paper.

MY SEA OF DREAMS

Once, before enchantment ebbed,

Once before my magic’s end,

There beyond the forest’s edge,

I saw my sea of dreams.

Abandoning my shoes and socks,

Rolling up my jeans and frocks,

Taking up my sticks and rocks,

I dove into my sea.

And there it was my dreams were real.

There my magic I could wield,

There it was I learned to yield,

to my sea of dreams.

Soon my mother called for me.

With a sigh, I snatched my things.

Looking back, I left my dreams,

My fantasies, my sea.

Watching now from my porch swing,

My children dance, they squeal, they sing.

With a sigh they answer me,

And then I see the world they see.

They found my sea of dreams.