About Raivenne

I am a Big Beautiful Black Woman and I very much enjoy being one. If you want to know more about me (and you know you do), see my "About Raivenne" page.

The Bottom

A sober heart
All knew him to be
Standing good with Bill W
Yes, that was he

Then dark days took
And his foundation shook

From the highest peak
His good standing soiled
Never again found the bottom
To a bottle of Crown Royal

Glass with dark liquor splashing out

I saw the bottle of Crown Royal in my mind and Muse took it and stomped.

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dVerse Poets Pub | Quadrille #141:
Heady is the Poem That Wears the Crown


De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo, lets us have a little crowning glory in the form of a quadrille.

The Quadrille poem must be exactly 44 words in length – not including the title and use this week’s prompt word crown.



In A Frenzy

From a distance I watched the koi in the man-made pond. Seemingly heedless to the world around them, they swim peacefully, their tranquil moves a narcotic in these hectic times. I step a little closer watching. They continue to swim in ever lazy circles. It is a game we play. Well, a game I play. I am never sure if they are in on it or not. I play the game, nonetheless. 

circle of koi in a pond.

The game? How close can I get before they notice me?

There are concentric circles around the pond that mark my progress. So far, I have made it as far the third circle before I am spotted. I am at that line now, trying to get to the second, knowing it will take divine intervention to reach the first line.

Slowly creeping upon the pond, I take my time.

For a moment there is a single erratic movement and I think the jig is up. I still and after a moment the idle swimming continues. I am almost there.

I advance barely, barely lifting my foot from the ground, and slide it ever so slowly forward. All I have to do now is…

DAMN ! I’ve been spotted.

In a blink the formerly calm water is a frenzy of movement. Mouths agape, they all rush forward in a circle synchronized swimmers might envy.

Defeated once again, I take out the bag of food n my packet and feed the koi.

I’ll get past that second circle tomorrow.


Written for:

Cryanny’s Cove, Narcotic – Word of the Day Challenge

Use the word of the day in a poem or short story.

Cyranny’s Cove, November 24th #1MinFiction Challenge

What’s the #1MinFiction” Challenge?

Each week Cyranny provides a prompt to inspire one to write a very short story. The idea being to type the whole story in a minute or less. Of course, you can think about it before hitting the keyboard, and you can take all your time to edit it afterwards…

This week’s prompt is the photo above.

The Beginning of the End

Cyranny's Cove photo of a the booted feet of a person standing in wet autumn leaves on the ground.

For most people in the United States, Fall unofficially begins the Tuesday after Labor Day. 

But not for Bree.

For her autumn truly began in mid-November nearly two
months after its official start.

By mid-November, the many trees that line her street reach their peak orange,
red and yellow colors. And each year, a week or two before Thanksgiving without
fail, it happens: the last hurrah of the hurricane season. While usually not
worthy enough to be graced with a name, it is a storm strong enough that the colorful
jewels of the trees are mercilessly flung to the ground.

Bree will step out onto her yard where seemingly overnight it is littered
near slick with the torn wet remnants of color that once graced the trees. She’ll
look upon the many gnarled branches left clawing at the shortening hours of
gray daylight. Then, and only then, does she feel it is autumn at last.


Written for Cyranny’s Cove, November 17th #1MinFiction Challenge

What’s the ”One Minute Fiction” challenge about?

Each week Cyranny provides a prompt to inspire one to write a very short story. The idea being to type the whole story in a minute or less. Of course, you can think about it before hitting the keyboard, and you can take all your time to edit it afterwards…

This week’s prompt is the photo above.

Was It Worth It?

The prince sighed at the tragic tableau before him.

Two mothers sobbed against their husbands whose own tears fell in silent grief. All bemoaned their part played in what has come to pass. The two men glanced at one another, but neither could sustain the visual contact. Their hate too old. Their pain too fresh.

“What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?” he looked to each of the four red rimmed eyes, but none could return his stare.

“It could have begun here. Grown into something beautiful had you let it. Instead, it ends with them and with you, now the last of your line.”  

“Was it worth it?” He spread his arms to the ones before him, but each knew the gesture encompassed several others no longer there to speak. “Capulet. Montague. Go bury your children.”


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dVerse Poets Pub | Prosery: The Waste Land

At dVerse Mish tends bar and welcomes us to another round of Prosery where we are asked to write a very short piece of prose that tells a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end, in any genre of our choice.

Since it is a kind of Flash Fiction, there is a limit of 144 words. It must include a complete line from a poem in the story, within the word limit.

Punctuation can be changed, but it is not allowed to subtract or insert words in between parts of the original quotation.

Today quote is from T.S. Eliiott’s The Wasteland “What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?”

In my mind Romeo and Juliet are the branches that would have grown from the stony rubbish of their families’ hate had it been allowed to take root.

Two Sides

All day and night
I want of you – I
Want so deeply that “want”
Is too trite a word – this
To me, my very breath – is to
Be in this love – to be
Yours and yours only
Forever and a day

What you ask of me, I ignore it all
Yes, I submit easily, but I
Don’t want what you want
This moment is all there is
This is all I want – to
Have you now – to be
Yours and only yours
But only for tonight


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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: For the love of puzzles . . .

Lillian is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub where she shares her love of how one word leads to another in crossword puzzles and their cousins in style: Acrostic Poetry.

In Word Acrostic poetry the first word or the last word of each line in a single stanza poem spells out a message.

Lillian has created an Acrostic Plus where the first letter of each line in the first stanza spells out one or more words, while the last letter of each line in the next stanza spells out something different, and so on, but together there is one message.

We’re challenged to either write a poem that in some way relates to a puzzle, includes the word “puzzle”; or try our hand at an Acrostic poem. I combine a Word Acrostic with Lillian’s Acrostic Plus to tell a familiar tale of Mars and Venus,

And I Wake In The Morn

And I wake in the morn

In your arms

Your heart under head

Its beat in my ear

Sounds that lulled me true

Then woke me anew

Among decades and scores that pass

The sounds are now quiet

And I wake in the mourn


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dVerse Poets Pub | Quadrille #134: We {heart} poems

De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo, lets us have a little heart-to-heart in the form of a quadrille.

The Quadrille poem must be exactly 44 words in length – not including the title and use this week’s prompt word heart.


No More

Once cast aside in a dusty mire
You cleaned and placed it by the fire
To take it to a purpose higher
My heart’s desire, My heart’s desire

The iffy thought now deemed revere
An ideate I have no fear
Its impish voice whispers so clear
Within my ear; within my ear

The blade left there for me to see
The flames illume its true decree
You know that I won’t let it be
It calls to me; it calls to me

From thought to act it came to be
The one swiftly incised is me
Drenched within the scarlet spree
I smile with glee; I smile with glee

I take purchase upon the floor
And leave a gift you can’t ignore
You’ll find me smiling by the door
But I’m no more, no, I’m no more


This went unexpectedly dark. Among the Muse it is usually Calliope and Erato who have my ear, but this time it was Melpomene who called loudest.

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dVerse Poets Pub | Poetry Form: Monotetra
Grace tends the bar and challenges us to write a Monotetra.

The monotetra, a poetic form created by Michael Walker, must be written in tetrameter, either iambic or trochaic, approximately 8 syllables per line. Each stanza is a quatrain (four lines), that is monorhymed. The fourth line of each stanza must be a dimeter, or 4-syllable phrase, that is repeat twice.

The stanza structure:

Line 1: 8 syllables; A1
Line 2: 8 syllables; A2
Line 3: 8 syllables; A3
Line 4: 4 syllables, repeated; A4, A4

This poem can be as short as 1 or 2 quatrains and as long as a poet wishes.

The Cause

Image of man crying in sepia tone

I had watched
In waning sunlight
How it reflected
In soft contours
As one sun
Became another
And yet another
That set
In each watery stream
Until in darkness
I walk away
Too cowardly to admit
That I
Am the cause
Of those tears

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dVerse Poets Pub | Quadrille #132: Your Poem Theme: Stream

At dVerse, De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo, hosts bar for Quadrille Monday, where we are challenged to pen a poem of precisely 44 words (not counting the title), that must include the weekly word prompt. This weeks prompt: Stream

Whispers From Erato

Muse whispering warriors ear

Take me now; I have need
Lexis to which I must heed

Ethereal whisper in my ear
Diaphanous sight before my eyes
Gossamer touch against my skin

The first preface to our prologue
Vellum void of phrase and prose

Let me bathe you in ballad
Let me shower you in sestina
Let my sweet imagery of nothing
Become your metaphor of everything

Let your periphrasis wrap me in symbolisms
Let your euphemisms surround me in similes
Let our soul be one for the discourse of rhythm
for the dialogue of reason, for the diction of rhyme

Let us fall down in the shadow of the valley of meter
Let us rise up on the rock of ages and iambs
Let us bask in the most of incremental repetition
Until only the onomatopoeia of our couplet is left

Diamante drops on parchment and papyrus
The final edict to our epilogue

Gossamer touch against my skin
Diaphanous sight before my eyes
Ethereal whisper in my ear

Lexis to which I must heed
Take me now; I have need


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dVerse Poets Pub | Poetics: Who’s your Muse?

Today Ingrid tends bar and invites us to choose our muse. I choose Erato, muse of love poetry and lyric poetry to let her sweet whispers scream everything. For when she  has need to speak I take heed to listen, and write… 

The Day She Rises

shnikt, shnikt

Metal strikes mineral in rhythmic space.

shnikt, shnikt

She is a lean shadow, sat alone. Silent tears shed blending into the briny tide that approach and recede her salt licked feet. Only saline tracks that frame her cheeks tell tale they existed.

Dawn chains to dusk, none saw her arrive, nor leave.

shnikt,

She has just been… there…

shnikt, shnikt,

Stone in one hand, blade in the other is no game or dream for her

shnikt,

We watch and wonder what on Earth caused this refrain

I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.

Words unspoken yet heard by all nonetheless

Not what they seem, the tears screen not her melancholy, but her rage

shnikt, shnikt

And all we know is: the day she rises will lead to the night someone falls

shnikt, shnikt


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dVerse Poets Pub | Prosery: Finding Ms. Zora Neale Hurston

Today Lisa introduces the pub to one of my favorite writers, Zora Neale Hurston and challenges us to write a piece of prose that is no longer than 144 words, sans title, and must include the line “I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.” from Hurston’s “How Does it Feel to be Colored Me” in World Tomorrow (1928). This can be flash fiction, nonfiction, or creative nonfiction, but it must be prose!

The Sunday Whirl | Wordle 510

refrain, lead, shed, dream, frame, space, recede, seem, screen, game, lean, chain

MLMM Sunday Writing Prompt, July 18/21 – The Quiet One