RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition who publishes zines & physical books & electronic books & music & photography & digital art & just generally whatever feels necessary to survive this deluded earth thru Rojonekku Word Fighting Arts survival systems (Version 69, establish 14 Feb 1973). Comments encouraged.

Thursday, July 11

freestyle sonnets

If you get my One Thousand Feathers pamphlets (prescriptions for the future, access to the past), then these will eventually show up as parts of a new Freestyle Sonnets pamphlet at some indeterminate and somewhat unpredictable point in the future. But here a few for those rare motherfuckers that still happenstance upon this site still.


ain’t never no peacock, natural born gamecock,
even when I’m cooped up, I’ve got a free range heart,
with knowledge to impart and instill in hard rock
heads of my offspring born to be performance art
scratching the surface of earth in wild spirals, led
by their spirit more than numbers getting brain crunched,
or soul getting gut punched, their intuition inbred
by mack mental prowess; this bird tribe shall stay hunched
behind your holograms of freedom, built with blood
made of copper, we understand shadow dwelling
is necessary for survival of true mud
mindframes, being outnumbered by the fast swelling
masses of drone cyborg soft wire brained mockingbirds
building intelligence through blindness to black crow words



tapping ties with steel toes chasing horizons west
or south or wherever this open car may go,
I’m not particular to place but strange faces look best
regardless of the light; I’ve attempted to know
a home and a bed to where routine was achieved,
kept my hair trimmed presentably for better work,
better pay, better days promised, yet I received
nothing but discomfort, more bills would always lurk
behind the ones I wrestled away, multiplied
in force, when the freedom I was chasing was right
there behind every freight whistle; this world lied
with what it offered but also lied still each night
and that didn’t match my heart’s wild palpitation,
so I tromped away from life stuck in one station



all the rewilders seem to be white people when
seems it was them who had over-cultivated
civilization in the first place, giving men
climate controlled comfort for domesticated
creatures to survive even thrive despite living
contrary to feral beginnings learning fire
to crawl towards burning permanence, misgiving
progress to the rest of nature, bound by barbed wire,
and now they come bowing back - white skin in brown clothes,
sheltered noses turned upwards at those who refuse
to accept the blank-eyed gazes of those who chose
to say purposely “we rewild” when this mind ruse
to feel better about man’s tinkering with planned
tinkering in reverse still doesn’t understand



better to force words to fit ancient way rhyme schemes,
but not too ancient because wasn’t no words wrote
back when you worked the fields with no room for day dreams
because every moment was it, no footnote
to refer at, deferring to wisdom obtained
by scanning scribbles with meanings using two eyes
connected to memory bank investments trained
to attach abstract concepts to the lines that rise
off flat papers, abstractions built together tall
to create warnings and stories and histories
and give depth to fleeting moments, to help install
meaning to the mundane, moving the mysteries
of existence into books that exist only
to share man’s past minutes, making life less lonely



shadowland mind puppets born from massive neglect
of intellect, left to rot staring at boxes
of extra-sensory deception, we henpecked
of our thousand feathers by electro-foxes
praying upon bended knees in cubicle chairs
where our asses is as fat as cookies hidden,
crumbling the hard drive into lost fragmented lairs
of despair and distorted contortions given
freely, freedom and free dumber both doubling down
on recovery techniques that never tested
publicly or were proven to be cap-and-gown
worthy, but all alternatives weren’t divested
thoroughly, but that’s okay we stroll lack-a-dazing,
stars light the path, but we blind indoors screen grazing.

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