RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition. He does have an amazing PATREON, but also *normal* ARTIST WEBSITE too.
FREELY FROM COLONIAL MIDDLE OF NOWHERE,
NATION KNOWN AS MONACAN HAD BEEN EXISTING
FOR MANY NEW MOONS, BUT THEN SETTLERS ARRIVED THERE
AND STOMPED THE OLD WAYS INTO OPPRESSION, TWISTING
A CONTINENT'S STORY INTO DEMOCRACY
MYTH. BUT EVEN THAT SIMPLE BINARY GOOD/BAD
DICHOTOMY IS BUILT UPON HYPOCRISY
BECAUSE PRESENT AMIDST "NEW" WORLD SETTLERS GONE MAD
WITH GREED AND INDIGENOUS PEEPS FORCED TOWARDS SUNSET
WAS PIEDMONT WOODSLAND ELVEN CONGREGATIONS TUCKED
LIKE MUSHROOMS INTO UNDERBRUSH, FERTILE SOIL WET
WITH RIVER VEIN LIFE FORCE STILL PRIMORDIALLY MUCKED
ENOUGH TO SUPPORT LIVES BUILT WITH MAGIC IN HEARTS...
WITH THESE UNREAL PEOPLE IS WHERE OUR STORY STARTS.
WHILE WANDERING THE RIVER NAMED JAMES BY NEW WHITES
BUT KNOWN AS POWHATAN BEFORE, ALONG RAILROAD
TRACKS WHICH COAL CARS ROLL THROUGH UPON, FOLLOWING LIGHTS
UNEXPLAINABLE ON RIVER ISLANDS WHICH GLOWED
AT NIGHTS, I STUMBLED UPON (DID NOT "DISCOVER")
WELL-CONCEALED VILLAGE OF TINY MAGICAL FOLK,
MAYBE ELVES MAYBE GNOMES, WHO KNOWS? BEING LOVER
OF EPIC MYTHOLOGIES, I SHALL NOW INVOKE
RHYMING SONNETS TO TELL THE TALE (WITH PERMISSION)
OF THESE WILD PEOPLE MOSTLY UKNOWN TO ALL Y'ALL,
WHO HAVE GIVEN ME MUCH, UNDER ONE CONDITION
YOU (READER) KNOW THIS STORY IS NOT MINE AT ALL,
BUT ONE WHICH, IN THESE PEOPLE'S SPIRIT, I SHALL SHARE
FREELY FROM COLONIAL MIDDLE OF NOWHERE.
