Launch Date : 6th November 2021
Digital : $3.99
Paperback : $13.99 USD
Hardcover : $17.99 USD
Balm 1 is a profound and intimate poetry anthology that delves into the raw edges of human emotion—grief, longing, memory, and the hope for healing. Edited and curated by The Ravens Quoth Press, this collection gathers voices from around the world, blending lyrical beauty with emotional truth. Each poem explores the unique paths we walk through loss, pain, and resilience, crafting a mosaic of personal and collective introspection.
Featuring an array of poetic forms and styles—from spare, minimalist verse to intricate narratives—Balm invites the reader to sit with discomfort and emerge transformed. The diverse contributors, many of whom are established literary voices, speak in tones that are urgent, contemplative, and often quietly revolutionary. This anthology is not merely a reading experience—it is a compassionate companion to those navigating the shadows of life.
Ideal for lovers of contemporary poetry, trauma-informed literature, and heartfelt storytelling, Balm is a tribute to survival and the written word’s unique ability to soothe, confront, and connect.
Beautiful poetry from
Vanessa Caraveo
Alex Carrigan
Kudakwashe Chirapa
Dr. Patience Chiyangwa
Subhrasankar Das
Adrian David
Dawn DeBraal
John Drudge
Tom Foard
John Grey
Mark Andrew Heathcote
Avery Hunter
Linda Hutsell-Manning
Colin James
Sakariyahu Jamiu
Nerisha Kemraj
Ermira Mitre Kokomani
Iolanda Leotta
Archer Lundy
Des Mannay
Kelly Matsuura
Arik Mitra
Marsha Warren Mittman
Kurt Newton
Jarvis Ottum
Renata Pavrey
Sehloho Piet Rampai
Lisa Reynolds
Nilofar Shidmehr
Swati Singh
Meg Smith
Amanda Trout
Paul Waliaula Wanjala
Jacek Wilkos
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I have not taken My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— Then—in my childhood—in the dawn Of a most stormy life—was drawn From ev’ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still— From the torrent, or the fountain— From the red cliff of the mountain— From the sun that ‘round me roll’d In its autumn tint of gold— From the lightning in the sky As it pass’d me flying by— From the thunder, and the storm— And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view— You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.
A Valentine (1875)
Edgar Allen Poe
