Best Crows Poems
On a walk after the worst of the Sandy storm
I slogged down the still dampening
Green grass valley rutted between
The moldering fences of the shadowed alley.
Under the low, ominously rushing, soggy gray clouds
I saw so many black birds silently
Clinging against the stiff breezes
To the broken branches of the skeletal oak on the corner
As if they relished the fate of the cruelly stripped leaves.
I saw a hundred crows there.
How many make a murder?
Black pointy wraiths;
Scattered commas lined up like
Iron shavings stuck
To magnetic branches.
Dull steel skies slid in vast arcs around them.
Sprinkling windy foreboding,
Their clouds reached down
To Collect their talons.
So many eyes I know they see
Spiny black needles poking out of me.
Bloodless murder, muffling gray gauze No need to caw…,
A hundred crows see it all.
(A Co-worker)
Stop hatin' on me you ole crow,
Why don't you give me what you owe-
Me and that is respect you old coot,
Don't you know that I know that crows
Only pick at the best fruit,
It's as if you can see my future better than I can,
That is why you are acting like a twisted fan,
All out of control and down right vindictive,
Usually that kind of behavior is indicative,
Of someone who is jealous hearted and bitter,
Misery loves company and baby sitters,
I wish you would quit slandering my name,
You have had your fifteen minutes of fame,
Stop hatin' on me you ole coot,
Don't you know that I know that crows
Only pick at the best fruit.
Morning ignites a murder of white crows.
Roosting in the loft of spruce, maple, and oak.
Preening moon and star from death's fertile dream.
Ribbons of sunlight wrapped tight, ancient scrolls.
Window ajar, enter angels donning brooches of mint.
Crows perched lightly upon honey-kissed bedposts.
In each platinum beak, they carry one corner of my ghost,
lifted toward an ember of pulsating eternity.
Garnished with pearly crown and secondhand wings.
Outside, the crows lined up along golden cobbled clouds.
Motionless, like a rosary of gleaming white stones.
Whispering, whirling secrets of galaxies and geodes.
Drifting about, chrysalis-brained, rose petal-hearted.
Leaving behind glittering pools of scented hieroglyphs.
Orange robes enchanting the horizon with lavender mist.
Butterflies released from blue granite chrysalis.
Riding a stream of cherry sunbeams and glitter.
The echoes of a rainbow are a grand place to live.
,
Birds in broken wings
grieve through mourning eerie skies
Humming death's anthem
(Inspired by Raul's contest-Tattered Wings)
not for the contest
Charma
Born there in a manger, shepherds loved you dear,
Welcome exalted Savior, we feel your presence here.
You hung the stars celestial on pegs to shine at night.
And gave us Words eternal to spread an inner light.
On dusty roads you traveled and washed disciple’s feet.
You loved all the children, and urchins in the street.
When Judas’ kiss betrayed you, and temple guards drew near,
There flashed the sword of Peter; you healed the soldier’s ear.
Your friend soon renounced you, the rooster crowed then twice,
Peter hung his head in sorrow, for he denied you thrice.
Ten thousand waiting angels stood ready for your call,
But you, our blessed Savior, gave your all in all!
We love and adore you, and fall upon our knees,
Never better to praise you, than in times like these.
And it came to pass, while he blessed them, he was parted from them, and carried
up into heaven. Luke 24:51
That amphibian skinned day
in time will soften to cotton
perhaps even a strand of silk
with love forever entwined.
The heart pond filled with nibbling ghouls.
In time will turn to whispers of silky soothe.
Dear just hold on for another moment.
Nothing can soil a heart forever.
Not even a cluster of thunder or village fool.
That angel mind, pecked by crimson crows.
Cawing that same worn song.
"Where did it all go...go...go......go"
Just hold on for yet another moment.
All the haunt and hurt will turn to blue bird mist.
Chirping "it never left you dear one.
It was there all along".
You never were really left alone".
Those horrible things coming from the mouth of fear
in time will turn to flowers on golden glade...
the honorable seed takes time to blossom
and never chain stem and petal
to the burning vase of mundane
That off taste in the goblet
will turn to something needed.
Something far beyond sweetened
Just hold onto the chain of hopeful moments
for infinity if need be.
I was on a plantain branch
Cra cra… Cra cra.. Craa..
She put her bangles on a rock
Glimpse of gold, shined my eyes
I took it and flew back home.
A cry of fury trembling hut,
I wonder why she made that fuss.
With a bit of twinge I shout,
“One I took, three with you!”
Still her rage in frenzy mood,
Crowd is fanning flames to grow,
In my nest it shine and rest,
Golden bangle shining lust.
Then I went back looking around,
To watch the jokers in a run,
But my eyes in surprise hunt,
The bustle of hut in deep slumber.
Oh! Again this gold will turn,
me a golden king of crows.
Another bangle on the rock,
I took it and flew back home.
What a foolish bird I’m,
Fallen on their tricky trap.
They found my nest and climbed up tree,
My two bangles went with them.
Second Place in I am a Bird - Personification Poetry Contest sponsored by Tania Kitchin
Even the walls have ears,
And gnarly gnashing of worn out teeth.
Waiting, just waiting with bated breath
For what will surely never come.
Whisper...
Just whisper.
Manic shadows struggling to move into the light,
Upon the walls of their own wrong judgments.
See how they run.
A bloody murder of crows
Swiftly fleeting , searching out the cracked plaster
That will land them in the now.
Now...I begin again.
Now I begin again.
Oops! Wrong thought.
NOW, I begin again.
Noble and wise watchers they be
‘Homage resounds in that Melodious Crawing that their salute too the great all and Everything begins too Herald.
upward
‘and downwards
‘with purpose and respect ,
Ancient remembrance’s of always dancing this new day’s magic’s too be .
A Broyvy of Avian lore that resounds eternal amongst ‘and through the mightiest of the peacefully standing giants there is .
Renard lays still in that golden dewed meadow ,
feeling the warmth of the new mornings star ‘his powers of invisibility also now at rest .
gentlefolk from the forests deep and peering out from secret hiding’s ‘respectfully listen with attentiveness in all that is being sung .
This murder is majestic in its sounds ‘and Mysterious in its wondrous morning Call .
The crows know that grave symbol they attend
Their sardonic minds perceive ironic message
Stark cross of stone; their memory transcends
The centuries, to day of death but presage
When blood of one who came to make us free
Anointed timber of a scaffold tree
Image 2
29 September 2019
Why are swans the symbol of beauty?
Is it their nimble necks and angel wings?
Though my neck is stocky and my wings, not of heaven,
My posture is fair and I fly just as well.
Why are owls the symbol of wisdom?
Is it their trusting eyes and clever hunting tactics?
Though my eyes are beady and my talons, not of sport,
I perceive all and gather only what I need.
Why are robins the symbol of song?
Is it their sweet sound and timely performance?
Though my voice is coarse, and my timing, unplanned.
I have a faithful audience and I arrive as I please.
Why are doves the symbol of love?
Is it their perfect presents and Biblical presence?
Though my gifts may be peculiar and my name unknown,
God knows of me and my romantic love language.
Why does society have such poor taste in birds?
Is their view so bleak they only touch surface level?
Though hawks may seem gallant and parrots, exotic,
I know that my name, Crow, means more than just death.
The grey crows light cavern, wailing in web tavern
as lemurs juice pattern, sky from earth to Saturn.
three crows and a hawk,
flying together
sounds like a cartoon
get your claws in this one
a sign of the times
my mind sees such things
written in the sky
on October 7th,
my birthday,
i was celebrating
in a Christian conference
with a roomful of women
hands open
praising the Lord
oblivious of happenings
in Israel
i saw baby Jesus
in my hands
felt the weight of Him
then He turned
into Jesus
off the cross
as if I was holding
him
like Mary
of course
i pondered this
days later
i thought of the babies
killed
in the time of Moses
i thought of the babies
killed
in the time of Jesus
Rachel’s tears,
she can not be comforted
once again
an attack on babies…
so what comes next?
the rapture…
the antichrist…
judgement…
Fall to our knees
Make things right with God
Do right
Love one another
even love your enemy
That is how good
God is
Man is often the beast
God is much more merciful
than man…
Burglars and robbers! He declared in an absolute way.
Or squirrels and crows, she said. Ready to play.
You are weird he told her.
I know she said. Flash of fur.
A squirrel ran past carrying his wallet that day.
Gave it to a crow who latched on and soon flew away.
I saw them hanging
Strung up and dead
Empty,just bones
And black feathers.
Hung as a warning
Cruelly exposed
Headless and hollow
I walked among them
And set them free
Wishing them peace
I had to untie them
I let them rest
I gave them dignity
If I was watched
I hope they understand
I never hurt them
Bones and black feathers
So sad to see
And so I walked on