Crows
Beckon me
Every single morning.
Copyright © 2026 by Crystal David John
"The Hay(na)ku is a 21st century poetic form designed by Eileen R. Tabios, a Filipino-American poet, fiction writer, artist. The form, which Tabios first called Filipino Haiku, is described by Eileen in an interesting history of hay(na)ku. Inspired by Tabios’ Counting Journal, lately I’ve been writing a hay(na)ku each day in my planner after the day, a quick, tiny and fun way to recap a memorable event or emotion." - - Denise Krebs
Traditionally, Hay(na)ku have:
3 lines
A total of 6 words – 1 in the first, 2 in the second, and 3 in the third
No syllable, rhythm, or meter constraints.
You can also write reverse hay(na)kus.
stale bread, rotten fruits...
urchins feed from garbage bins ---
dawn of god's kingdom?
He stands not stiff, not resolute, not determined
a pole up his back, in corn field full of angry crows
no one notices him and he cares not a whit
He holds down his position not due to duty or abilities
Circumstance and birth keep him in this muddy place
He does not try to leave, never thinking he could.
Wishing he had a brain.
I can take you to the quietest of places
Where you get to hear nature in its very essence
The crows of the cocks
The hums, soft in contradiction, of the birds
The rustling of leaves
The sway of trees
All of a sudden, charged
The cock's crow returned
The birds,
Both small winged and big winged
Own the sky.
The clouds high as I
In the zone,
falls back in the horizon.
nature's guardians
born with good traits and perform
cleaning and killing
crows real intellects
blessed with face recognition
leave gifts and repay
Crows were croaking in the sky
Rain was going to pour
And the wind was blowing high
Through the bedroom door
So what now? I asked the wind
Nothing, he replied
Nothing what? I faintly grinned
And the clouds cried
Thunder shook my window pane
I turned up my head
Splashes of torrential rain
Flew onto my bed
I kept lying on my back
Watching the skylight
As it changed from grey to black
With the hints of white..
The night rain cooled the following day, making it feel like winter. Climate change continues to wreck the weather, and spring days bloom in winter. Earthworm carcasses rot in drying puddles. Freshly cut grass soaks the air and drowns the lungs. A murder of crows pecks at the bloated insect bodies floating atop the grass. Their joyous caws echo across the overcast sky. The feathers on their swollen bellies gleam from my car's headlights.
"I'll have the 3-piece chicken strip combo with hot sauce, and a medium Cherry Coke." A crow waits below the drive-thru window.
"Here's your order." Medium Cherry Coke crosses the facing windows. "Than—" The crow strikes the brown bag and spills the order on the floor.
"Please pull around to the front, and I'll redo your order." The crow's laughter reaches the front of the building and follows the fast-food server back inside.
Two crows attempted a murder.
Said the one to the other, ‘caw!’
The second one lifted his streamlined head
and replied, ‘nevermore.’
‘You’re ravin’!’ croaked the first -
‘wrong of corvid - different poem.
You may as well be a Tennyson eagle,
living in a pleasure dome.
Get thee to a hemlock tree;
on your black, a dust of snow.
Inspect the crumbs and the farmer’s corn
and speak less than you know.
What corruption has passed your beak
to make you speak as you did before?
It’s absurd for a bird to talk.’
Quoth the second, ‘nevermore.’
Early to bed early to rise
out standing in his field
good farmer Brown never stops
from dawn to dusk
rotating his crops
hoping it will bear a fruitful yield
when he brings the harvest in
tho' full of crows which do most harm
it's enough to make one's head spin
but that's how life goes down on the farm
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
a murder of crows
gathering in the gloaming,
swarming o'er gravestones...
denigrating the deceased?
or a macabre mourning?
scarecrow took his watch seriously
crow said he acted mysteriously
those eyes are creepy, always watching me
It’s his occupation, said the old oak tree
Crow invited his friends to stare scarecrow down
They came from all over, every side of town
Scarecrow felt like a failure, a dupe, a clown
Too much teasing, said oak tree with a big frown.
May He deliver—
chaotic behavior,
shameless, booming
across the courtyard
so everyone hears
the inane spoken one
after another—
proof of a god,
if only they had courage
enough to think that.
How easy it is to rise,
to take control,
only to watch them choose
the same as before—
pissant peasants, asleep,
dreaming still.
Dreams may come,
but waking is the problem.
Start over again—
no love to hold,
destructive thoughts
taking over.
His family—three crows—
watch as he decides:
he goes on.
Violence, therefore,
takes over
in true value
Darkness is purity
She sits upon her throne of woes
Pain in hand to feed the crows
A silhouette against the sky
Her feathered friend is perched so high
She looks at him and he looks back
She sits and waits to interact
These wing-ed beasts Her only friends
She even makes their feathers pens
Life has gone and left her weary
But stay the crows, though oft are leary
full-bodied crows
profoundly near
ebonic wingspan
gliding and diving
in dusky parking lot
what caused them
to stir, so flagrantly
as twilight shoppers
pack in their groceries
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