Tossing and turning all night
recently had the strangest dreams
recalling them in broad daylight
don’t know what they mean
wrecked by a stacked deck
of bottom-dealt cards
I was under the gun
attacked by a pack of hungry wolves
had me on the run
lost in the woods and couldn't see
the forest for all the trees
mocked by a flock of tar-black crows
had me on my knees
and tho' the Gods may be crazy
staring out from on high
they do look after their own it's true
for drunkards children and fools such as I
May we be blessed to understand what native nations understood
How it’s okay for all of us to be different…
as long as all of us are good…
That if everyone is good…
then everyone will know…
It is not necessary for a crow to be an eagle
or an eagle to be a crow.
murder of crows
was this decided before or after Poe’s poem?
Wait
That was a raven
larger than a crow
more fierce
but still ugly
with an annoying caw
I understand where murder might enter into it
Sitting on a long deck
At a trailer
In South Georgia
Wind in the Pine Trees
Reading Nathaniel Hawthorne
My stomach is empty
except for
this longing and guilt
A murder of Crows
loudly soar through
Creasing the boughs of the Pines
It is only
Them and I
And
Love that I left
Love that I lost
A hollow serenity settles in
I pull at the Scarlet Letter
Blazing on my chest
Hester exposed
As the Sun sets
A Possum skirts the front yard
Unnoticing me
He is my Kinfolk
An eater of ticks
An old world scavenger
Deceiving the world
Playing dead
Yet
I cannot
The blood on my hands
isn't mine
Is it a gaggle of geese
as the sky turns red
or skein of ducks
flying overhead instead
into the wild blue yonder
and as the crow flies
it's not a murder
nor a tidings of magpies
there's more than one
(for sorrow)
the question I did surely ponder
as they flew into the setting sun
with sparrows I have no quarrel
and yet with the wisdom of owls
for this hunter with his gun
it's like shooting fish in a barrel
Lost in the Woods Hiku 28
lost in the woods at night
harsh croaks of crows on site~
knells of bells off-site.
weird whines of ravens
smitten with dreadful fright~
seeking fastest flight.
Raccoons are in the ceiling having a whale of a time
They raided the kitchen and stole molasses and thyme
We cannot get up there, it is an enormous climb
If they were glitzy-loving crows, we could coax them down with a dime.
Tho' not with a dagger in the library
nor candlestick in the conservatory
someone done the dirty deed
and yet of bodies none were found
perhaps the evidence had been concealed
interred deep down underground
so no one's doing time
it was eventually revealed
for the heinous crime
of thuggery and skullduggery
terrible as it may be
where the skeletons are buried
only the gravedigger knows
and after all allegedly it was purportedly
merely a murder of crows
"If I were meant to soar up there with you,"
said the creepy caterpillar to the colourful butterfly,
fluttering by overhead,
"and not stay crawling earthbound here instead,
I would have been born with wings,
and it will be over my body when dead,
akin to a murder of crows,
before you'll get me up
in one of those
funny-looking flying things."
The reason the rooster will crow,
Is not just to offily show.
The sun hits its beak,
Which it thinks unique,
And proudly lets all the world know.
as I jog down Lakeshore drive
I drank hot chocolate as a swan took a dive
the water so cold, as old men played chess
the ferris wheel spins, blowing off hats
and up the rich lady's dress
Lakeshore dr you see all for me
the white horses, pulling the carriage
I'm not home I don't miss my marriage
the butlers two maids swing the wellington kid
another kid waits for he haven't even slid
the light house shines my eyes follows
the breeze deep into pine trees
the crows perch away from the city
and that's what we call hospitality...
Written by Yolanda Nicholsen
May 14th 2004 Fort Myers Florida
My Sons Graduation day.
In memory of the homeless men playing chess on Lakeshore drive Chicago.
Cloaked in a fitting grey suit and bow tie,
She floats like paper kites across meadows.
From a hollow in a tree, her eyes pry~
Her loud hoot startles nearby sleeping crows.
The spectral owl, with her faint, surprised look,
Watches as the crows flee into the dark.
Then silence reigns, curbed only by a brook,
And chirps of birds in the dark forest park.
Within calm meadows nestled in the hills,
The great grey owl sights frogs, snakes, and mudfish.
She floats on broad wings, drawn by hunger’s thrills~
A feast just enough to grant her one wish.
As dusk gives way to the coming sunlight,
To a hidden branch, she flew for a nap~
To await the call of another night,
And avoid the birder’s photograph trap.
crows caw,
cloaking catacombs~
beneath cataclysmic clouds.
“Better is a tree as a home for eagles
than as a perch for crows.”
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