Long Crow Poems
Long Crow Poems. Below are the most popular long Crow by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crow poems by poem length and keyword.
Is there a difference
In January
Between a crow
And his shadow?
Lurching in flight, so slow
And low
Threading
The snow-glued birch trees
That stand,
Wound in wind
Like barber shop poles,
The crow’s
Shadow
Glancing
The pearly floor
Below
As oily-black
As his own feathers
Ruffled upon his back,
Married
Like a yoyo
To the unusual sun
Strung
To the Earth,
Landing
Upon himself,
Claw
To neck
As if he was his own prey
Cheek to cheek
In black dance,
Uniting
Like a charred spoon
Scooped
Into the cream of the snow
In search of berries
Buried
At the bottom of the bowl
Then
Up
The crow
Separates
Again
Skating above and upon
The glimmering winter forest floor,
The real bird,
His beak,
Stained red from is juicy feast.
Of Farmers Faces
David J Walker
Traces of every hour
spent in the sun
tracked in the faces of
every farmer
I’ve ever known that
devour the granted days of life
Including the strife in the faces
Of my Father
Born a farmer
And my Mother
From another farm nearby
The crops in the field
Yield children
And chickens and roosters that try to
Crow every morning a warning
Concerning the coming sun
The traces of every year
Are carved in the crevasse
Covered faces of
Every farmer that
I have ever known
New Yam
Death brings life
New, tender and green
Earth brown, immaculate white
The priest heralds her coming
The town crier drums it
The farmer dances to the market
It's time to celebrate
Let loose the masquerades
Celestial visitors from yonder
Let the melody of the odó
Echo the birth of the new yam
Like the birth of a newborn
The drums are rolled out
The market is flooded
With news of its coming
The homestead salivates
The streets jubilate
Vegetables will bleed today
The fattened cock will crow no more
The slumber of the pestle is over
For what is in the yam that the knife doesn't know
The noise of pounding
Will keep the neighbours awake
Iyán funfun báláwú is on the menu today
From: Echoes from the Savannah © Makinde Adebayo Adeniyi, 2024
What is Red and what is Black ?
and where is the Pink ?
Kettle clicks towards vacant
coffee jar, social laddering
futile ~ Red revelling in
Illusion he cannot comprehend
It shall be tea…
then pineal opens for
Sananda’s whispers
He died because of mobbing
they followed Crows of first degrees ...Love
uncharted
He visited Guatama in his golden
grove, bodhi trees beckoning ...Love missioned
Cold fog clearing with Avalon images
spine asks to curl once more
knitting collagen cables with
spirit frequencies : Black Silence
solitude transmutes into white clot
damp kitchen slip-slops anticipate
so Red climbs a social ladder
revels in mimetic behaviours ... Love kindergarten
I sit Black towards Pink
Father prays then rosary memorises
Mother hibernates into King Tut’s tomb
will pumpkin seeds shoot dreaming
her dreams, copying ever copying
neighbour opens sighing, desiring
corduroy curtains watchful, copying
Should she collect her
state pension today ?
Poverty remains in the Unconscious
mimicking patterns
dissolve the matrixed mind !
Slowly Love rises (...)
Mahasatipatthana sutta filters into
claustrum cells ~ Pink growing
middle ground flowing —
I ask about winter flipping to spring
in a yin-yang swing to remove
Black garb so hard
to bleak peak an infant bud ...Love rises
Voracious winter’s cacophony
cape starlings, turtle doves, pigeons
conductor Black Crow, on wet corrugated
stage, beak battling for bun crumbs
earth wrapped worms ……Love instinctive
Droplets of night-rain decorate
fairy tightrope washing line
phone battery recharges dead dots
a memory too full of autumn
leaves crackle
Valentine missing winter’s breath
he is Red rising
I am Black silent ——
walking towards Pink ... Love intuitive
The Crown whispers, ‘winter is only a prudence of waiting ~~Black, Red and Pink is One
the Red shall flow like your
warm blood…as mine did…
the Black holding roots
Pink is the Core’
A dude, I replied, ‘ Keep warm’,
a trickle down my cheek
________________________
[HONORABLE MENTION WINNER
ALLPOETRY CONTEST : April 26 :
Inspired by : The Red and the Black by
Henri Beyle Stendhal ]
You’re a hollow tree, listening
to the tapping claws of am exposed sky.
You sit sideways staring over your shoulder.
A rib cage full of naked troglodytes
looks up into your throat.
Wintery seas leak over ice-bound rooftops.
Bedsheets stiffen into ersatz snowdrifts.
You find yourself observing the world
through the top of your head.
You find yourself observing recoiling raw endings,
the pale blue veins upon buffeted window.
Roads might be passable. Wind-whales plow through,
pushing insomnia ahead of them.
The cold is a color yet to be decoded,
but you breathe through it, see its fractured tinge.
You count crow-calls, shiver when they stop.
The passage between you and the chill floor
is umbilical, you may have to bear down.
You skirt around yourself,
letting your mind thaw under parked cars.
SPRING NOTES
I don’t ask for the meaning of the song of a bird
or the rising of the sun on a misty morning.
There they are, and they are beautiful.
Pete Hamill
Spring
((tanager)) ((cardinal))
notes, each branch.
((robin)) ((bluebird)) ((bunting))
Tiers of colorful confetti.
((oriole)) ((grosbeak)) ((chickadee)) ((kiskadee))
~ Virtuous Winter covered in blue ~
((goldfinch)) ((kinglet)) ((sunbird)) ((crow)) ((thrush))
~ Snow angels spread their wings in hatch ~
((dove)) ((nightingale)) ((lark)) ((swallow))
Choir all the rave, dispatched, after long retreat.
((warbler)) ((wren)) ((meadowlark)) ((sparrow))
Greenery at its peak, beaks held high, majestic conductor.
((grossbeak)) ((tit)) ((jay)) ((kingfisher)) ((bullfinch))
Sweet songs of longing, life, death, in the warmth of the sun.
2/17/2021
SPRING BIRDS
Sponsor: Constance La France
Vow of ashes, please burn
all the shadow alive,
Remember the giraffe was blind,
Cold silent story...
no journalist was around for its
but rumours still goes around
Yes during that's night before the ocean
becomes the graveyard,
Many colours were promising
Just like the story
Of exile.just remember
some truth doesn't bleed
Because the curse water forgive no one
Yes the beauty you see was once
a reminder of what left
But to be honest,
Many believe that it's just a myths
because we all know the story in different forms
Yes stolen immediately just after birth
Just remember
our Hearts are meant to be a
home of love
But to survive ones must pay their sins
with death, because a blood debt must be
Repaid with blood
A man came here to speak today,
students did not like him at all,
egged of by professors, quite enraged,
with no decency at all.
They claim we should ‘hear all sides,’
but when this man dared to speak,
they rioted and the police arrived
to end their fit of pique.
How delightfully tyrannical.
A man knelt down in quiet prayer
outside, during his break from work.
A coworker cried,”Can’t do that there!”
and proceeded to go berserk.
Yet when Khalil did the same,
facing east to find Mecca,
coworker said,”Respect their culture!
You have too, it’s the law!”
How delightfully tyrannical.
A boy applied to university,
his scores were of highest rank.
but his skin was too pale, you see,
and the admissions team, it stank.
It dropped him for a darker hue,
so it could claim it was ‘diverse.’
the poor boy was completely screwed
by academics quite perverse.
How delightfully tyrannical.
A businessman forgot to check
a small box on his tax returns.
Little then did he suspect
that this would get him burned.
Others, he knew, had been let go
for making such a small mistake,
but he did not have ‘correct’ politics,
and down came the weaponized state.
How delightfully tyrannical.
A newsman made Reifenstahl proud
when he targeted a small café,
who’s owner had said out loud
that his faith wasn’t keen on gays.
So that ‘objective’ media man
spread this guy’s private views around.
Protestors beat him till he couldn’t stand,
then left him lying on the ground.
How delightfully tyrannical.
They all come with smiles, big and broad,
they say ‘history is on our side,’
but if you do anything but applaud
they’ll crow that you should die.
Try to explain freedom to them,
they’ll proclaim you’re a fascist fool.
Try to explain individuality
and they’ll declare you racists too.
How delightfully tyrannical.
Sic semper tyrannis…
This time, I’m sheltered in my rain
Someday, I’ll numb away all of your pain
If you can just understand where I stand today
If only you’d understand my painful dismay
If I don’t heal this time,
I’d be far from fine…
If I don’t steal away your sorrow,
There will be… no tomorrow
No tomorrow is like a flight of a swallow,
Getting attacked by the darksome crow
I’m far from the shelter of the sunshine
Your pain is mine, your rain is divine
But we’re not a kind to submit to the devil’s work today
We’re angels from on high and tomorrow is a day away
Remember when I told you to use your brain
Let all of the doubt and worries go down the drain
If you can just listen to the sounds of my echoes of empathy,
You’d find out how to shed grief and soak up relief to set you free
If I don’t heal this time,
I’d be far from fine…
If I don’t steal away your sorrow,
There will be… no tomorrow
No tomorrow is like a flight of a swallow,
Getting attacked by the darksome crow
I’m far from the shelter of the sunshine
Your pain is mine, your rain is divine
But we’re not a kind to submit to the devil’s work today
We’re angels from on high and tomorrow is a day away
If I don’t heal this time,
I’d be far from fine…
If I don’t steal away your sorrow,
There will be… no tomorrow
No tomorrow is like a flight of a swallow,
Getting attacked by the darksome crow
I’m far from the shelter of the sunshine
Your pain is mine, your rain is divine
But we’re not a kind to submit to the devil’s work today
We’re angels from on high and tomorrow is a day away
Tomorrow will be another day
Tomorrow is a day away…away…
I pray away the pain,
Sheltered in your rain
Someday, we’ll be together, despite the weather
It would be so much better like a bird with his feather
This time, I’m sheltered in my rain
Someday, I’ll chase away your brain train, going insane
So what I kept some stuff
A few small keepsakes, merely fluff
They make such noise, so much dumb fuss
Their indignation careening like a bus.
Now they think I'll spill the beans
Use my powers by any means
I can clearly hear their screams
Trying to figure out my schemes.
All hot air like a balloon
Their pouting makes me want to swoon
The media bellows noon to noon
More newsworthy than the landing on the moon.
But oh what fun when dear old Joe
Was caught with files of which he didn't know
Or so he claimed to hear the crow
Of countless minders rushing to and fro.
And now comes Pence my dear old friend
Whose pious indignation never seems to bend
So let me just this little message send
He who laughs first laughs loudest in the end.