Short Jackdaw Poems

Jackdaw of poems 
Oh look shiny new words, mine
stolen words and thoughts...

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Raven-- Jackdaw or Rook,

Adaptable and Intelligent Crook!

Very Black or Black with Gray,

Every Caw-- An Ill-Omen, some say.

Never More: Poe-- such a grave day!...

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Which flying bird shall I choose to be?
Would Bird of Paradise suit me?
Owl, falcon or hawk might be fun.
Bohemian waxwing is on the run.
Trumpeter Hornbill or Military Macaw?
King vulture or Jackdaw?
Flamingo with her peachy color?
I can’t decide. I’ll ask my mother....

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On Lindisfarne, they say, 
St Cuthbert took a hooded crow, 
A jackdaw and a jay, 
And on their strident tongues bestowed

The gift of harmony.
No more did ugly croaks and caws
Dispute above the sea, 
Or trouble those sequestered shores.

They sang all day, those three; 
And as they drew their corvine kin, 
The devil wept to see
His shrinking nursery of sin....

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Will the sky topple inward
or the hills heap upwards
it I do not make these symbols
upon a snow-white field?

Will a poet turn to stone
before my eyes
or will a jackdaw caw
pointlessly into a gale?

And now the thin thread
thickens
becomes a full gutted snake 
laying across a dusty road

or is it a rope
knotted and curling
as obtuse as any 
imponderable script?...

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My hat has a gardenia that refuses to behave.
She throws a fit that would make a Neanderthal cave.
I asked what she needed, what helps, what does she crave?
She said she always wanted a close straight razor shave.

But wouldn’t that hurt you as you are made of straw?
She gave me a look that made my heart blanch and turn raw.
A gardenia and yet, she is as abusive as a rabid jackdaw.
I wish my hat had instead a dead rooster’s lifeless claw....

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