A LITTLE MURDER
Eight crows sorted themselves
from the background and settled
on the wires and naked branches
to sing a November song,
CAW!
Abrupt,
like this chill gust of wind
mustered from behind the hill.
My hand reaches for my collar.
CAW!
A leaf skirls sideways down the lawn
to snag on a nameless bush.
CAW! CAW!
The little murder has imposed on my moment
here when I was thinking of other things:
bread milk, impending winter...
This inconvenient trip to town
interrupted by my fascination for these
harbingers dressed in black who look down,
waiting,
waiting.
CAW!
They watch me decide to play their game.
the sentinel in the top of that isolate
persimmon rattles his feathers,
adjusts his stance,
disinterested as I should be
in my quiet evening
now focused on things
beyond the plans I’ve made.
CAW!
A lift of wings,
a fumbling for keys,
gravel crunches on my way to the car,
the door chunks heavy in the silence.
I sit, safe for a moment and
pull into the night.
Copyright
Vol Lindsey
2002
There was an old man who piped a war Do to unfair ban skirls voices of no more Take the war pipes if you can I’ll lilt with gob until they stand Just before the mob is hyped the victor
In the dead of night veils uplift on Mid Summer's Eve,
still a time for a few live sacrifices, so tread warily.
A time when briefly the gates of hell can open
and unworldly things spew forth intent on evil.
Mid Summer Night dreams can come to pass
most oft to those who's hearts are true and pure.
A night of extremes, of evil versus good, and
of the fires of covens and black magic.
A night where Pan himself comes forth
playing his Pipes with gleeful skirls.
Tempting and enticing the unwary souls
with false promises and exciting dreams.
Goddesses of Light dance around in circles
their task to push back the evils of hell
to allow departed lovers to hold their beloved
for a fleeting moment to love once more.
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