When a dove begins to associate with crows its feathers remain white but its heart grows black.
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When a dove begins to fly with crows, its feathers remain white but its heart grows black.
Black raven, White dove
When it's black,
Like the raven,
The well is full, but full of what?
My sun is shining in a half pale burst,
With toxic, red hot guilt
And as if in stark contrast,
The white dove just hits home-
And its what I've always wanted alive,
But then when I give some brainpower,
I decide that maybe it could be dead-
And it took the black to show it.
But then the black of the raven,
So beautifully stunning,
I look at her and all I see,
Is the storm in her eyes,
And the dove
Should be crying
For it doesn't know
That my white heart is dying
Replaced by the black of the right
"Home is where the heart is"
Then my home's firmly with the white,
It's where I've lived,
For six months past,
And I feel like I belong
I feel like I am home there
But then I see,
Cupid's stupid decree-
With one black wing and one white,
But which is wrong?
Which right?
But is the dove ever going to surrender?
Wave its' flag and give in to the raven?
Cause the raven's a-pecking,
And so far she's winning,
And with a fight,
And a laboratory,
The boy of white has slim chance of winning.
Cause now that it's out,
I'm secretly devout,
So secretly, darkly obsessed,
With the black of the girl,
And the light blue of the raven's eye,
But then its' always been white,
The dove the keeper of my heart,
Cause I found the dove lost,
With clips in his wings,
And I tried to set him free
I showed all that he belonged to me
And he's the one who set me free,
My first and ever pet,
The first one I've wanted to be with-
Forever.
And the dove's innocent eyes,
And repeated cries,
Made me overlook the fact he can't fly,
But I'm not going to feed him,
All of his food,
He needs to live on his own too so he won't die
But could the raven ever be-
Just with me?
Even if the raven is more beautiful,
How does she know,
And how do I?
That she won't kill me,
That we won't die.
So used to the dove,
The raven's so new,
And there's so much evidence of some grey hue-
An ever-waging war,
Of black and white,
An ever-waging war,
Of wrong and right,
The dove or the raven,
Only you can decide,
The dove or the raven,
The tone that is inside.
poem by Ally Gunther
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The Feather Of Yuri
if a dove leaves a feather
white,
pure,
it does not just tell you that
it was once here
it tells you also of another thing
that there is a good reason
for keeping
something like a memory
the sweet one
it does not tell you
to discard pain
but to remember everything
and learn
like you i am not a dove
does not speak the language of doves
does not have feathers
to leave for some people i love
to remember
but i have some pieces of me
some memories
some pieces of my mind and they are not feathers
though they may
like feathers be
light, soft, pure, and beautiful
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A dove and crows
A Park
A dove came to sit
near to a lonely man.
He stops watching the lake
and talks to it
I cannot hear
what he says
But as he seem
to loose his smile,
the dove is chased away
by.. crows..
Moves next to a bench,
Where a young couple
have a small feast
Of course the dove
Gets to be fed few crumbs
But crows come there too!
Like at a signal
Ground is filled with lots of crows now
And more to come! !
Young couple interrupt their eating
Bento goes back inside the bags
they stand ready to run away..
But crows insist! Starts yelling:
One by one, taking turns:
-Craaawwww! ! ! ! Craaaawwww! ! Not fair! !
-Craaaww craaaw only two crumbs..-Pleaaase! !
-What's the criterion
of your food to share?
-The color of my feathers?
-What color I shall dye them, pink! ? !
-The sound of my voice?
-Should I be mute, you think?
-Size? ! ?
-Teach me! How can I shrink? !
-Is it my fault?
-That I'm not cute
-I can't enchant..
-Why? am I so unpleasant?
And then, in chorus:
-Why? ? ! ! ? ?
Being smart..
does not count?
Without a word, couple gone
to answer questions they did not mind
But.. By leaving in such a hurry
not noticed was, the onighiri left behind..
*Bento=Japanese fancy lunch box
*onighiri= rice ball
poem by Elena Sandu
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White Skin Black Heart
Yeah, whatcha gonna do now, now that you started?
Whatcha gonna do now, now that its done?
The words got out there, they float around and are coming right back down.
You gonna leave us lying here
Dealing with the consequences of a bad sound
Of a bad sound.
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
Whatcha gonna do now, that its spoken?
These words of a habit, have not faded away.
.................... it clear, conscious gets opened like a wound.
If you cant concieve a better line and better times,
Then let silence bury you, in the end.
When you feel it, when you feel it
Youre condemned.
You see, youve lost your strangle on the freedom road! you
Think ........................of something a long time ago! you
[spewed it out you were so] insecure! it was like ............. on
The toilet floor! youre a [nine seat] drunk, ............... and
You say you want something, .......... you heard the rednecks
Roaring for blood and then they wanted more! life was so small, you
Couldnt get enough. you made a start.
White skin black heart
Dripping,
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
Drag your eyes from [aurora] black heart!
White skin black heart
Drag your leg, get outta here [my sight]!
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
You didnt have to start
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Dreamt...
i dreamt...
i was dead,
and they'd buried me
on a hill with
a small stone marker.
and i watched
as seasons passed,
one by one,
in constant rhythm...
the years went by.
and no living being
ever visited my graveside,
except for black crows...
again and again,
black crows!
the caw of the crows!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Watching The Crows
A bushman got lost in a scrub in the North,
And all the long morning the searchers went forth.
They swore at the rain that had washed out the tracks
And left not a trace for the eyes of the blacks;
But, trusting the signs that the blackfellow knows,
A quiet old darkey stood watching the crows.
The solemn old blackman stood silently by;
He stood like a statue, his face to the sky.
Black Billy was out of the bearings—we thought—
If he looked above for the bushman we sought;
For we rather suspected the spirit would go
In—well, quite another direction, you know.
Most bushmen on solemn occasions will joke,
And unto Black Bill ’twas the super who spoke.
He asked, as he cocked his red nose in the air—
“You think it old Harrison sit down up there?”
“I’m watching the crows. Where the white man lies dead
The crows will fly over,” the blackfellow said.
The blackfellow died, and long years have gone round
Since the day when old Harrison’s body was found;
But still do I see, in my vision at night,
A faint figure come like a shadow in sight,
And nearer and nearer it comes till it grows
Like the form of that blackfellow—“watching the crows”.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Wings Of A Dove
When troubles surround us, when evils come
The body grows weak
The spirit grows numb
When these things beset us, God doesnt forget us
He sends us his love
Chorus:
On the wings of a snow-white dove
He sends his pure sweet love
A sign from above
On the wings of a dove
When jesus went down through the river that day
Well, he was baptised in the usual way
And when it was done
God blessed his son
He sent him his love
On the wings of a dove
Repeat chorus twice
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Noon time- Sunday
we sit on a television cable
hanging vertically
down the roof of a four floor
apartment building,
she, me and the male house sparrow
with whites around the eyes.
from there we watch the stray dog
eating the left-over chapathi
fed by an old greed fed up with food,
three crows wait
for the mongrel to finish
his portion of the meal,
all of them are dressed in adequacy,
the furry dog,
crows in black tatters,
the male sparrow softness of whose feathers
wring my envy drip,
we are sort of naked,
that we even smell each other,
sliding by the old wire
dotted here and there
by drops of lime
spilled during the last white wash.
it's perilous to perch in this fashion,
we hope to move in to our pen
when the sparrow gets his sweet-heart back,
and do what we are good at doing
anytime in the day.
Saranyan BV © October 2011
poem by Saranyan Bee
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Incantation
A white well
In a black cave;
A bright shell
In a dark wave.
A white rose
Black brambles hood;
Smooth bright snows
In a dark wood.
A flung white glove
In a dark fight;
A white dove
On a wild black night.
A white door
In a dark lane;
A bright core
To bitter black pain.
A white hand
Waved from dark walls;
In a burnt black land
Bright waterfalls.
A bright spark
Where black ashes are;
In the smothering dark
One white star.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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White sparrow
white sparrow you see me standing
you could kill me without landing
your wing is just as long as a man
you are as cold as a snowy day
you have come here from heaven
you must of as you fight my devil's
your feathers turn slowly black with my sin
and yet you stay beautiful as always
my sin is like a ciggerate it will turn you black inside
but you cannot die as you are one in your own
you came from heaven so your holy arent you
god sent you for me so you must do what you must do
my heart was never red nor white but black
i was born with my sin and also that of my kin
but white sparrow you have taken that from me
and now you are dying you turned black whilst i change to white
oh my lord what a sight it must be to see
a boy like me clean of all carrying a bird of sin
i am carrying you white sparrow your heart is no longer cold
and your body no longer white nor wings large
but white sparrow you will not die, no you will not
for you white sparrow you came from heaven for me
when i picked my child's name people laughed you did not
you looked at my child in his cot and nodded now you cant
for white sparrow you dont belong with me not anymore
your must leave for heaven and recover to help others
so farewell white sparrow il missy you my saviour
now go to that sin filled woman and help her
for white sparrow i will look for you as you continue
for white sparrow i will see you in heaven....goodbye
poem by Daniel Laurence
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As the Crows Gathered
As the Crows Gathered
By: Adam M. Snow
Surrounded by bodies of murder
the flocking and squawk arose.
Score of many rows on girder
feast of death drew the crows.
One to carry souls of many;
one onto life beyond life.
Yet was not the foe-of any-
to leave this world of strife.
The crows they flock,
they flock, they squawk;
flapping their wings tremendously.
They caw, they pecked,
they grew many in score
groups gathered more and more.
Blackened the sky with their endless flutter;
'But what of this? ' I utter.
'My days are long now being nighted.
The crows around have united.'
Feathers falling, covering the ground with black;
everywhere I look, it covers every crack.
The thought of death surrounds us all
before the crows, life will fall.
The ominous bank of crows like a cloud,
covers the world like an endless shroud.
Leaving I, overwhelm with fear
it is death lurking near.
The crows they gathered all in vast;
all is dark than a shadow cast.
They prey the lost and many more,
time has come for death to bore.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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The Dove of Dacca
The freed dove flew to the Rajah's tower—
Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings—
And the thorns have covered the city of Gaur.
Dove—dove—oh, homing dove!
Little white traitor, with woe on thy wings!
The Rajah of Dacca rode under the wall;
He set in his bosom a dove of flight—
`If she return, be sure that I fall."
Dove—dove—oh, homing dove!
Pressed to his heart in the thick of the fight.
"Fire the palace, the fort, and the keep—
Leave to the foeman no spoil at all.
In the flame of the palace lie down and sleep
If the dove—if the dove—if the homing dove
Come, and alone, to the palace wall."
The Kings of the North they were scattered abroad—
The Rajah of Dacca he slew them all.
Hot from slaughter he stooped at the ford,
And the dove—the dove—oh, the homing dove!
She thought of her cote on the palace-wall.
She opened her wings and she flew away—
Fluttered away beyond recall;
She came to the palace at break of day.
Dove—dove—oh, homing dove,
Flying so fast for a kingdom's fall!
The Queens of Dacca they slept in flame—
Slept in the flame of the palace old—
To save their honour from Moslem shame.
And the dove—the dove—oh, the homing dove,
She cooed to her young where the smoke-cloud rolled!
The Rajah of Dacca rode far and fleet,
Followed as fast as a horse could fly,
He came and the palace was black at his feet;
And the dove—the dove—the homing dove,
Circled alone in the stainless sky.
So the dove flew to the Rajah's tower—
Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings;
So the thorns covered the city of Gaur,
And Dacca was lost for a white dove's wings.
Dove—dove—oh, homing dove,
Dacca is lost from the Roll of the Kings!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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A Distant Kind Of Love
A dove calls her mate in the moon
But a sea wind calls, go not to soon...
For the night is young in circles new
The waves are rolling deep and blue.
So' it is for you; the world was made
To lift your feathers above the wave!
So dip your wing tips in salt rock air
Brave a poles ivory stair; if you dare!
For it's here your true loves heart lies
Anchored beneath the lustrous skies
Wave over wave- wing on wing!
The dove white creature clung, curing...
Until the sun in past shadows flame
Up and blessed the birds dead name
For the night is young in circles new
The waves are rolling deep and blue.
Wave over wave- wing on wing!
That dove white creature sort to cling...
Curing... deeper and deeper
Rolling... deeper and deeper
The little dove flew
To the heart of the moon,
To that part of the moon,
That could be you...
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Black men, White men
should i be led to believe
that the white men's heart
is soft as cotton? and when
touched, is torched, bursts into flame
to settle comfortably in black,
a trail of humble lesson for the soul
should i be led to believe
that a black man's heart is
full of courage? charging like a bull
through America black or white
settling for nothing in between?
should i be led to believe that
black and white work the
theory of ying and yang
ever balancing to rev up the world?
rice would even grow in bush
black hair turns eventually into
a crown of white wisdom
and blackboards light up
knowledge in white chalk
white shines at its best in black
and where else but a piece of white
where black could make its clearest stamp
of its stand - left or right, right or wrong
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Not all blacks
Diamonds are black,
hairs are black,
eyes are also black,
but heart too black?
Bear no grudge,
colours matter less,
does mother throw her child?
if kid is black,
Colour may not remain and vanish,
body may still last but perish,
idea may remain and also cherish,
hatred may remain and us finish,
Body may change from time to time,
The color may fade with passage of time,
nature may not change even with time,
do our feelings change with time?
'Thy' may not appreciate,
human beings should not differentiate,
race, colour and abuse should not substantiate,
where will you seek refuge if atmosphere vitiate?
Let colour not dominate,
race should not subordinate,
let all come together and co-ordinate,
make use of all and not denigrate,
My God was black,
still was loved by many,
Poor are still not hated
even have no money,
I may say it loud,
May feel even proud,
Does that ring so sound?
Let love for all be found,
Let there prevail nationalism,
take credit with idealism,
rationale thinking and some rationalism,
”Ism” all over but term it patriotism,
Sentiments not hurt by calling black,
no wars be fought even stabbed from back,
always carry the ideas in your pack,
remain alert even if you draw a flake,
when out from mother’s womb or mines,
diamond or child will have no shine,
if go by sayings black will not to be liked
with shine in diamond, price will be hiked,
Neither the Black represent dark,
not the dark as word black,
Black may have kind heart,
white may have black,
So say not black is bad,
With black son don’t feel sad,
You will feel good with word dad,
without black or white you will go mad
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Teardrop
Liz fraser
(love)love is a verb
Love is a doing word
Feathers on my breath
Gentle impulsion
Shakes me makes me lighter
Feathers on my breath
Teardrop on the fire
Feathers on my breath
In the night of matter
Black flowers blossom
Feathers on my breath
Black flowers blossom
Feathers on my breath
Teardrop on the fire
Feathers on my breath
Water is my eye
Most faithful my love
Feathers on my breath
Teardrop on the fire of a confession
Feathers on my breath
Most faithful my love
Feathers on my breath
Teardrop on the fire
Feathers on my breath
Stumbling a little (x2)
song performed by by Massive Attack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What for? If only the goat can tell.
O! The silly goat could have been a dove
White and meek
Soundless in the journey to air
Dove to another dove
Satisfied from among its likes
The horns could have been feathers
In a bird’s body
Another completing dove could have waited
Only if the silly goat knew
The transfiguration of its feet to claw
Its whiskers to beak
The goat’s life would have been complete
And fulfilled
But this the silly goat will never know
& learn and untie
& solve the crazy knot
That it has never untangled
Never has he learned from all the ages
Of his grass life
The seeds that the dove peck
And keep on its throat down to its guts
Its tummy
The goat stays
In the open field
Preoccupied with grass
And grass alone
Abiding by the rules of his master
Imprisoned in its cage
To the rules of their games
Suffering
But never understands the same
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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White Raven
White Raven's eyes erased,
This there life of meaning,
Flying through him was his name by nature
Where there might be a Raven be?
Flying through him where the Raven He...
Thought mind over matter, matter over time
He only knew there is no life of meaning.
Of meaning over life.
And he so wished that he were black.
In this that so place where there were feathers.
White feathers longing to turn black.
poem by Rebecca Stansfield
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Quit My Gardens, O Crows!
quit my gardens, o crows!
&
o noisy quarrelsome crows!
quit my gardens-
o birds of all feathers!
of different melodies!
of lonely bushes and thickets!
of far-away lands!
come here! visit me!
grace my gardens and groves!
nay, all yours, your heavens!
no, ours!
sing singly; sing in chorus!
melt in sorrowful strains;
and in joyous tunes!
but o hoarse-throated crows!
vacate my gardens
and retreat to the forest!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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