Eagles commonly fly alone. They are crows, daws, and starlings that flock together.
quote by John Webster
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The crows, he said,
would roost each night in the middle one
of the three tall trees at my garden's end,
every night the flock of crows,
every night the middle tree,
except the once,
just the once,
the only night they did not come,
the very night a German bomb
hung-up, dropped late, and hit the tree.
The crows, he said,
were back next night in the left-hand tree,
where crows have roosted sixty years,
every night the flock of crows,
every night the left-hand tree,
except tonight,
except tonight,
the only night they have not come:
awake, I watch that moonlit tree,
the gap where something used to be,
awake, I wonder -
poem by Wild Bill Balding
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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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It is not necessary for eagles to be crows.
quote by Sitting Bull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Each man is good in His sight. It is not necessary for eagles to be crows.
quote by Sitting Bull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eagles don't flock - you have to find them one at a time.
quote by H. Ross Perot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eagles don't flock, you have to find them one at a time.
quote by Ross Perot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Three Starlings
I've seen three starlings in the sun-set
And the cold wind blows all over,
Three starlings flown from the Russian Front
Til the cold wind blow blows over.
Til the cold war wind blows over all
In the cold of the cold war warring,
Three starlings sit in the English mist
With the English Channel calling.
16 March 1974
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Somebody Has To
Somebody has to go polish the stars,
They're looking a little bit dull.
Somebody has to go polish the stars,
For the eagles and starlings and gulls
Have all been complaining they're tarnished and worn,
They say they want new ones we cannot afford.
So please get your rags
And your polishing jars,
Somebody has to go polish the stars.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Where Do the Crows Go
I see and hear less Crows in Spring.
Where do the Crows go?
While the Morning Doves chirp,
And the Bluebirds sing.
At dawn I use to hear the Crows...
From the rooftops and fences,
Do that 'crowing' thing.
And now that Spring has arrived,
I do not see a Crow around.
Where do the Crows go?
That's what I want to know!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Living So Close
I think these people must be mad
In row after row and en bloc;
Living so closely together
As starlings, in one seething flock.
I hear that noisy Lab' next door
And the other, next door but one;
If things were up to me, I know
That both would soon be gone.
These people must be crazy
Putting up with all that din;
If push should come to shove
I wonder just which one would win?
How do they sleep in their beds at night?
Their heads must be all of a fog;
Living so close to the enemy, but,
What do I know - I'm only a dog!
poem by John Carter Brown
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Crows for Konstantin
Crows.
The noise of conflict dies away.
Those left alive will now depart.
Only the dead allowed to stay,
they have no further part to play.
The warring sides in full retreat
The crows tonight dine on fresh meat.
Though neither side claims victory.
The crows will feast quite happily.
Since man first slew another man.
It seems to be Dame Natures plan.
The crows will feast on the remains
The scavengers alone will gain.
While warring sides must count the cost
of fighting men that they have lost.
Perhaps one day we’ll realise
In war there are no victories.
Bar for the crows who do not fight
but satisfy their appetite.
On those who do who in their view
Choose to fight. they don’t need to.
Although in death they feed the crows.
I don’t suppose the crows oppose.
The idea that men come to blows.
Nor do they care I must suppose.
The only winners are the crows
who feast until they’re comatose.
On what is left of those who chose
to risk their lives exchanging blows.
Sunday,09 May 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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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Malcontents
Eight feathery class Aves (starlings)
Encompass a mud puddle
Between a cornfield and highway
Each taking turns splashing around
While the others stand vigilant
For any imminent danger
From above or from the traffic
Jam my wife and I were caught
Amidst, while impatient drivers
Vented their frustrations by blowing
Their different, raucous sounding horns
at no one in particular.
I looked at the feathery flock
and said, we should be as content.
What was that dear? She inquired.
Nothing dear, just thinking out loud.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Crows
THEN, suddenly, I was aware indeed
Of what he said, and was revolving it:
How, in the night, crows often take to wing,
Rising from off the tree-tops in Drumbarr,
And flying on: I pictured what he told.
The crows that shake the night-damp off their wings
Upon the stones out yonder in the fields,
The first live things that we see in the mornings;
The crows that march across the fields, that sit
Upon the ash-trees' branches, that fly home
And crowd the elm-tops over in Drumbarr;
The crows we look on at all hours of light,
Growing, and full, and going these black beings have
Another lifetime!
Crows flying in the dark
Blackness in darkness flying; beings unseen
Except by eyes that are like to their own
Trespassers' eyes!
And you, old man, with eyes so quick and sharp,
Who've told me of the crows, my fosterer;
And you, old woman, upon whose lap I've lain
When I was taken from my mother's lap;
And you, young girl, with looks that have come down
From forefathers, my kin ye have another life
I've glimpsed it, I becoming trespasser-
Blackness in darkness flying like the crows!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Futility
The scarecrow dressed in cast off clothes.
Sticks grimly to his given task
But does he frighten off the crows,
that is the question we must ask.
When he is new perhaps he will
but crows are wise and realise.
This ragged figure stands stock still
and will not take them by surprise.
He cannot move, inanimate.
Which leaves then free to eat their fill.
A guardian quite inadequate.
He does not and he never will.
Frighten the crows who are too wise
to be afraid of straw stuffed clothes
Though he appears in manly guise
he can’t deter the hungry crows.
The scarecrow fails in his attempt.
He never really stood a chance
Crows treat him with amused contempt
and disregard his vigilance.
5-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Eagles
The eagles can never know
The secret of the volcanoes
When they seemingly fly carried
By the sliding winds
Over cupped peaks of mountains
With the fire of their anger inside
Smoldering in the carcass of history
The eagles doesn't understand why
The green still suckles the spring's teats
And why the scream can be an echo
And the echo can be a scream.
But the eagles can hear
The cubic rocks which roll for rolling out
Their song
And the brooklet ripples which fall
With murmuring sound
And the eagles can see
The winding forest path
Which is apparently suspended
Like hanging wall thoughts
On the slope fringe
In a rock bizarre climbing story.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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The last two years with the Eagles were pretty intense times. There was a lot of drinking and we were all getting high a lot. My parents were relieved when I got off the Eagles treadmill.
quote by Glenn Frey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Starlings
Early in spring time, on raw and windy mornings,
Beneath the freezing house-eaves I heard the starlings sing-
'Ah dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily?
Sad, sad, to think that the year is but begun.'
Late in the autumn, on still and cloudless evenings,
Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing-
'Ah that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting merrily;
Sad, sad, to think that the year is all but done.'
poem by Charles Kingsley
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Lone Wild Goose
Alone, the wild goose refuses food and drink,
his calls searching for the flock.
Who feels compassion for that single shadow
vanishing in a thousand distant clouds?
You watch, even as it flies from sight,
its plaintive calls cutting through you.
The noisy crows ignore it:
the bickering, squabbling multitudes.