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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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
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Raven Crows
The Raven Crows
by Charles Robert Hice on Thursday, November 22,2012 at 9: 27pm ·
The Raven Crows
The Raven stretches its wings and flies into the gray winter skies while the raven flies it Crows its rawkish voice makes aweful noise
it blows the wind it howls and sounds like a mechanical noise inside the wind
the noise pretends to be the raven as it crows it flies it crows and flies it dives down into the wind and sounds like a noise falling fast and then it sort of dies and falls away not the sound it echoes and it blows
in the middle of the night no one can see the ravens flight but they hear the voice the noise the sound even the wings they flap they glide silent and they hide
The raven seldom crows when it is in its glide it falls and hides no one can see the feathers as it plummets from the sky it moves in a silent fashion
as the raven glides it hides from the eyes of the men it has a sense of reality and a purpose as it glides it looks neither to the left or to the right finally it is satisfied with its destination in its sight the raven crows one final time and plummets like a stone into the night and suddenly a poem is come to earth as Poe hears his famous bird not the crow the rook or the blackbird as it sings but the Raven as it speaks to only him
Nevermore
The Raven Crows
poem by Charles Hice
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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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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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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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Ending [Final]
The memories invade my brain
As crows in poplars build their nest,
While clouds go by and come again,
Like smoke, above the lake and plain,
And never rest.
It's gone the autumn with its shine
Of faded green an vivid gold,
With purple grapes, which look so fine,
And now the park, my soul divine,
Are bare and cold.
The frozen lake will be resigned
When the last leaf falls to the ground
And wind through branches gently blows,
So that you know you left behind
A field of snow, which makes no sound,
And wailing crows.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Two Crows (Fun Poem)
Two crows spied a piece of bread
Both landed beside it on the ground
They started to squabble over it
As neither wanted to share
While they squabbled about it
A passing squirrel spied it to
As the crows continued to squabble
The squirrel nicked it
Then made a hasty retreat.
The crows stopped squabbling
And decided the bread to share
But when they looked upon the ground
The bread was nowhere there
The moral of this story
Yes, there is one indeed
If you want to squabble
About food somewhere
Make sure there isn’t
A squirrel lurking there
poem by David Harris
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The Common Crow
The Common Crow, "Caw-Caw"—with its familiar sound
Is a harmless bird very adaptable on land
Almost all over the world it is invariably found
Except in South America, Antarctica and New Zealand.
It is of average size—in color—grey and black
And abounds, teems and thrives in many numbers
Where other birds' survival is considerably slack
As it is the most intelligent of its bird family members.
The Ravens, Magpies, Rooks, the Black-birds
And the Jays—all belong to the family of the crow
They are all hunting migratory birds
Who forage together like the crow.
It has shining black feathers, is clever and curious
It is omnivorous and the diet is very diverse
It eats grains, rodents, insects and is mischievous
And swoops down to grasp things from man's source.
It roosts in large trees high up
Each mating pair has its own nest
Which usually takes one to two weeks to build up
Gathering leaves, feathers, sticks and twigs best.
Baby crows stay in the nest
For up to two months before leaving
The mother crow guards them with zest
And the father crow feeds the family striving.
The young are flesh-colored and born blind
Their eyes open for the first time after five days
The young ones- the family together mind
The elder fledglings tend to help in their own ways.
In Hinduism it is customary to offer food
To the crow before taking the meal
And it is supposed during ‘Shraddha ‘expired ones would
Take food and offerings through the crow's feel.
The crow often lives together in large families
An assembly of crows called a ‘flock of murder'
Forge together and defend their territories
Even high up in the air and down under.
It caws and calls the other crows to its station
To take part of the food that is found
It shows signs of planning communication
Which man must consider and himself bound.
The bird's propensity to raid crops of grain bead
And storing tidbits in trees and crevices in bark
Is the reason ‘Scare crows' are put up to mislead
The crows flock of flights on the crops to embark.
Many crows are surprisingly monogamous
They mate for life and are throughout a pair
The crow belongs to the species Corvus
And up to twenty years it may live with care.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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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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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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When a dove begins to fly with crows, its feathers remain white but its heart grows black.
When a dove begins to associate with crows its feathers remain white but its heart grows black.
Hunger, The Pang
Our mother earth gives
For one good grain sown
Hundreds of fresh grains
For our food in return.
How many sweet fruits
For a life time she gives
For one seed she takes
As one tree it grows?
Any animal on the land
Or any bird on the air
For its morrow's food
Does it take all the care?
For the food on the ground
How a crow makes a sound
Of 'caw' to call crows around
Just to share what it found?
When big cooked rice balls
An elephant in its mouth takes
A part of it on the floor spills
That feeds hundreds of ants.
But when a have on this earth
For his self, the food he hoards,
Doesn't the have-not's mouth
Go unfed for days countless?
The food in a pompous feast
A junk of it goes as rubbish.
If this goes to the poor atleast
Will that not fulfill God's wish?
The worst pain in the world
Is what the hunger gives
But this can be solved
If all follow the crows.
poem by Rajaram Ramachandran
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Upon the Wall
The first picture is an old black and white of a young couple just started out their life. If you look close you can see all the hope in their eyes.
Next to that hangs a color picture of the same couple a few years older and a baby has been added to the picture, what joy upon their faces.
Now, the next picture is about seven years after that the couples hair has turned slightly grey and the child has grown, but their look of joy has turned to worry I wonder what problem has arose.
Now the next one is the once young child standing proudly in an arm forces' uniform ready to serve his nation.
Then there's the next picture it is a coffin with a flag draped upon it, and the old couple now standing and crying beside it.
I can only imagine that their child now lies in that coffin.
The final picture is similar to first except instead of black and white this has color, and instead of hope the old couple eyes are filled with despair from the harshness of life, and all they have left is the pictures upon the wall.
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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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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Do You Know Anything About Crows?
crows steal eggs from another nest,
plop them on the ground and then feed,
it's pretty basic what they do,
they take from others what they need.
many an egg has been dropped in these times,
and I'm not talking about nickels and dimes,
so many nest eggs ripped from those trying to save,
the market place, an infantile grave.
who are these crows that steal?
what real estate of theirs is real?
computerized theft is such a sight,
when crows operate in broad day light.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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Cutest Couples
The moon has come
The youngest couple
Was the boyfriend young brother
And the girlfriend young sister
The two couples
Were kiss under
Moon light
Around a lake
The night was
Still very young
The couple went
The eat dinner
After they eat
They went to
See a movie
A romantic one
Later they went
A romantic walk
Through the park
After the guy
Took their lady
Home to rest
After the girl
Go inside but
They inside the guy
Kiss them and said goodbye
poem by Stephanie Pardo
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