Freeway Diners
In sombre black from head to toes.
There are few birds as smart as crows
both in the manner of their dress
and in their native cleverness.
They seize each opportunity
to gain advantage easily.
Patrol the motorways at will
and daily dine on fresh roadkill.
The need not struggle to survive
as long as human beings drive.
The crows are wise enough to know
exactly when and where to go
to satisfy their appetites.
They have their choice of tasty bites.
6-Apr-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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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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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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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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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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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The vagabonds
What saw you in your flight to-day,
Crows, awinging your homeward way?
Went you far in carrion quest,
Crows, that worry the sunless west?
Thieves and villains, you shameless things!
Black your record as black your wings.
Tell me, birds of the inky hue,
Plunderous rogues--to-day have you
Seen with mischievous, prying eyes
Lands where earlier suns arise?
Saw you a lazy beck between
Trees that shadow its breast in green,
Teased by obstinate stones that lie
Crossing the current tauntingly?
Fields abloom on the farther side
With purpling clover lying wide--
Saw you there as you circled by,
Vale-environed a cottage lie,
Girt about with emerald bands,
Nestling down in its meadow lands?
Saw you this on your thieving raids?
Speak--you rascally renegades!
Thieved you also away from me
Olden scenes that I long to see?
If, O! crows, you have flown since morn
Over the place where I was born,
Forget will I, how black you were
Since dawn, in feather and character;
Absolve will I, your vagrant band
Ere you enter your slumberland.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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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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Malediction
I am walking in the last rays of the setting sun.
Whistling a hangmans tune with head held high swinging my gun.
I say this little boy is angry, I say this little boy is mad!
This little boy comes to destroy, stone-eyed, cold-faced in swathes of vengeance clad.
And the black cock crows. and a dead wind blows.
In my wake are seven men who tried to steal my soul.
In my belly six wild wolves curse and howl from their foul hole.
I say no earthly will may stop me, I say no earthly will may try.
No earthly will may halt the spill of blood from wounds and tears from craving eyes.
And the black cock crows. and a dead wind blows.
Below me burn the city lights like fires of pearls and jewels.
Im climbling down the city walls, unseen, unfussed - the sentries must be fools.
I say all pleasantries are over, I say all pleasantries are past.
My enemies, you pimps and thieves, prepare to meet your nemesis at last.
And the black cock crows. and the dead wind blows.
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Guava
Behold the beauty of guava tree!
In nature’s garden she is free.
She is the gift of nature;
Born for the worldly creature.
She bears green, yellow, red delicious fruits;
Human beings, parrots, pigeons and bats are her guests.
Fruits are delicate and lovely,
Attract the travellers and birds gaily.
She spreads the brown boughs to the sky,
Above her beautiful black crows fly.
She is the perennial gift of nature,
She contents the hunger of the creature.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Scarecrow
I am a scarecrow.
I watch the clouds
glide across the sky
to and fro
as the winds blow.
Rooks and crows
slide across the sky;
they fear me-
why?
being but paille and chapperal.
My head a bag of straw
Oh, the crows
cry cawcaw,
that's the only
song they seem to know.
My hat is a sunflower.
Seeds of the standing weeds
take their rest
in its nest
and sprout and root and grow.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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How...?
Two crows
Crying
On the tree
Summer hot...!
Crows wanted
For
A cool drinking water....
Help....
Help...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Victory
Victory is ours!
Said one crow to the other,
As they soared in the sky above.
For below them they had spied
Golden corn, that was ripe,
From which, they would have their feast.
Tantalizing ears of gold
Laying out row upon row
Though as a river when the wind blowed.
'And no one is there'!
Exclaimed one crow in the air
'To protect that golden hair'.
So victory is ours!
Exclaimed the crows beginning there dive
Upon the corn, coming into sight.
But then shots rang out,
And two crows fell to the ground
As the corn waived in the wind.
Then walked two farmers to the crows
Who were hidden out of view
To observe the birds which flew.
Then one farmer spoke to the other
About the corn they defended together,
Exclaiming, 'victory is ours, over all others'.
poem by Randy McClave
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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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Counting Crows
Five jet black birds hover
In an ominous flight above head
Whilst I stood amidst the sea of luster
This gilded outgrowth of summer possessed
They spun obliviously, maladroitly,
Entangling and severing lies
And when the sun hides
In the foliage of white pages
Brewing a concoction of lightning,
Thunder, rain, and mistral wind,
The crows would perch in a leafless tree
Forking its branches into the sky
Asking for alms, shearing the charms
Of false hoping and the crows
Beckon the sedentary peril
Lurking like panthers behind the curtain
Of inevitable and malignant fate
Watching and calculating
In ravine and vulpine askance
And every gloaming one crow would fly
To anywhere but in the sea of rye
Hastily in fastidious motions
Its wings would flap and glide
Leaving the horizon,
Leaving an anxious anticipation,
One after another, they flew
Pilfering the lustrous tawny view
And as the number dawns to extinction
I stood still, holding my breath
Up into the small of my neck
Swallowing the clock
As I count crows,
Malinger days,
Sojourn deaths;
A close good bye.
poem by Norman Santos
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Women! (Forget Not!)
women....
too long too often
held down, beat down,
treated like second class,
no class, throw aways...
no voice, no choice,
emotional garbage....
mankind should bow
it's head in shame....
beauty, intelligence,
heart reasoning....
human beings with will,
equal in every way,
human beings with rights....
man! forget not
from where you came!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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