December Morning
The sun came up above the skeletal dark grey trees this morning
whilst the grey mist clung fiercely to the ground,
its rays tried to encompass the heavy coatings of dew,
which the dark hours had purposely left behind.
There was no wind to disturb the stillness and silence,
but then a crow quietly descended onto the grass.
It hopped about pecking between the rich green blades,
drinking the dew as it searched for its breakfast.
A mongrel dog ran at great speed towards the crow,
which took off effortlessly into the sky.
It cawed and crowed to complain in the way crows’ do,
whilst the dog sat and wondered why.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Chord of Colour
My Lady clad herself in grey,
That caught and clung about her throat;
Then all the long grey winter day
On me a living splendour smote;
And why grey palmers holy are,
And why grey minsters great in story,
And grey skies ring the morning star,
And grey hairs are a crown of glory.
My Lady clad herself in green,
Like meadows where the wind-waves pass;
Then round my spirit spread, I ween,
A splendour of forgotten grass.
Then all that dropped of stem or sod,
Hoarded as emeralds might be,
I bowed to every bush, and trod
Amid the live grass fearfully.
My Lady clad herself in blue,
Then on me, like the seer long gone,
The likeness of a sapphire grew,
The throne of him that sat thereon.
Then knew I why the Fashioner
Splashed reckless blue on sky and sea;
And ere 'twas good enough for her,
He tried it on Eternity.
Beneath the gnarled old Knowledge-tree
Sat, like an owl, the evil sage:
'The World's a bubble,' solemnly
He read, and turned a second page.
'A bubble, then, old crow,' I cried,
'God keep you in your weary wit!
'A bubble--have you ever spied
'The colours I have seen on it?'
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Crow and The Butterfly
Ever wonder why the Crow chases the Butterfly?
Have you ever heard the Crow let out it's cry?
I think I found out why...
It's quite the interesting story, I had to pry..
The Butterfly's beauty, the Crow's will never match.
The Crow's life is nothing compared the the Butterfly's since it's first hatch.
If you are good enough to get a Butterfly, that is quite a catch.
Get a Crow somehow and it gets thrown right back out to the patch.
The Crow has had it so much easier than the Butterfly.
Straight jealousy from the Crow because they have to share the sky.
The Butterfly's flight is reason to stare, the Crow's just reason to cry.
Everyone stops to get a glance of a Buttflies, a few Crows and people pass by.
So if you ever hear a Crow cry,
Or see a Butterfly being chased by a Crow,
Just think how bad that Crow wants to be a Butterfly.....
poem by Joe Gosart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grey, Grey Sky
Someday I will ride the great bird
Into the sky, into the grey
And will take a bright secret of mine
Into the grey, grey sky.
And the light will come, piercing my eyes
Out of the sky, out of the grey
Come blinding and searing these eyes
Out of the grey, grey sky.
And I will find comfort in this
In the wide sky, in the wide grey
In the painful dark brightness of light
Light of the grey, grey sky.
My secret will fly away home
Into the sky, into the grey
And the great bird will follow it there
Into the grey, grey sky.
And I will be riding that bird
Bird of the sky, bird of the grey
And I will come home once again
Home to the grey, grey sky.
But for now I am weighted, earthbound
One of the mud, one of the ground
And I write this sad song to sad sound
Girl of the pavement sighs.
poem by Grace Hutton
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From A Diary
8th June:
wind lashes
an oak
in the
foreground
of dark grey
clouds
an old crow
labours against
the gusts
winter like-
except
for the warmth
of a crazy wind
poem by Liam ó Comáin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The 4th of July
I walked out to see the world on the Forth of July
A sleek black bird with bright, round, yellow eyes
Marched outside my front window
Clearly, not a Crow; Crows hop in an aggressive, impressive way
This smaller beauty, maybe a Brewers Blackbird,
Marched with head up and chest out as if to a tune
Over a hill, near the road
A Robin searched the newly cut hay for his breakfast
Trees moved gently in the breeze
The pond waters did not stir
Except when a damsel fly swooped low
No tractors or mowers noised the air
Motorcycles and trucks rested this holiday morning
The early quiet now broken by a raucous Crow
Calling from a tree down by the creek
Answered quickly by another up in the woods
In the first hours of this day
A rocket launched six months ago
On target, on time
Penetrated a comet to examine its dust
Explore how our universe began
I walked out to see on the Forth of July
July 4,2005
poem by Marjorie DeBol DeFazio
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Crow song
Crow singing...
Crow singing...
Every budy did not lision...
Crow was singing...
Ka ak a kka kk ka aa...
Song was not ugly...
But...
Crow voice was
Ugly...
So...
Crow singing...
Non stoped...
Crow did not singing for
not for you and me...
only at crows...
So...
Crows singing....
With ugly voice loudeley...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Sad Sad Sorrow
The crow sits there
Atop a willow branch
Singing the sad sad song
Of sorrow
Warning you
The end is near
You dismiss the thought
And cover your ears
From the retched cawing
Of the crow
It follows you
Where ever you go
It's a burden
On your shoulder's low
You try to understand
What the crow means
You're sitting on your bed
And you hear
A distant tapping
On your window
The crow
You see it crying
Tears of a dark angel
You jump back
Startled
And try to catch your breath
You go to the window
But the crow's gone
And you begin to feel
All alone
You look down
And see one of its feathers
With its dark magic
And mystic wonder
You roll it over
Between your fingertips
And hear it singing
The song
Of sad sad sorrow
You piece together the puzzle
Tears of an angel
Feathers of dark magic
And the sad sad sorrow song
It's the end
The end is near
The day the crow left
So did you
And now all you hear
Is the song of
Sad sad sorrow
Tierra Bradley
poem by Tierra Bradley
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Two Old Crows
Two old crows sat on a fence rail.
Two old crows sat on a fence rail,
Thinking of effect and cause,
Of weeds and flowers,
And nature's laws.
One of them muttered, one of them stuttered,
One of them stuttered, one of them muttered.
Each of them thought far more than he uttered.
One crow asked the other crow a riddle.
One crow asked the other crow a riddle:
The muttering crow
Asked the stuttering crow,
"Why does a bee have a sword to his fiddle?
Why does a bee have a sword to his fiddle?"
"Bee-cause," said the other crow,
"Bee-cause,
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause."
Just then a bee flew close to their rail: --
"Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZZ."
And those two black crows
Turned pale,
And away those crows did sail.
Why?
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause.
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause.
"Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZZ."
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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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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The Caw, Caw
On your dais of a mango twig
You tune your pitch gently swaying
Even before the sanguine sun trig
Seen on the horizon rising
Your caw caresses me through the window
Like that of the mango breeze
Hazily finding over there a dark halo
I sit up, a little laze
'Good morning crow'
' Caw caw' you beak a hello
8o'clock, a rice-ball at the window sill
Our first guest you're full
There, grand-son querying in haste
'sanaishwar rides this crow? '
Your then caw caw do I translate
'Greatest great grand-pa alone' says this crow
Stone-fixed ever with his Lord'...O crow!
True or false, all your myths..?
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Grey
Grey road stretched through grey rain.
Grey rain fell though grey mist.
Grey mist enveloped all,
all the eye could see,
all the land,
all the sky
and me.
Grey covered all,
all the way down to the sea.
Glimpsed through grey the swell of the ocean,
riding the waves a wind surfer surfing,
chopping, fighting the crests with swift motion
skirting the spray, sail unfurling.
Stopping, I stared at that sight in the mist,
oh how he came dancing over the sea,
right through the rain a state of sheer bliss,
the wondrous frolic rippling throughout me
making me tingle right down deep inside.
That misty image ripped all grey apart
a glorious vision of freedom untied,
returning tremendous joy to my heart
filling me up, bringing tears to my eyes,
emerging from grey a great love of life.
poem by Diana Rosser
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The ravens of Ecclesbourne
The dark shadow of a large corvus
A mere crow,
No'a bird far larger far more supreme,
The harbinger of doom so they say
As if cast from some dark dream.
The raven'
Mystical bird of days of yore,
Glides over me to find a resting place on the cliff
Just beyond the rugged shore.
The silence only broken by their occasional deep croak
A voice far deeper than of any crow that I have heard before.
Like some dark spirit
Free from the confines of the historical tower,
Their dark shadows only eclipsed
By the black clouds of a passing shower.
I stand and watch in fascination
Of their arial acrobatics high above,
Their dark shadows cross and re cross
As if dancing in mutual love.
The stately raven
A bird of legend and steeped in folk law,
Casts a shadow over the grey winter cliffs
A place where the raven reigns supreme and free forever more.
poem by Gordon Butchers
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Goodbye Mr Crow
This morning I saw Mr Crow lying on the ground,
he was as dead as dead could be.
Yesterday he was hopping about eating worms,
and now the worms will be eating he.
Mrs Crow was looking down from a branch
of an enormous chestnut tree.
Yesterday she was by the side of Mr Crow,
she knew something was wrong with he.
She then flew down to the side of Mr Crow
and tried to wake him anxiously,
but rigor mortis had taken place,
which left her squawking frantically.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Nostalgic Memories!
A crow built a nest on our tree
taking up the sticks from the broom
and laid its golden egg and sat over it often.
No loitering of rats, cats, squirrels there!
The crow would caw to call out its kin
and roust the menacing creatures away.
A fledgling hatched out, and crowed a hoarse cry.
When its chick went near the edge of the nest,
The crow would draw it in with its beak.
If the rains poured, it would cuddle its chick.
A flock of crows cried, “ caw, caw, caw, caw! ”
and urged the young one to flight off.
My Goodness! I see it again near the nest daily morn.
Nostalgic memories bring the birds too back home.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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[Month of] June
Rise up, and do begin the day's adorning;
The Summer dark is but the dawn of day.
The last of sunset fades into the morning,
The morning calls you from the dark away.
The holy mist, the white mist of the morning,
Was wreathing upward on my lonely way.
The way was waiting for your own adorning
That should complete the broad adorned day.
Rise up, and do begin the day's adorning;
The little eastern clouds are dapple grey:
There will be wind among the leaves to-day;
It is the very promise of the morning.
Lux Tua Via Mea: your light's my way -
Then do rise up and make it perfect day.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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The Great Grey Water
Now two have met, now two have met,
Who may not meet again—
Two grains of sand, two blades of grass,
Two threads within the skein—
Beside the Great Grey Water.
Two hands to touch, two hearts to touch;
And, here forgathered, we
Will not forget, may not forget,
Where last forgathered three—
Beyond the Great Grey Water.
Two glasses filled, two pipes to fill—
‘To all our fortunes, brother!’
And as they clink—like so—we drink
Fair passage to the other
Across the Great Grey Water.
For three have sailed, and one has sailed,
His sins, like ours, still on him,
God sleep his soul! five oceans roll
Their long weight all upon him.
O God! thy Great Grey Water!
But I am still, and you are still,
And here our chance has flung us;
True comrades we, but…there were three
And one is not among us
Beside the Great Grey Water.
A breathing space, a biding place,
Soft lights and beakers beaded,
Then out again and on again,
Unminded and unheeded,
Across the Great Grey Water.
Now two have met where three have met
With curses or with laughter;
And so our Day shall pass away,
And so our Night come after—
But, ah! the Great Grey Water
poem by Edwin James Brady
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Old Jim Crow
Ron vander groef, jackie alper, nina simone
Old jim crow
Where you been baby
Down mississippi and back again
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over now
Old jim crow
Whats wrong with you
It aint your name
Its the things you do
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over now
Old jim crow
Youve been around too long
Gotta work the devil
til your dead and gone
Old jim crow
Yes, dont you know
Its all over now
Its all over now
Old jim crow
You know its true
When you hurt my brother
You hurt me too
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over now
Old jim crow
I thought I had you beat
Now I see you walkin
And talkin up and down my street
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over now
Old jim crow
Youve been around too long
Gotta work the devil
til your dead and gone
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over
All over
Oh lord, its all over
All over
Its all over
Its all over
Its all over now.
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grim Seasons
The sea shore is the gods lap
Where the timeless meet,
The grey ditch by the hedgerow
Is my heart’s slow beat,
The dark sky and the crow’s cry
And the gulls, slow wheeling,
Are sleep’s shroud in a gold cloud
On my eyes, drawn stealing.’
She turned, splintering crystal
In the dawn’s brisk chill,
The sharp scatter of silence
By the rook’s slow trill;
‘I left you for the grey day,
For the cliff’s grim seasons,
For the crisp breath, or a life’s quest
Of my own small reasons.’
‘The long shade of the sundial
For a day’s lost thought,
The moon, beamed in a cold room
Where a shadow’s caught.
I took flight for the still night
And the earth’s slow turning,
For the green hills and the clear rills
And the dream you’re torn in.’
21 February 1978
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Crows Words
Crow and
Crow...
On the tree...
Speak one crow
With another crow
'Kaa kaa kaaaa'
Another crow
Also...
'Kaa kaa kaaaa'
Speaking
This is crow words
You i did not
Understand ok...O...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Edgar Allens Crow
All outside is white as snow,
except for Edgar Allen's crow.
Quietly and so serene,
till Edgar Allen's crow does scream.
Waking me from peaceful dreams,
to hatred in the night.
Now I know all Edgar Allen's,
madness in his write.
Stalkingly he walks the window,
pecking on the vane.
Now I know why Edgar Allen,
wrote of things insane.
Tis not a raven in my head,
that drives me to these words.
But this blackened beast which will not cease,
hes such a noisy bird.
I scream and shoo but he don't move,
seems fear he does not know.
Hes not a the raven that I think,
hes Edgar Allen's Crow.
poem by Ken Bennight
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