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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Related quotes
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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It may be the cock that crows, but it is the hen that lays the eggs.
quote by Margaret Thatcher
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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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 chicken that crows the loudest does not always give the biggest eggs.
Nickels And Dimes And Love
Remember when pocket change was all we had
And all those calls from the corner phonebooth
Collect to Mom and Dad
And that old worn out couch we called our bed
When our cuisine was pork and beans
Baloney and day old bread
Remember that damn old car that kept breaking down
And all the times it left me stranded
Thumbing all over town
And that old weekly paycheck
Just never stretched enough
Back in the times of nickels and dimes and love
Together we sure made some dreams come true
Sometimes it wasn't easy
But somehow we made it through
And when I get to thinking times are tough
I remember the times
Of nickels and dimes and love
Oh those good old times
Of nickels and dimes and love
Remember digging through your old purses in hopes we'd get
Enough change for an RC cola or a pack of cigarettes
Now we've got almost everything
That we were dreaming of
Back in the times
Of nickels and dimes and love
Together we sure made some dreams come true
Sometimes it wasn't easy
But somehow we made it through
And when I get to thinking times are tough
I remember the times
Of nickels and dimes and love
Oh those good old times
Of nickels and dimes and love
Do you remember those times
Of nickels and dimes and love
song performed by by John Michael Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nickels & Dimes & Love
(johnny macrae/steve clark)
Remember when pocket change was all we had
And all those calls from the corner phonebooth
Collect to mom and dad
And that old worn out couch we called our bed
When our cuisine was pork and beans
Baloney and day old bread
Remember that damn old car that kept breaking down
And all the times it left me stranded
Thumbing all over town
And that old weekly paycheck
Just never stretched enough
Back in the times of nickels and dimes and love
Together we sure made some dreams come true
Sometimes it wasnt easy
But somehow we made it through
And when I get to thinking times are tough
I remember the times
Of nickels and dimes and love
Oh those good old times
Of nickels and dimes and love
Remember digging through your old purses in hopes wed get
Enough change for an rc cola or a pack of cigarettes
Now weve got almost everything
That we were dreaming of
Back in the times
Of nickels and dimes and love
Together we sure made some dreams come true
Sometimes it wasnt easy
But somehow we made it through
And when I get to thinking times are tough
I remember the times
Of nickels and dimes and love
Oh those good old times
Of nickels and dimes and love
Do you remember those times
Of nickels and dimes and love
song performed by by John Michael Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Quail's Nest
I wandered out one rainy day
And heard a bird with merry joys
Cry 'wet my foot' for half the way;
I stood and wondered at the noise,
When from my foot a bird did flee--
The rain flew bouncing from her breast
I wondered what the bird could be,
And almost trampled on her nest.
The nest was full of eggs and round--
I met a shepherd in the vales,
And stood to tell him what I found.
He knew and said it was a quail's,
For he himself the nest had found,
Among the wheat and on the green,
When going on his daily round,
With eggs as many as fifteen.
Among the stranger birds they feed,
Their summer flight is short and low;
There's very few know where they breed,
And scarcely any where they go.
poem by John Clare
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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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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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