Wednesday, March 9, 2022

Crows In The Snow


Crows In The Snow
In the cold, in the silenced sun,
the eye reaches out
against the blind blizzard
for the heart of the rose.
In the fall of a dark feather
petals unfold
shed stark on the snow
in a blackness of crows.
Everything glittering
 comes to their eyes
as a clamor that heals;
gold light on the ice,
black feathers for blood ink,
 rosebuds from their beaks--
all dropped at my feet,
these bones in disguise.

March 2022


 posted for earthweal's
Images: Living antlers, artist unknown, via internet     Fair Use
Raven Steals The Sun, © Aaron Purcell     Fair Use


  1. You have caught a season and an ambience in a jar, here. Crows make marvelous metaphors, besides just being absurdly cool by nature just as themselves. They love both carrion and shiny objects; clearly they don't discriminate, just use what they find and move on. Us hoo-mons are cursed with judgement and a sense of consequences--no wonder we never get anywhere "as the crow flies". I expect that's a mixed bag.

  2. Wonderful imagery, roses and crows, the glittering, the gold light and black feathers. Wonderful to read and envision. We have so many crows here - and ravens too - but the crows really make us laugh. Sometimes unwary tourists will leave their grocery bags in the back of their pickups and return to find a crowfest having the best feast ever. LOL.

  3. p.s. So pleased you liked my poem - Pup and Chinook were such amazing creatures - sigh.

    1. Yes, they were dear Sherry. They gave us so much, and we can only be grateful we had them share our lives.Thanks for reading.

  4. Crows are constant companions to my morning walks, croaking and squawking their hymns to blood-food. The heart of the rose in the blackness of crows, that's a lesson for the fraught eye change-blind. Those "bones in disguise" message and quill both. My wife started befriend of murder of 'em with delectible bits of scraps -- such intelligent and magnificent birds -- 'til they started crapping on her car from their perch in the camphor tree. Such a pure blackness, like vultures.

    1. Thanks, B. I'm in the process of befriending a few myself, but mine so far have refrained from decorating any vehicles.

  5. Hauntingly beautiful. Really really beautiful.

  6. Are our words the bones in disguise? The feet? To me, the whole picture including flight, rose, crow and offering make the animal a poem.

  7. This has a wonderful flow to it, and a spellbinding quality: "Peace! The charm's wound up..."

  8. It seems there are more crows around here lately. They are devouring all the bird feeders they can find. I saw one the other day on top of a feeder spilling the seeds all over the ground for the other crows gathered. They certainly are resourceful and intelligent.

  9. I generally greet the neighborhood crows each morning. It's good practice to not expect anything in return. ~


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats

Comment Moderation Has Been Enabled