Friday, June 24, 2022

Crow Call

 
 

 
 
Crow Call
(a 55)
 
We always wear black
the crows and I,
call our skies
with a half-born crack,
shadow nests where our treasures lie,
 eat skeleton suppers with glass-star eyes.
 
Never look back.
Never look back
 
at bones we've picked
bleaching dry,
at red we've beaked
with black tails high,
dead in the darkwood
with summer's sigh.





June 2022
 
 
 
 












posted for dVerse Poet's Pub

















Images: Satellite 2014 ©Bryan Holland, via internet, Fair Use
Antlers, author unknown, via internet, Fair Use

 

16 comments:

  1. How wonderfully atmospheric! I have a fledgling rook whose been visiting my windowsill, tapping and calling to me recently :-)

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    1. Thanks Ingrid. How cool about the rook. I have several crows that come daily to fight the squirrels for peanuts.

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  3. I love the flow and sound of this so much! I really love crows. I especially like to watch them at a nearby park by the river.

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    1. Thank you. They're fun to watch, and they're smart.

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  4. My crows come and go, yet I feel they are always watching. Their presence lingers, and they do call the skies--the perfect description.

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    1. Thanks, K. I wake to that caw every morning, and it sings of life.

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  5. This feels so gothic and I am cherishing the feeling what lingers in the shadows: it is akin to comfort and hope. So beautiful from start to finish. I have my own set of birds outside and they like depositing on the mailbox, so I'm not their biggest fan hahaha. I doubt they are crows, though, I don't want to give them that much credit lol.

    Anyway, don't mind me and my ramblings. I enjoyed reading your work, and I love how you flipped the view of crows as something positive amongst the gothic imagery; a presence to enjoy and welcome. Love it!

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    1. Of course I don't mind hearing your ramblings. I'm glad the poem said something to spark your thoughts. Thanks.

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  6. Crows are strange kin but so is poetry these days, eating its worser truths in better darkness. A smart, feral darkness, feasting then gone. "Half-born crack" is exactly how crows sound to me, chasing poems beyond my ken as a walk. (We also see them frequently in our yard, eating up the cat food I throw out from unfinished bowls.) This poem seems more like truer north to "Green Summer Country," embracing "shadow nests where our treasures lie," there to "eat skeleton suppers with glass-star eyes." Up the poetry totem we having singing whale & fish & cat & bird, each a tribe with their own singing suit. Crow poetry rules the craw, eats & doesn't look back, which is a stellar attitude for writing poems. And produces 110 comments (heat index yesterday and how long I've gone on here) for 55s. "Dead in the darkwood / with summer's sigh." Amen.

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    1. Thanks,B. The words are so elusive these days, I am happy to scrounge up even 55 of them, tho oddly when they are found, they seem more nourishing than in days when they descended as easy as rain, even if I can never sing for my tribe as eloquently as crows do. Or the whales of the endless wave. They are my doorway to that web that crackles and connects under the skin, part of a world we need to notice. It's supposed to be a hard 101 here today, but the black brotherhood is out there raiding the peanuts as long as the coolish morning lasts. Thanks again for taking the time to read these 55's and their more verbose brethren. Without poetry what have we got?

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  7. I liked reading this thinking it was a corvid's voice, especially the middle stanza. ok, maybe a parrot-corvid, but close enough. Galen would have loved this, as do I - "the red we've beaked" - such a visceral image.

    cool and overcast on the coast today; last week early on it was sweltering and tornado-ey in Chicago on my work trip. it made me wonder, what do birds do when the tornadoes come? i guess, wait for it to end, and then feast on the remains.

    thanks for stopping my my pad. like you, I find words are sparse. your return offering outshines my ramblings (as ever), so I hope the muse deigns to visit you more often and allows us to delve into the worlds you illuminate. ~

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    1. Thanks, M. I was trying to think how long it's been since Galen introduced me to this form. A decade or so perhaps. It's still sometimes the only form that gets me to write. I envy you the cool clouds. You can always bring me to that beach of the mind with your words, Michael, and I'm grateful. Afa birds and tornados, I doubt they mix well, for the birds anyway. But that is one of their many secrets, how they ride the storm.

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  8. "eat skeleton suppers with glass-star eyes." Your language is as always inventive and original. A spare economic poem that exudes "crownness" or should I say, "corvidity"..JIM

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    1. Thanks, Jim. Appreciate you taking the time to read and share your thoughts.

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  9. Can't beat "eat skeleton suppers with glass-star eyes."

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