I have to go
To fight a war
I have to go
But I'll return

There is a sorrow creeping on a lonely soul
Sitting a raven on a statue of Aphrodite
Buzzards and doves
Buzzards and doves

I have to go
A call to arms
I have to go
But I'll return
When all the battles are won

There is a grey cloud with a terrible face
Menacing eyes and scowling jawls
A feeding vulture
A bird of paradise

Buzzards and doves
Buzzards and doves

I have to go
But never leave
I have to go
But you are with me
In all the battles won
In the peace of a soldier marching home
I have to go
But I'll return

Buzzards and doves
Buzzards and doves
And me a crow
Fighting for a soul

the buzzards have found my gut.
hello again, and welcome back.

let's stretch this day out, me & you, together.
I'll ignore that ****** up sensation,
that all my feelings are being eaten away,
if we can grab some coffee,
if I don't run out of cigarettes.

the buzzards have found my gut,
hello again, and welcome back.

we know I spent this weekend hiding,
living on a borrowed pack that's running low,
packing bowls I knew would soon be empty for awhile.
but they couldn't find me, not in that bed.
yet they pace the staircase outside my door, and guard me.

the buzzards have found my gut,
hello again, and welcome back.

so we have lunch, and I smile across my last meal,
pretty sure that I would've preferred the cash,
to spend on something that could spoil my lungs.
but it's the thought that counts, it isn't the end quite yet.
and they wait for the scraps I toss beneath the table.

I wonder how no one ever notices me feeding my demons.
I wonder what each emotion tastes like,
I wonder which ones I'm giving away, 'cause I can't look.
I wonder what's left in my body.

the buzzards have found me hiding.
the buzzards have begun to swarm.
they are coming to give me back my emotion.
they are coming to let me know I'm wrong.

hello again, and welcome back.

I’ve left footprints
in deserts
where no man’s been
in millennia; a thirst
not yet quenched
these dry cracked lips
can still spit out a poem
on old buzzards’
bones, trekking alone
whistling Dixie, my brother
I’ve a few miles yet to go.

Don't fear the buzzards
That pick away at your flesh
Your carcass still encases your very best
Your bones are strong
You belong to the earth
Do not ever rebuke your birth
Never shy from the fire of the hearth
Desire, suffer, you give yourself worth
Don't die
It is all you have to do
To keep the buzzards away from you.

a roadkill feast, this doe that met truck bumper the black night before

now in the Texas sun, talons and beaks make easy work of eyeballs and entrails

the asphalt a convenient griddle, slow cooking dead deer, while the ravenous birds dine

somewhere in the brush, a childless mother, with no incantation to bring her baby back

this creature without words only senses a void--******* no longer gnawed and ******

what mourning for this loss, now attended to by buzzards fast filling their guts

until I come upon them, my own bumper approaching at warp speed

my metal beast to avenge this desecration
with a twist of my wrist, a turn of tires

fast from the red road a flapping of blue-black wings--all but one escapes my wrath

he took too long to take flight, unaware my grill could **** with such impunity

a simple twist of the wrist, a bump, a thump, and one less vulture feeds on the dead

above him, his brethren wait, riding cool currents -- my execution but a brief deterrent to their wake

The fuse is lit and burning fast, it’s almost to the bomb
The bomb goes off it’s WW3, you they wouldn’t embalm
-
You will rot right on the ground. Buzzards eat your ***
Not just only you, humanity in mass
-
If you aren’t killed, three weeks is all you got
From radiation you will glow, you’ll moan and puke a lot
-
So keep your head stuck in the sand, pretend it is not so
When you finally die, to Hell you're going to go

[1] Rev 9:17&18

~

fowl flock to a gathering,
exactly why? no one knows.
an unkindness of ravens,
a ****** of crows;
a siege of blue heron,
gather geese in a horde;
seem to come in their sadness,
but stay for the show.
see swan sail in wedges,
jay scoff in their scold;
assembly, their strength,
nom de plume from of old.

ask me why do they gather?
could it be they’re unhappy?
might we also feel slighted,
a disservice agreed;
if our strength were declared
our insufficiency?
why do finches and
hummingbirds meet in a charm?
penguins, get to huddle,
and in happiness, those larks?

the cranes come in dances,
in company those parrots;
to parliaments owls,
in wisdom who-hoo-ing;
flamingoes to stand,
for an eagle’s convocation?
no, a nye’s not unpleasant,
for a pheasant you see;
and benign is a bevy,
quail flush neath a tree.

but, ’tis a bit scary,
lurking turkey in gangs,
hawk’s shadowy cast;
and warblers in confusion,
with buzzards in wake;
a wisp full of snipe,
whisp’ring, “good night”;
yet glorious are pelicans,
a squadron in flight;

and nothing so stirring, as
a starling’s constellation,
while an asylum’s
assembly for loons,
and a quarrel of sparrows,
are entirely drowned out,
by a drumming of peckers,
the wood kind, that is!

while sticks and stones,
may break all one’s bones;
those labels and words, do
leave a sting and a hurt;
all human, one race,
can unkindness defer,
diffusing by choosing,
our union assert!
but slinging maligning,
and kicking of dirt,
by abusers and losers,
let's leave for the birds!

~

*post script.

numerous fellow poets far more skilled than i, have posted a variety of well-written pieces using fowl flocking terminology. this is intended to be an assembly of the sometimes-silly, often-absurd and mostly-always-humorous assignments of those flocking terms, used in an imagined treatise about the hurtful labels we humans use to judge one another; labels that vilify, rather than unify.  for would not a battle that hasn’t any "winner" be far better fought hand-in-hand, than hand-to-hand?

terms for flocking fowl in order of use
(a few fowl have two flocking terms, and some flocking terms are claimed by two fowls)

an unkindness (ravens)
a ****** (crows)
a siege (herons)
a horde (geese)
a wedge (swans)
a scold (jays)
a charm (hummingbird, finches)
a huddle (penguins)
a happiness (larks)
a dance (cranes)
a company (parrots)
a parliament (owls)
a stand (flamingos)
a convocation (eagles)
a nye (pheasants)
a bevy (quail)
a flush (also quail)
a cast (hawks)
a gang (turkeys)
a wisp (snipes)
a squadron (pelicans)
a confusion (warblers)
a wake (buzzards)
an asylum (loons)
a constellation (starlings)
a quarrel (sparrows)
a drumming (woodpeckers)

oh yes, there are many more.  i'd love to see your favorite(s) left in the comments.
Steve (:

Here, where the lonely hooting owl
Sends forth his midnight moans,
Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl,
Or buzzards pick my bones.
No fellow-man shall learn my fate,
Or where my ashes lie;
Unless by beasts drawn round their bait,
Or by the ravens’ cry.
Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do,
And this the place to do it:
This heart I’ll rush a dagger through,
Though I in hell should rue it!
Hell! What is hell to one like me
Who pleasures never know;
By friends consigned to misery,
By hope deserted too?
To ease me of this power to think,
That through my ***** raves,
I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink,
And wallow in its waves.
Though devils yell, and burning chains
May waken long regret;
Their frightful screams, and piercing pains,
Will help me to forget.
Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night,
To take that fiery berth!
Think not with tales of hell to fright
Me, who am ****’d on earth!
Sweet steel! come forth from our your sheath,
And glist’ning, speak your powers;
Rip up the organs of my breath,
And draw my blood in showers!
I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the ****** dart,
My last—my only friend!

Only a pattern of happenstance
It's all it ever was
It's all we ever want
A linear progression of repetition
And evolution will never explain
Theories we can prove
Faith based on belief
But buzzards and doves are birds  

And the living room is underwater
And there are dinosaurs in every room
And the next logical step
Is for us to invent time travel
It was a random sequence of memories
That grew under the Sun
And grew under the moon
And it is the basis for what will be    

  It was the way that we a perceive
Pre conceived notions
And the money of nations
It's this reality that is more like a dream  
And the eruption was felt in the kitchen
The lava is flowing building islands
Where we can invest in condos
And share time on white sand beaches

Dust filled air and air filled lungs
Desert all around
I walk aimlessly as I am pushed
By walls of words, of sound
Buzzards flying overhead
Ready to swoop down
But here I am
Alive

Sun filled sky and sky filled eyes
Squinting as I look
The heat that beats down on me now
Feeling my skin cook
And words echo in my head
Buzzards over, sand and soot
And here I am
Wandering

Sand under feet and feet trudging sand
Legs longing to give way
Survive, survive, words tell me to
As my body, heavy, sways
And the buzzards tell me to ignore
To give up to the day
Yet still I stand and walk
Alive

I had as lief be embraced by the portier of the hotel
As to get no more from the moonlight
Than your moist hand.

Be the voice of the night and Florida in my ear.
Use dasky words and dusky images.
Darken your speech.

Speak, even, as if I did not hear you speaking,
But spoke for you perfectly in my thoughts,
Conceiving words,

As the night conceives the sea-sound in silence,
And out of the droning sibilants makes
A serenade.

Say, puerile, that the buzzards crouch on the ridge-pole
and sleep with one eye watching the stars fall
Beyond Key West.

Say that the palms are clear in the total blue.
Are clear and are obscure; that it is night;
That the moon shines.

i keep seeing hawks
or maybe it’s really you
swooping down to tell me what’s new
maybe they’re buzzards
and they can tell how i feel
lost without you,
a useless spinning wheel
maybe they’re birds but
maybe they’re planes
and i’m looking for meaning in nothing
in this digital age

*(r.e.)