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Joshua S Bailey Aug 2016
Oh dove how are you so bright,
when I the Crow so dark?
We both are,
but bird's lost in flight.
But I fear the Strawman's bark.

You, a target of gluttony, lust, and greed,
Pure of heart but long for that addictive seed.
And I, the blackened crow am shot by scorn
You are the rose by which my heart is thorned.

And you my blackened crow,
Your lie so simple
Why can't you be?
We are the same, but different.
Your ignorance and blindness set you free.
I too fear, but spiritual pestilence.
You are bound by the hands of ghosts,
shaded in death, you show bliss
In your sorrow day by and tomorrow,
you'll wait: a bird on a post.
Devin Ortiz Aug 2016
Born into a world
With an unfinished song
Each morning she caws
Singing her dismal tune
Syncing into my anatomy
A new verse for the unsung
I praise her dark wonder
For she is a wise sage
Teaching me the music of life
Preparing for the silence of death.
Ronjoy Brahma Aug 2016
नै दाउखा- दारोजाबसै दुखुनि मेथाइ
गोदान आलायारननि सोरांआव,
बिफांनि दालाइयाव बानानै
दा रोजाबसै गा गा होन्नानै।
जेबो गैया हावरिया आङो
नोँनो बेदर दरसे हरनो,
नै दाउखा थांदो बहाबा
नागिरना आदार उदै सुफुंदो।
दिनै गोदान फुंनि सोरांआव सानदुं सायदोँ आं
साननि सोरां रोदाजोँ- मुलुगखौ खेबसे दावबायनो सान्दोँ
उनजोँ दागाबज्रिसै आंनि हान्थिनायाव।
नै दाउखा- दारोजाबसै दुखुनि मेथाइ
खबाम गोनां आंनि दावबायनायाव,
नै दाउखा थांदो बहाबा
नागिरना आदार उदै सुफुंदो।
Richard j Heby Jul 2016
Emptiness&horniness;&hungrinessAll;
feel the sssaame, slithrin’ like a snake baked’n fish oil
some callit desiree but I’m thinkin like I toil
hard to the soil. Y’know I need a fence era wall
to keep all them whatsabits outta here. Don’t stall
they’re coming tonight. We’ll put on the fight&boi;;
some pasta & F like we oughta *•••••”’ recoil’s
the worst part about having some FunwittaGun
You think she cares bout bein in there Wait – a crow’s call
Yall be quiet now, now now, now for You my one
I’ll eat you myself, then get welth&helt;;&MON-;
-EEEEEY – again with the crow, I’onno know wher its from,
maybe he smells ya, or ya babies, baby, beast time to
Feast and face the East or West or ******* You!
Spenser Bennett Jul 2016
Lost Boy, Lost Boy
What did you lose
Lost Boy, Lost Boy
What did you choose

Where do you go
When there's no place for home
Where do you go
When there's no more hope

Lost Boy, Lost Boy
What did you know
Lost Boy, Lost Boy
What did you crow

Where did you roam
When you did plan
To never come home
From Never Never Land
His army perched above in trees,
Watching the front become a feast,
Who wins, care not, in the least?

"The cawing clan of Koronos..."

The thousands black they view the fight,
Staying late for supper -feeding at night...
Picking tender morsels in illumed moon-light,

"Swarthy minions of King Koronos!"

Corvid follow Man wherever he may go,
Feathery tomes of knowledge their treasure trove,
The messengers in the House of Jove...

"His static barbizon Aves; Koronos!"

There are many kings who come and go,
Becoming part and parcel in a wicked show,
But none of them will ever match the Crow...

"Engrosser of the dead; Koronos!"
Koronos is a king from the pseudo-historical Hercules accounts by Appollodorus and Pausanias. His name means, "Crow," in Greek. With the title this piece contains 96 words and two types of verse; rhyming verse and verse. Adding the metered count by line number you get 6, 7, 7, 8, and 20 or 48 times two types of verse; 96. So the metered count works two ways as the Greek and Hebrew mystics intended. The Greeks doublet'd coronae with the Celtic Kornus. The Greeks may be word-playing off Coronae saying that the King does anything and everything that is seen as good and bad?
Pauline Morris Jun 2016
Imagine the earth as a big metal ball
Now see a crow with beak and claw
He sits on that ball and sharpens it beak
Millennium after millennium, week after week
Till that crow's beak was so sharp, no words could explain
Whittling that steel earth sized ball down to the tiniest piece of grain


That dear friend will be the VERY beginning of eternity  
How is that for clarity
Poetic T Jun 2016
perched a veiled darkness
squawking in old dialect

death now awaits you
A crow talking, but no one hears its warning of deaths visit
K Balachandran May 2016
A scowling scare crow,
Weather beaten one, bleached clean.
Stoops down as if it's scared.
Jo Baez Apr 2016
I demand Edgar Allan Poe to cut open my brain.
My thoughts would pour out unto the room.
Like rising water to the tip of my lips.
Leaving me stuck in between that moment.
Where I'm given the choice to drown or be left gasping for air.
As his Raven claws at my stomach trying to free himself.
From the mimicking & mockery of my fiction.
As my crow elegantly, resting at the end of my fingers tips calls out my name.
My arm left outstretched reaching for a sky.
In a world I could never find rest in.
Engulfing me in ravaging, epiphanic darkness.
For I have grown wings stitched from everything I have loved and left.
Whom now lays dead and made in form of feathers.
Dipped in brooding black ink.
As I leave this world of pain & comfort.
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