Come far away, come fly away.
It’s another day in the sun.  

don’t know where to go, just followin the road
running won’t change our fate.
where does the highway go to die ?

We’re too far now
I feel the breath of a gun on my neck
I can already feel the crows staring to peck
all we can do is wait till they come.

Come far away, come fly away.
another day in the sun.

waiting for the crows to come
Time to face what we have done
there’s nowhere left to run.  
How long stands between us and a shot gun.

Come far away, come fly away.
It’s another day in the sun.
Till the crows come.

I'm at times just like a crow,
And I see what you don't know.
There preening in the early dawn,
You hear my caw when your light turns on.
I watch you rake your yellow lawn,
I hear you cry when you hear your song,
As your long and lonely days drag on.
Like wings I'll wrap my arms about you,
I'll never fly again without you.

crow cries   metalling the skies
supply the greys
and hack up the winds

How many crows
Would a scarecrow scare
If a scarecrow could scare crows?

As many crows
As a scarecrow'd care
To scare if a scarecrow could scare crows.

(inspired by "Gifts of the Most High" by G Alan Johnson.)

The crows know me, and I, in their untamed glares,
and wild, accepting, onyx eyes find a solace.

No need for ID, for they’ve been watching me,
my face, yet unetched by time and life's own artistry,
is a passport for their uncivilized and predatory attention.

The corvid and I are kindred in many ways.
We've all scavenged for fortune's scraps,
shared the sting of bitter winter snaps,
and feasted on the meager leavings of the day.

In this dark pact, of watcher and watched,
a silent truth is proclaimed, that all that’s done
beneath the sun, is seen by dark, intuitive,
discerning, if not caring or humanly wise eyes.

The carrion crows know me,
and those feathered sentinels of air, mark
my coming with raucous, heralding cries.

They gather, black against the sun-kissed sky,
in councils held upon the wind's swift motions,
like children, they argue - observing still - as they play.

They causa no fear, but someday I’ll disappear,
unraveled, bit by bit, not by malice from on high,
but by beaks and claws, to caws they mantric-like cry.

Perhaps death really does have an ebonite beauty
and, like angels, his servants have wings, and pick us apart
when our time is through - and those sharp bills come due.

Let love be the  blowing wind,

Let love be the crying rain,
Screaming crow,

Eyes to eyes, lips to lips,
Skin to skin,
Life dreams Life, and Love dreams Love,

God dreams God,

Only flowers siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing,

Leeet looove beee the  blooowing wiiind,
Leeet looove beee the cryyyying raaain,
Leeet looove beee the screeeaming crooowww,


While the sun is shining bright,
Shining only for the night,

Leeet looove beee the  blooowing wiiind,
Leeet looove beee the cryyyying raaain,
Leeet looove beee the screeeaming crooowww,

Crows on Autumn corn
challenge the wind
for the remains of Summer

Four Crows fly over
the rear gunner ***** twice as hard
            to keep his mates
Gaps in his Wings
   from history with a Predator

Clammy weather
                       preceding
                 grey summer rainfall

There’s a new bird in the garden
A call I haven’t heard before.
I dream of beavers, incongruous and out of place.
Dam-building swimmers with no tails.

In a field nearby crows shout their business
I saw the planting there yesterday
A strong woman soring up the earth against the seedlings.

I spend too much on small-***** organic chickens.
Forage mushrooms righteously
Whilst wondering if they’ll make us sick.
I try to get it right
Over and over again