"cawing" poems
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!" *
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
A squirrel has the capacity
To reclaim nuts from memory.
But they can't make
Peanut Butter
To smear themselves,
Or their nuts,
Like animals
For ***
The Bottlenose
Is self-aware,
We noted in
His glassy stare;
When put before
A carnival mirror,
So covex, concave,
Too complex,
We also note
A confusing quiver;
The water's not
What makes him shiver.
Pigs are said to be
As smart as me
When I was three.
Now I'm four.
A chimp can nail
Two boards together,
To make
A cross;
We pray they
Don't redress
Their loss.
Whale song is said
To carry on
Beneath the blue
For 1 00 miles.
Its got a beat.
Do they
Do the ****
Or slow
Whale dance.
Crows, you know,
Have studied us
For 10 000 years.
They're iconic,
Mythic tricksters
Cawing knowingly
Above our ears.
So much so
For 10 000 years.
10 000 more
Should we rot
So long.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
Summer struck with the fist of Chicxulub,
incinerated spring in a blinding flash.
Abruptly the pond on Chehalis Trail
was topped with water lilies,
where famished families of water fowl had
festooned the serenity of the surface;
now vanished for cool Canadian climes.
Racoon eyes peered in night shade green,
Foxglove and California Poppy brushed
through blades of overgrown grasses.
Crow song battled with Stellar's Jay,
the morning's true American Idols.
I stirred from slumber to impatient cawing,
chiding --- The best of day's awaiting.
I was off to savor summer's sugar,
lest autumn slip in unannounced
on the coats of Quetzalcoatl.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 12:18 AM UTC
The cemetery was my circus I found
After outgrowing fantasy and the playground.
Golden afternoons in the country after school,
My blood having no resemblance, no ancestors,
To all the Sutton's and Smotherman's and Suddeth's
Who here resided with Tennessee pride. Inside and outside.
The still silence of my childhood cemetery carried an eerie air. I wanted to be here.
The peaceful calm, it called me back,
The king cawing crow, attending in black.
As for any of the lost, perhaps content, Confederate souls,
Who have yet to cross over, lamenting or dozed.
I suspect now, that it was I who startled those ghosts.
My blood, my frequency, my scent of the coast,
Sent from a Union ancestry my vibration still boasts...
How unexpected was I to those Tennessee ghosts.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 3:52 AM UTC
In the mango tree
a pair of crows
have made a new home.
While up on the roof
watering the plants
I see the heavenly sight
how they raise their beak
to swallow the trickles
before the heat ***** away
and having this little favor
they're back in usual mood
cawing at their hoarsest
*stay away, stay away
come no way near nest*
which I do my best to do
stealing a look when they're away
at the three blue nuggets
happy in the thought of
little red hungry mouths
broken
the mangoes would grow
around an empty home.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC
Mirrored silver
tag me blue
reflective sky
widgeon, merganser
blithely sail
broken ripples
foretelling
storm
raucous
cawing crows
assemble
anxious ducks
explode airborne
duly warned
silent drone
fateful wraith
Eagle
glides over
the settling
surface
razor eyes
seeking
the meek
the weak
fleeing flock
coalesces
white bellies
exposed to the sun
banking hard
return to serenity
certain death
deferred
in nature
alliances are clear
predator
prey
vigilantly
warning
relentlessly
defending
Shrieking
crow-beleaguered
Eagle
retreats
no match
for those
united
against him
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
Images float in-front of your eyes.
Your hair flies in the wind, almost wild.
You struggle with your skirt a little bit,
Feeling glad that you wore shorts underneath.
The wind can be heard even over the
Honking of the cars, as it carries some
Stray, withered leaves.
The sky has darkened and you can smell the
Freshness of grass over the smoke and
Stink of ******* dumps in the open.
The crows start flapping around in
Choreographed committee and start cawing
About the latest weather changes.
It somehow doesn't surprise me that this
Reminds you of countless others you
Might know.
The crows ruffle their feathers and
Take shelter in predefined places.
It is another rainy day amongst
Billions of others that have occurred.
To state the obvious, you have too
Much time in your hands if you begin
Describing another rainy day.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:54 AM UTC
The shrill wake-up call of a rooster
Even before the crack of dawn.
The faint cawing of crows
to let the world know
it’s time to leave Slumber land.
The flapping of wings in unison
before flying away early to catch a worm.
The desperate call of a baby squirrel
lost somewhere and seeking its mother.
The cooing of pigeons on the roof
reminding you to pause and
listen to the Sounds of Nature.
The rumbling sound of thunder in the distance
heralding a heavy downpour or two
soon to be followed by the fierce rain
giving respite to the parched earth.
The rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops
falling on the corrugated tin roof.
The whistling of the wild wind
on a cold, stormy day.
The first cry of a new-born
announcing its sojourn
from the womb to the world outside.
The gurgling of the waterfall
rushing to mingle with the river.
The rustling of colorful autumn leaves in the park
trampled upon by children running around.
Then the sounds of silence at night
interspersed with the sounds of crickets and frogs
and the sound of barking dogs at a distance
coaxing you to retire and
wake up to yet another beautiful dawn
to listen to the Sounds of Nature.
Gita Ashok
9/10/2010, 11 am
________________________________________
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 9:41 PM UTC
The lonely lighthouse full of the sea and of its salt
In the distance ship horns can be heard
with their loud billowing swells
Up above the grey gulls cawing with their wings
fluttering looking for any crumbs
None will be found here and no happy visitor
greetings either only sad dormant farewells
Why do I feel so dull, Why is it I feel myself as just half a life and just half a light
Please help me find my light that once shone so bright from within
Help me find my purpose and to feel useful again
This lighthouse beacons for me
~ can hear him and can feel him
I could see what he use to be
what he could still be so easily again
I could see that light that shone from within
After all, I knew how he felt I too
had built up a lonely darkened wall
So I went to this lighthouse told him
your light has been there this whole time
You do not need a new light you are already
a brightness a joy for all to see
All you needed was some help to find it again
All you needed was me
I hold him and tell him close your eyes
Look up toward the sky my love
Feel that cool sea air tickle your face
Let that enormous sense of calm descend down
match your breath to that of the sea and all else shall be erased
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
A loaf of bread
Baked fresh
Just an
Hour past
Sea salt and
Rosemary
All mixed
Into the
Dough
A stack of
Paper
Each of the
Sixteen sheets
I made yesterday
Under the light of
The Half Moon
I used rosemary
And amber
To give it scent
Almond paste
And rose petals
For texture
Fuchsia
For color
A quill
Plucked from
The wing of a
Cawing raven
The feather’s point sharp
Its neck strong
And the smooth
Body
As black as
Night’s whisper
These are
My hidden treasures
And gifts to you
The bread will fill
Your stomach
While the paper
Drinks the ink
From that quill
Held steady in
Your hand
Use these sixteen sheets
Of rosemary and
Amber scented
Paper
To keep alive
Your sixteen years
On this Earth
Worry not of
The years after
For you will
Learn the ways
Of creating paper
The sea salt
From the loaf
The light of the
Half Moon
And the cawing
Song of the raven
Will teach you
Most important
I bid you
Take these gifts
And embrace them
With a smile
A single tear
I allow
No more
Accept that I
Have sunk to the depths
Of this sea
With the coral
And shrimp
To keep me
Company
I have lived
A grand life
With laughter and sobs
Kisses and bites
The likes
Of good
And bad
It was my time
To go
And my time
To discover
Satisfy your hunger
Fill the sixteen sheets
With your stories
And give ink to
The quill’s thirst
I bid you smile
And shed a
Single tear
I allow
No more
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 10:47 PM UTC
I swear that in another life I was a crow. A bird of black feathers and mystery, cawing at the wind and nesting myself high above civilization. I think crows are beautiful. Beautiful like the blood moon lunar eclipse being the first of the year, beautiful like rain water slapping the windows of a glass house, beautiful like the way veins insist on being pointed out through pale skin, I think beauty is in perspective. When people think of crows, they think of bad luck, evil, and death, these are the convictions that cultural mythology instilled upon us. Poe once wrote the raven to symbolize mournful and never ending remembrance, the bird being a reminder to one's desent into madness, he forgot to mention the magic that these creatures maintain. What spells evil to some is beauty to another. Anything can be beautiful if you look at it the right way and we so often look at things incorrectly. Eyes half opened, blinded by some form of unnatural light, we so often look at things with skewed perspective. We are often unable to bend our reality in order to see something that we dont want to believe in. Why do we look at blackbirds as a symbol of fear and white doves as free and pure? And why is white and pure always somehow perceived as better? Crows may be dark, but make no mistake, they are not hollow. These birds are known to be some of the most intelligent animals on this earth yet we disregard them based on history and how they look, tell me, does this say anything about our society? How we are so easily willing to put aside something because they are not the typical definition of beauty? How often do we not take the time to recognize the charm that lays within difference? Difference is beauty. Charm is mystery. I think that crows are charming. Crows to me, are the four leaf clover, the rabbits foot attached to a key ring, crows manage to bring me a sense of comfort and beauty, I think crows are beautiful. I say that in a past life I was one. Too many times have I been followed by them, hearing there echoes in trees, crows always seem to find a way to come to me, even in my darkness and therefore i choose to percieve them as light. Life is all about perspective. So what most see as ugly, I choose to percieve as beauty. I swear I was a crow in a life before this one. But for now i am a girl. A human. And as for the future? Nevermore.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
I don't know the word
for this restless almost breathless
feeling in my chest -
the opposite of a bluebird
- a big black crow, at best
a last call cawing
or is it a raven's kraa-kraa
this feeling -
like a shadow in clothes
- a fly in the eye of those
who pray for repose
of my soul.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 7:26 AM UTC
Mr. Golden sun casting long shadows
Salty breeze hitting across
Acres of sand lying beneath our feet
Ups and downs like craters on the moon
Crows cawing, horses galloping and dogs basking in the sun
A straight line of ocean doodled below the empty sky
Gigantic ships appear like miniatures farther away
Hushing sound of waves
Four feet amidst frothy tides creating footprints
Carrying back some rustic soil on the toes
A little dirt never hurt
A bag of sea shells
Small, big, coloured and white, all with a coat of sand
A bag full of sea shells
The sun sets down
The radiant moon creates a guiding path in the dark shore
Following us back home
After a long evening at the beach
With my dear son
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 5:17 AM UTC
I want to be a sparrow
Not a worry in the world
Just a song to sing
A song of vacillating notes
That comes as natural to me
As breathing
I want to be a sparrow
But instead I'm a crow
Cawing calling to the night
Not a beautiful song with stacatto notes
No music for the soul
But a warning
I am a crow
I am not beautiful
I am not lovely
I am not something lovers write about
Only mythology
A stigma surrounding
A mystery
When I long to be understood
I want to be a sparrow
Because people understand them
A dove, a pigeon
A bird of paradise
An eagle, a hawk
A falcon
But I'm a crow
Misunderstood
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC
Sara L Russell, 22nd January 2014, 01:26
Sometimes things make it harder letting go.
We made some progress on
the first day; gathered clothes and books,
some random pieces of costume jewellery,
laptop cables, pens, lighters,
shampoo and makeup.
I could see her in everything;
the rock chick aura of her CD collection,
the dalek key ring, a book on Camelot;
only she could carry off that Wonder Woman tee shirt,
only she could stand outside in Mum's garden, in that
fleecy dressing gown with hearts,
cawing back at the crows,
cigarette in hand.
The photographs hit us the hardest.
To look into those merry blue eyes
and know that they no longer look back into ours;
They only keep their smile lines for eternity,
laughing at a secret we will never know,
lost in two dimensions,
In the flat worlds of the past.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 6:20 AM UTC
Outside my door a cawing crow
of blackened wings and indigo
delivered by night's shivering storm.
The wind and winter's howling call,
scattered nests and down the feather falls.
Crack of limbs, cold and bare branched
mesquite leaves and needles spiral to the ground.
In a swooping field he flies into the tallest pines
deep and slow, the trees creak
wild in cello tones.
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 10:49 PM UTC
Churning
Boisterous to me life a high powerful stormy sea will I ever see land again those peaceful
Dales the trees so deeply rooted in there canopy the swaying seems as undersea waves so softly they
Stir as at play deep valleys and hills below above aluminous sun light makes a rich glow in its tow I go
Ever so slow the sea grass moves in a musical undulating fashion the same as the grass on the plains
Colors diverse with coral markers at depths that unrest at the surface doesn’t reach the frothing foam
As it were a great goblet filled for god to drink a offering of thanks for such wonder that can be a
Complexity at once filling heights of emotional strands then instantly terrifying foreboding illustrious
Without equal so vast stretching all the bounds you have ever known by the sea blown tales that are
As voluminous as the sea itself adventure in the raw highlighted with charm by the cawing of the seagull
With the same speed they dive and climb on the surface races the dolphin the embodiment of joy and
Laughter the sea rescuers has been some of their duties to the blessing of many lost mariners in cold
Chilly waters these bubbly ones was the difference between life and death the sea does spray as with
Glory unbound in this all concluding vesture that is seamless all consuming tiring but invigorating once
The sea salt has entered your blood there is no escape its lore hypnotic unbreakable break waters will
Carry you inland by that she granted your greatest desire after she has reared her head and gave you
The Undeniable look at deaths watery jaws but when on her mercy you survive or in some fashion are
Flung on the shore you lose your emotional tiller and blubber like a baby then the manly part curses all
She Put you through you know one thing for certain never will she catch you a float but little do you
Know her winsome call withers all about so you hungrily crave the sea tossed tempest its excitement is a
Drug that a ****** has no cure for it puts robust living in your path all of your days while the timid land
Dwellers only look on in awe and admiration
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC
she grew up with a beach of sand next to lake
i grew up near a beach with jellyfish & sweet salt air; home.
so one day i will take her to where their eyes remind me of
a honeyed landscape of granual sediment,
millions and millions of years of erosion,
just to look soft & warm to the onlooker
the tide pulling in and out. the seagulls flying above, cawing, while a cool, sunny day shines upon the sparkling waters frothing with movement.
her voice is my ocean breeze.
May 11, 2024
May 11, 2024 at 5:01 AM UTC
Laughs the happy April morn
Thro' my grimy, little window,
And a shaft of sunshine pushes
Thro' the shadows in the square.
Dogs are tracing thro' the grass,
Crows are cawing round the chimneys,
In and out among the washing
Goes the West at hide-and-seek.
Loud and cheerful clangs the bell.
Here the nurses troop to breakfast.
Handsome, ugly, all are women . . .
O, the Spring--the Spring--the Spring!
1.5k
You washed up
with the waves
last winter
with the
rejected corpses
of jellyfish
and rotting seaweed
pulled from sandy
trenches
you rolled in
with the sea foam
who birthed
Aphrodite
and the glass orbs
from sunken
ships,
gone by
in with the
driftwood
and the cawing of
seagulls
dipping down
to touch the
haggard surface
of your chariot
and with a gypsy "hurrah"
and the clank of my zills
my arm up
and my orange skirt hiked,
I ran into the under-toe
to save you
I will take you from the waves,
my love,
and carry you off into the night
(if that's what you want)
but I am not
the Pacific
or the full moon who
shows her face each night
who pulls you to the shore
when the
tide is high
I will shine a light on you,
but
I can't be your caravan.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
The Queen revels beyond the realm of summer’s lurid light
Yet scorns the damp recess of shade where moss has laid its lawn.
Her pale and powdered faces flaunt the earth by starry night;
Though falling, faint and faded, by the cawing crow of dawn.
Her slender, waxen limbs are draped upon her chosen sire
Who cradles her, consumed amid the scent of her perfumes.
Wherever out her branches bend; is loveliness admired
By fleeting bat and beating moth; by men and sailing moons.
Magnificent she flourishes; dry, dappled shade her nest
Where wild and unrestrained, resplendent flowers ever grow
So fair, and verdant framed, and scarlet tipped, and golden tressed;
With flames of bronze and ivory her lighted candles glow.
The chills of night cannot befall: the hallowed earth is blessed
Wherever blooms the Queen of Night; Selenicereus.
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 11:04 PM UTC
The day will come
When taking a ****
Will Seem a task greater
Than storming the beaches of Normandy.
On that day,
My bones,
Like wind chimes
Singing in the wind,
Will burn
A dull but ever-lasting flame.
A dying star
Taking its last breaths
And all will stand in wonderment
Asking themselves
"What now"
But only I will know.
From ash
A Phoenix rises
Only to fall again-
But I'm just
A raven
Cawing
My way to escape.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 1:05 AM UTC