"corvid" 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
Her laughter pumps the gas, dumps the clutch shakes and rattles from each intersection
Her wet feet leave monster tracks long damp claws arching across the cement
Her hair grows brambles collecting thorns and twigs with the best of bushes
Her senses, corvid, snatching up dropped coins, pencils, paperclips
Her tongue unfettered, butterfly breath reels with snips of story and songs
Her eyes hold drops of honey, sticky sweet lashes follow the sun
sunflower cheeks blush cardamom on yellow velvet
glow butterfaced with dandelion kisses
Rough, regular under hand, stubbornly slate, unchanged unmoved.
if her soul is a garden there is a cinderblock there
holding down the sunflowers,
along with the grass at her core, it grows roots,
but no moss.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 2:23 PM 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
I watched some crows this very eve,
Play upon a blustery, early November breeze.
Wave upon wave of those corvid beasts,
Now going west, now going east.
Now rising up, now darting down,
Now racing east,
Now tacking west.
No sailor on the seven seas
Can tack so well as one of these.
Now up, now down
Now left, then down.
One flies north
Another south, then darts east.
Yet flock drifts by despite these feats.
Another joins in synchronous dance
Then up, then down, then back again
Waving together till parting perchance.
Then each alone, up,
Then down, then back again.
Some stall for several ***** and blows,
Remaining still to trees below,
Then a feather's twitch
Banks into the wind
And soar, ...... soar, ..... soar,
Soar away.
Down a slope only birds can know
Racing faster than the wind
Above the trees below.
*It seems so wasteful, this fighting of the wind,
Futile and vain as a skein does not.
It's not hunting, I think, nor ***
Except perhaps for showing off.
But I suspect play at play.
Jonathon Seagull's desire, it seems
Infects these playful playing memes.
Perhaps I see play where there is no play,
Projecting wishes onto senses.
But corvids do play, it seems.
Do you too so seem?
Perhaps they even dream.*
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
.
The branches of the trees bend and sway
as the breeze plays its tickling games.
Sitting beneath the mighty Oak
he closes his eyes and drifts back home.
His thoughts, like his arrows, true,
finding its destination with consummate ease.
A figure, a face, a smile, he sees.
The portrait of Her.
Burning a cold image in his mind.
An alien sound he hears, and startles,
intruding on his moment of reverie.
A bird lands on a tree, close,
giving him the eye, akin to the intelligent
stare of the capricious corvid.
It whistles and takes flight
calling him to follow.
Thoughts of Her portrait, now wisps of smoke,
disappear as intrigue beckons.
Insistent chirping, the clever eye,
leads him hither and thither,
ever away from home.
Caught in the enchantment, of following the Never bird.....
The mist crawls and curdles and climbs
in a rising, coalescing film of fog.
To befuddle the unwary, alone in the Trees.
His nerves, his eyes, captivated
as the Never bird commands attention.
Leading him on, deeper.
Home is but a distant sigh in his heart,
ignored with intensity, unloved.
The journey steps take him far, wayward
with no direction, no destination.
Singing sweet, swooping swift
the bird stops. Disappears into the gloom,
not once looking back, abandoning he who followed.
Lost. So very lost. So very lost.
Moments fly, rustling, footfalls, an apparition.
A Goddess of beauty unveils herself,
and steps, soft and gentle into the light.
Enraptured he takes her into his arms,
they sink and rut like animals, primal,
on the cool mossy carpet.
Banished are the thoughts and portraits.
Caught in the enchantment, of loving the Never bird.....
The cobalt sky in a haze of heat
swirls about before his eyes.
Laying beneath a Mighty Oak.
Goose-bumped skin. Alone.
He wakes. The forest still and silent.
His thoughts like drunken dogs
blurred by memories that excite and disturb.
The Portrait of Her.
Awakening a fuzzy, picture in his mind.
Scanning the trees, the lady is gone,
and missing is the Never bird.
Unknown magiks have been worked on him,
he felt, rather than observed.
The sigh in his heart for home, broke forth,
strange noises burst the mood.
The ache in his heart,
constrained within by abnormal form,
teetered on the edge of pain, sorrow.
A song of hope escapes, a decision made,
as wisps of smoke form a Portrait.
He spreads his wings,
caught in the enchantment, of being the Never bird.
© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 8:51 AM UTC
The beryl high land smoulders….
Where skinny manes of cloven trailing, cuff
the rake of jumbled scree,
a porous crux of timbered carol
matins from the mossy shrine
to urchin on the bluff and draft
in nooks of birch and bilberry.
On that high dais, Corvid tribals
potter on the reeks of gale.
Fell boatman of the troubled storeys
quarter in some sleet cabal
to throw their onyx gauntlet down
a slating arc of fallow sky.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
this
velvety
spiral
wins every time
unfalsifiable lines chime
its shiny corvid lips
merely graze my sensing its
heavy lean
and i arrive
twitchy
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
(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.
Jan 26, 2024
Jan 26, 2024 at 8:54 AM UTC
a populist
president has
bygone his
chest where
chair was
owned by
Benjamin and
remanded federal
of Franklyn's
Forest that
acquitted fermentation
of law
in which
he die
of corvid-20
this year
of heaven
Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 7:58 AM UTC
As I was talking with the crow
He smiled at me as sometimes
Crows are wont to do
He said you really are a good
Man you know
As bid me to partake of his freshly
Prepared stew
He looked me up and down with
His keen bird's eye
Gave me a wink and said
Son I surmise
That you are far too quick to criticize
All those that pass your way
I said what do you mean
I just mind my own affairs
This relieves me of many burdens
Pressures
Cares
The crow laughed heartily as he took
A bite of his stew
He stated I'm afraid you miss the point
Of what is being said to you
Your kind does not need reminded of their
Sins and their flaws
All that manages to do is slash soul
With self-righteous claws
Take my advice when next your head
Is filled with fault finding words
**** them right there
Too many times they have already
Been heard
The crow reminded me that I was a good
Man tis true
And that he hoped my digestion would
Kindly oblige to his stew
He hoped it to be nourishment
For my soul to renew
I then asked the great black bird
What was in the concoction
For indeed I had to know
Why my dear boy
The corvid replied
It was me the whole time
It was me
The crow
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC
I remember the land,
I remember its people,
They ways, the stupidity of
Their mentality, I never came
To heard of this term depression
Until earlier on in life,
I came to terms with hatred, bigotry
Because it’s a disease, right up there
With cancer, and corvid 19
Do you remember, the children
Of the eighties, and their carefree looks on life
Drugs, *** and intellectual freedom,
It goes like this. I don’t think of labor
I don’t think of work. To be laboring
Means to be working, and if it's not self employed
Its slavery with small wages. From the man.
“i remember the land and I remember its people
They stupidity from their mentality had worried me
I remember the dead, and I remember
How those trees outlived them,
I Remember the language of the trees,
That whispering sound of freedom
And the sound of human longevity,
Due to the kindness of a matured land
The waste land we leave behind,
even without spoken words
Can tell a story, of abandonment,
You might see a grassy area, I see, a court date
I see families fighting for ownerships,
I see illegitimates children,
fighting for the right to
The land we leave behind, even without
Spoken words, know it's worth.
How do you come to terms with yours..
Oct 24, 2021
Oct 24, 2021 at 11:58 AM UTC
CORVID COMPANY
crow lost in crowd
just another commuter
trying to get to somewhere
packed train
everyone makes way
for our avian friend
crow gets off
at next stop
hops on escalator
at the top
crow and I
go our separate ways
crow takes to the skies
telling his friends all about
his journey with the humans
“Naw!” they all caw
“Yeah…yeah!” crow crows
they fall about the sky laughing
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 3:50 PM UTC
Every poet should be responsible for his poetic language
Every scientist should be held responsible for his/her own action
My birthday in the year of the corvid 19, will be different
I wouldn’t bother to confirm with the ground hog on this matter.
He too is refusing to come out, he detest the humans
The righteous will possess the earth, and they will live forever on it.”. — Psalm 37:29.
From what is going on I might have to debate this verse.
Would you agree with the poet?
Where there is action they will be a reaction
Leadership money and power
Is this what we are dying for?
"Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue?
keeps his soul from troubles"
We all love a good story.
With a good ending,
What is going on today is not a story
Our next generation is going to have a hard time
Explaining this to their next generation of survivors
What happen in 2019, was an act of greed
It is the reality, of mad virology scientist went mad.
If this vaccine doesn’t work what will be our next move?
When your boss take his clean non corvid 19 facilities and
Turn it into a corvid 19 center,
What would a poet call this move (greed $$$)
All this poet can say.. “Let wait and see”.
Crave all loss all. one who wants everything, may lose it all
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 9:38 AM UTC
i'm bad luck. struck sad and oblate
weary, dedicated to the swearing ground.
chivalric pulp, my pages
don't bind like they used to.
rhyme me sad. adder fluent, sistines
vaunt these heads of mine. but wise
enough to feel these molecules murmer
and mouth the corvid in the wellwater.
annihilated profiles in my coming wake.
i am bad luck and prose. slipped
my shadow, i walk a bare life.
not broken anymore. not here all the way.
don't canter.
never could.
haven't loved. will
of a ghost. hell, i see ancestors
trailing behind me
in a mass of quadruped brutes
black as the day i was born
and sounding a great horn
made of gold and unprophecy,
babblings of a river older than talk.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC
I am taking notes.
I am adhering to the rules
Yet, I feel numb on the inside, restless,
Corona corvid 19 takes takes
And keep on taking away our family units,
How many more question, can we asked
Why, why, and why God?
Why so many corona corvid deaths
I cannot watch anymore,
I can’t feel anymore am I dreaming?
Am I feuding? Am I stressing?
Is it my place to asked these questions
Have heaven run out of wings.
Like PPE for our essential workers,
Being silence is not is not relaxing anymore
Silence is a true friend who never betrays
Don’t blame the funeral directors,
Blames the Administrators, the politicians’,
The world leaders, a matter of facts
Don’t blame, set a flame and remove the blame:
Jesulema, Jesulema,: more death than ww2
Coronavirus death soars, surpass fatalities in Vietnam War
Have been read in the headlines, lessons on waist lines
Don’t blame, set a flame and remove this so called facts or Bats
Oh! 2020 the year of the death,
The blazing death of fire,
A year no one is going to admired:
a year of the blame,
a year of deadly facts or bats
Oh! JerSulema,
Oh God almighty.
A year of question,
A year of the wings
A year to spend less on the fire arms
And more on the PPE,
Let tackle this enemy:
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 8:46 AM UTC
Cawing crows' calling
They try to gather but fail
Attempted ******
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 3:41 AM UTC
black crow bird
pecks road ****
pheasant.
haute cuisine.
Jun 25, 2021
Jun 25, 2021 at 12:21 AM UTC
****** masks
As we look around,
All we see is humans wearing ****** masks
A world of silencers, a world of social distancing:
Before we use to sit silently and watch the world
Around us: misbehaved: the unruly bunch
Silence is holy it draws attention
To our inner peace: today is the silence of the mask
Draws attention to fear, a fear of us being side track
By this disease, so we wear the mask of silence,
Do you remember, the measles, chickens pox’s
Scarlett fevers and the list when on:
But it’s nothing in comparisons to corona corvid 19
Lockdown: Now it’s staying at home means getting creative
Evaluating our lives, our behavior, our life style..
Was it out of control?
Were we ever essentials?
I hate wearing the mask
It make me feel like a captive, but i know better
Not to wear it: I need protection from you
And you need protection from me.
Because of what Mr. Trump said “the Chinese disease.”
Wearing the mask to do the tasks
Letting go of the hatred enable us to move forward
A world without humans is not a world
Is a silence world:
with one small flower emerging from a rock on a side walk
May 18, 2020
May 18, 2020 at 10:28 AM UTC
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Great lines, something to think about (Edward Thomas)
Woke up to the rain and the wind beating on my window pane,
Yet I thought of getting dressed and going there.
A subway system, so far not yet up to standards,
A job like mine, no one need to hurry too
A mindset like mine, meant for me to lay low
during the northeaster...rain and wind
Poor yet full of pride, I am the servant Queen,
Yesterday, I struggle to maintain my sanity
Due to working conditions: at the workplace
I have been feuding for years. Nothing changes
not even an added penny, before its death,
More work, more stress, no respect
Night supervisors, penciling
or rather maneuvering into the darkness
at six am. A street crowded with overturn bins,
Flooded streets, with mudded running water
Mother of Nature, another dangerous disaster?
You meaner than corvid and Alaska,
I am the servant Queen, poor, yet full of pride:
I am fed up with others trying to take me for a ride
Sometimes, you just need a break from a bad situation
Never, berate yourself for giving expression to your emotions.
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;(Edward Thomas) line
I planned to stick, to my believes, nothing will change,
I will always be the servant Queen, as longs as them reign:
Oct 26, 2021
Oct 26, 2021 at 1:44 PM UTC
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved.
Great lines, something to think about (Edward Thomas)
Woke up to the rain and the wind beating on my window pale,
Yet I thought of getting dressed and going there.
A subway system, so far not yet up to standards,
A job like mine, no one need to hurry too
A mindset like mine, meant for me to lay low
during the northeaster...rain and wind
Poor yet full of pride, I am the servant Queen,
Yesterday, I struggled to maintain my sanity
Due to working conditions: at the workplace
I have been feuding for years. Nothing changes
not even an added penny, before its death,
More work, more stress, no respect
Night supervisors, penciling
or rather maneuvering into the darkness
at six am. A street crowded with overturn bins,
Flooded streets, with mudded running water
Mother of Nature, another dangerous disaster?
You meaner than corvid and Alaska,
I am the servant Queen, poor, yet full of pride:
I am fed up with others trying to take me for a ride
Sometimes, you need a break from a bad situation
Never berate yourself for giving expression to your emotions.
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;(Edward Thomas) line
I planned to stick, to my believes, nothing will change,
I will always be the servant Queen, as longs as them reign:
Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 11:11 AM UTC
crow bird,
pecks package.
hoping for a sandwich.
b.l.t.
Jun 26, 2021
Jun 26, 2021 at 12:36 AM UTC