"crowe" poems
...if it works,
then I am a Genius?
If it doesn't...
then what good is,
a -Dead Genius?**
<a beautiful crow>*
<beautiful crow>
*crowe
33'
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
The Creator looked at the elephant and said:
I made you big so you could be gentle
To the mouse he said: I made you small
so you could walk tall
But over millions of years you two could exchange
places and one become the other.
I know I shoved the lot of you in an Ark
Because Noah was being a pesk asking for rain
when his washing machine ran dry
So I had to fill the oceans to stop that old man
from complaining all the time. Besides I needed the bark
from the trees of the Ark to make me a small tug boat
to carry some DNA samples of my own, in case,
the lion ate the cow, the tiger chewed on the cat
and the fox tricked the rest with his cunning ways
You see, my friends, there was no grass, or snakes
or bird cages, or trees for the monkeys to swing on.
I thought of many things before I gave the building plans
to Noah and his sons. Only one was a builder the rest
were bums, who never held a hammer or learned how to
tie two bits of trees together, leave alone building
an ark to hold the worlds whole creation.Thankfully
there were no real estate agents pushing the price up
or bankers charging interest. The mafia thought of charging
an entrance fee for each pair, but before they could do that the rains came pelting down and the tickets got washed away in the storm.
So you see the Ark was a joint venture between
The Americans and Chinese and Indians
because they were willing to multiply quicker
than the rest once Mt Sinai rose up to meet the
oak leviathan from underneath.
And so my dear elephants and mouse
and fox and snake and bird and
lion and tiger. Noah and his wonderful Ark
was a script written well ahead so that Russell Crowe could get
a part playing Noah in a computer generated extravaganza
where only the actors and actresses who could afford
to pay a price to be in it - were involved.
The rest of mankind be ******
Author Notes
Quirky.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
--------x-----------x--------------x-----------x---------
*Where rattlesnakes are sliding across a prairie forgotten,
And the western wind twirls up a twirling dustbowl
Whispers upon the wind, ancient voices of our ancestors
Across the land of the wild buffalo, and ancient crowe
When time unwinds and more than silence can be heard,
Just hold on silently for a moment, and listen closely
Sometimes a young child's cry, sometimes a jubilant laugh
Many voices of our ancestors, A sweet song of long ago*
--------x-----------x--------------x-----------x---------
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 5:32 PM UTC
for Thomas Raine Crowe
...These nights bring dreams of Cherokee shamans
whose names are bright verbs and impacted dark nouns,
whose memories are indictments of my pallid flesh...
and I hear, as from a great distance,
the cries tortured from their guileless lips, proclaiming
the nature of my mutation.
NOTE: My “mutation” is that my family appears to contain English, Scottish, German and Cherokee blood, meaning that my ancestors were probably at war with each other. Did my English ancestors force my Cherokee ancestors to walk the Trail of Tears?
I have recently created these new translations of Native American poems, proverbs and sayings ...
What is life?
The flash of a firefly.
The breath of a winter buffalo.
The shadow scooting across the grass that vanishes with sunset.
—Blackfoot saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
Speak less thunder, wield more lightning. — Apache proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The more we wonder, the more we understand. — Arapaho proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Adults talk, children whine. — Blackfoot proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Don’t be afraid to cry: it will lessen your sorrow. — Hopi proverb
One foot in the boat, one foot in the canoe, and you end up in the river. — Tuscarora proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Our enemy's weakness increases our strength. — Cherokee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
We will be remembered tomorrow by the tracks we leave today. — Dakota proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
No sound's as eloquent as a rattlesnake's tail. — Navajo saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
The heart is our first teacher. — Cheyenne proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Dreams beget success. — Maricopa proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Knowledge interprets the past, wisdom foresees the future. — Lumbee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The troublemaker's way is thorny. — Umpqua proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 6:33 AM UTC
Crazy perfume you smell when the doors swing wide open.
Crazy tiny hour hands tell every manican your shopping
toaday.
You buy summer dresses 50 percent off.
You watch my world slow down because I am
hanging like a hat on hooks.
I saw John crowe Ransome buying a suite
for a friends funeral.
Still I think he just wanted to leave.
Before the mall closed toaday I wanted to
become a waxed tile. Or even a plastic tree
next to the recliners. ( I coudnt be anything I wanted in here)
My painted jeans arnt for sale anymore.
Because years made them fade.
Now im inside new stores, new venues
to make happiness continue.
Some how its all the same.
When did I shift places
because the racks seem full
of sadness. I know where to
find mirriors even if no body
else actually wants to see
themselves reinvented again.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
A lacuna
between us,
so I bridged out an arm
across her shoulder,
made slow circles
on her bare arm,
Meanwhile
Noah built his
ship, afloat
despite its
strange design,
One could trust
Russell Crowe on
such earth-saving
matters.
When it got too much,
she plucked my stiff arm,
clasped it with her left,
lay them parallel yet
in unison between
our chairs,
Fingers finding gaps
among her fingers,
A dove flew in,
land ahoy!
it chirped.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC
The first time I saw you,
I knew you were different.
through the heart palpitations and rushed inhalations
I saw clearly enough to differentiate
You from the obstinate, the inate,
the circle jerkers, the irate.
I just knew.
When you walk into the room,
Fahrenheit becomes Celsius and I hide somewhat inside and through my racing heart and my blood rush I time my glances so you don't think I'm staring.
But I am.
When you smile, you unwittingly create,
a mini universe with you and I.
When you laugh, out of sheer infectious joy,
I don't know whether to do the same or cry.
When your name pops up on my phone;
A loss of breath occurs with a stutter of unsaid words as the world stops and I stare as if into a daydream rising and rising until the magnitude of the amplitude is realised in its entirety.
The world is lit with fireflies as I dive into a sea of you as I'm enveloped by the idea of loving and giving and romantic evenings of dinner for two.
We'll drink champagne as we toast to Russell Crowe, to puns and the fun that will be had to come in the graspable future.
We'll stay up all night and watch the stars,
billions of light years reflected in your eyes as the fireflies dance and we're both in an each other induced trance in our mini world of two absorbed in wanderings and night meanderings.
We'll watch the sun rise in a blood red dawn vanquishing the fallen stars.
We'll watch the world grow and throw itself into decline and rise, following our own timeline, grabbing our destiny with both hands letting no regret reprimand us for what we do.
Because, the truth is, I love you, and there's nothing I can do.
In my nights awake all that's thought about is you.
In my dreams and daydreams, you're the sole proprietor.
the peace to my fire.
our happily ever after.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
Once upon a Christmas eve,
A family sat round a fire
Dad’s he’s late, he’s blaming Steve
Some cables needed to be rewired
A house he finds,
Is full of smiles,
So off he goes on his way.
Grabs baubles from the attic,
and also, grandmothers ****** investigation files
The child, eager with a sparkly blue notebook, rushes to peek inside
Crowe, it reads, Age 33, with thirty-three stabs to her side.
Oh how dramatic, Oh how fun what a wonderful thing he had brought
As seen on tv and on the big screen but never in this way before.
She stared at the words and pondered and scribed and found a new area of thought
Thinking of A Woman Dead!
But not that way of course, in the fun kind of way.
Didn’t think of the dead woman.
Now and then, the blue notebook sparkles out of the corner of my eye
I cradle the crumpled pages in my arms, the notes that I took.
The notes, cold, combined with my father’s colder memories
The good Damsel murdered by a bad ex-lover
An unfortunately common situation.
Another woman lost and alone,
Another statistic.
Oh well.
Nov 30, 2020
Nov 30, 2020 at 2:35 PM UTC
Original master of bottled overblown ownership, around a flogging frame of masculinity, tone more reflective than any of your own, your a master, someone who takes the wheel, the navigator, russel crowe at his finest, with a head heald toward the mist of sea you take glee in knowing your place, your status, your finest hour, punishment, corporal, minsitster, sinister, your enemies fear you, your colleagues believe in you, won’t you take on another cruise ship, take on another fluke? Nothing is quite in danger, yet it is always looming right in front of you, the danger, the edge of the world, beckoning, its black marvel is a hole in the sea, and you will swirl around its edges, knowing nothing but the night, the cold, the winter, the old man with the mop in hand warns of omens, and the crew complies because they listen, they are wise,
Hold down your anchor! The end is approaching! you know what they came for, they want you intact, whole, at the core, a piece that they can rivet, take away, reach down to the center and feel the pulp at the fingertips, pull it out and hold it towards the wind, its our apple, bite into it again
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
Our world is in a mess.
There is no denying.
I send money so people can help.
I love doing that.
There are wars.
People getting hurt on all sides of our polygon,
They're dying in all manner of ways.
I love the way people will fight for their convictions,
Fight till death if need be,
For FREEDOM, LIBERTY, HAPPINESS.
I love that.
I love people in detention for their beliefs,
Their faith, hope and determination.
I know what bog schools are, penal laws, Black and Tans.
(I also know about cages, Jim Crowe, and Proud Boys).
I love their tenacity. I love their lives. They matter.
I love their politics, their altruism; the really giving of oneself,
To serve one's nation. To truly love one's country.
For these reasons,
I love Sleepy Joe.
He gives so gracefully.
Sacrifices the remainder of his life for his country,
His people, His family.
I love how the Tyrant will collapse,
Feeling betrayed, mocked, humiliated, parodied,
Jeered at, ostracized for his megalomania.
A shower will never wash away the
Odor breathed among his consorts.
Brushing will not diminish the Trump taste, the rot in your mouth.
I love Aristotle's Poetics, The Wheel of Fortuna, The Great Chain of Being, and the cathartic effects of tragedy.
I Love Life.
Oct 31, 2020
Oct 31, 2020 at 11:10 AM UTC
I am from Liberia, some where in Africa
Where the chicken crowe before sun rise
Walking miles for drinking water
ladies sing in groups as they harvest their crop
fishers in group sit with brew, down by the dock
Mothers go hunting daily, kids ask what you got
A land of unity and survival
Where everyone is our sister, and your father is my brother
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
due justice wake
a knew knyte
cast knot
forbid lite
toward blac sheep
warmth of crowe
for crow owe we
why saken nick grows
due bidding all siblings
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 3:57 AM UTC