He hollers at ravens.
Starts the day with empty pockets,
a half pack of smokes on a milk crate nightstand
chipped shot glass, matchbook covers
inked with phone numbers and hope -
fitting, I suppose
in this season of ghosts
Elevated porch with rusted car beneath
light and framed screens
remind him of zoo cages
expecting to see fruit bats clinging to the mesh
but tonight the light has an aquatic cast,
as if looking through thick glass
and an immense weight of illuminated water
where the clown fish are as sadly absent as the fruit bats
causing the muses
to set aside their marmalade toast and take notice...
wrapping up the last snarls
contemplating tears and equilibrium –
he knows it will be a strange pilgrimage;
the geographic mantra of past sanctuaries
remain etched on his heart
One hundred haiku poets
stand by the side of the highway
holding up their poems like placards
beautiful, concrete, mournful, necessary –
he reads them one by one, then
hooks arms with the blind girl tapping her cane
as the world draws up its skirts, like a drawbridge,
to let them pass
An unkindness of ravens
restores one’s faith in the collective noun.
Now we can take our repast
with no apology
because we all know what it’s like to be hungry,
to seek anonymity
in a bisected river town…
An Unkindness of Ravens
©crisstiena
Author notes
40 lines.
A group, or flock, of ravens, is known as an 'unkindness' in much the same sense as a 'murder' of crows or a 'tiding' of magpies...
In a list
A contest entry
- Clean and Simple by Peripatetic.
1500 points, ended October 20, 2008, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Even on the brightest day, darkness will prevail if you stare into the light...
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The imagery is vivid. Whether it is considered as setting an actual scene or metaphorical for a certain literary experience, we are drawn into the scenes and sounds described here.
I cannot divine the author’s intended significance of anything I read here, so I simply relate this image-rich environment to my own perception. I see the ravens and the poets as references each to the other. Neither poets nor ravens require the presence of others to sustain our lives as such, but we do seem to flock together.
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quantitatively caste...
ya never skip a missed beat, do you, crissy? wisely crafted, indeed...
i find no gap in the haphazardry of
confusion's comic relief - extended like
an eloquent ambush of endeavors -
black sheen of a kinder, gentler
thread, softened and strung out on
muse poison, clutching at absolutes
torn out in the back of
a madman's eye socket, pinching
nerves in numb succession.
I love where the world draws up... ~ EZB
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"he knows it will be a strange pilgrimage;"
Indeed, my Friend. I just turned 50 on the 24th; I better understand The Grateful Dead song, "What a long, strange trip it's been". 
Graceful, intense, overflowing with meaning & inspired thoughts. Good luck in the contest, Sweetie. 
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"Fare you well, my honey, fare you well my only true one.
All the birds that were singing are flown, except you alone.
Going to leave this brokedown palace..."
Always love and appreciate your comments dear girl
~ crissy ♥
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I always found it fascinating that a "group" or "flock" of crows is called "a murder of crows". In fact, there's a movie by that name, with Cuba Gooding, Jr.
I always love your comments & appreciate your writing, Crissy. ♥
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