1.
flocks of thought
became pure murder to I alone
learned in the ravens wood
2.
like written music upon the birch bark
the blackbird cleans its sated beak
a black and white aria
3.
behold! the dumpster king!
scraps of mccaws and aluminum glint
amongst the watchful eyes of refusal
4.
drawn by the squeeking dark wing
in the winter of wood
I pen the crows life from the seat of a mouse
5.
two silent black scouts zig-zag
three trills at tree top level all clear
darkened skies move in with velvety brush
6.
when the winds are high
the crows fly low
skipping off with extenuating grace
7.
prodigious pteradactyl heart
blackwing lord of my xyloid bones
totem of my youth perhaps to my grave
wittles me brave and true
8.
the yaw in the yew
seemed quite askew
but crow in a cubist world wrings true
9.
air sa-shay for two or three
connecting dots in winter skies to
nesting habits of black sardonic bird tonight
10.
photogenic magpies they
sipping cokes and cigarettes
Toeless, Claws and two hippies
crazy juiced up avaries
11.
carion dreams reeking the side of a road
bloated with memories and tongue to the gravel
the blackbirds they glide smiling with not but a fable
of pilgrims first starving and then killing their friends
12.
the tattoed man with only crows for the models
had murder written all over him
yet peaceful his face
13.
thirteen, dear lucky thirteen
the month of the blackbird
sated faux villian perched up in that tree
cacauphonous catharsis and off on the wing
Author notes
This was like standing in meditation for an hour in a windswept memory!
A contest entry
- Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird by film.
700 points, ended January 11, 2009, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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very much like a mystery..keep me intriuged...great work
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immaculate
the black was so blue in these vignettes, brave and true.
Outside, they mock, not in judgement or some hungry retrebution, but impatient for the flesh of unclothed spirit; yeah, blue...
This is so cool.
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Crow is the only black bird.
Seems like random thought run amok is always a catharsis for the soul. Plus I absolutely adore crows and their ways, silently secret yet true.
What can be said about this poem, except it swept me up into thinking again myself. If death wasn't abhorent to me, I could murder too. But I'd rather be stealthy in peace & life, and so I only dream of death for those who aren't crow like.
The bottom line? I like this, much...
peace
doug
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"murder" another word for flock when ysed with crows "a murder of crows"...
just for the record my wanna be a murderer friend~teehee
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Oh.love this.... connecting dots.....absolute a great cubist piece.
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I don't really know what to say about this ... i am simply stunned at the brilliance
the absolute understate, casual brilliance of it
you have l3 fully formed eggs that anyother bird would frickin' love to steal
i have nothing whatsoever to say
you are simply an incredible poet
period
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thankyou, you are too kind
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