Crow Talk – III – II – I

Crow talk -3

Impudent raucous

It may be

Dissolute rowdy

Inordinately happy


Canting head

In that odd way

Is uncanny

About destiny


Harbinger extraordinaire

Straddling two worlds

Heeding hunger

For signs, omens


If partakes choice flesh

Grim reaper leaves empty

Declined food translating

As sure portent of death

** ~ **

Crow Talk – 2

Blanc shirt

Black jacket

Black mien

Beady eyes

Beak noir


Beak noir

Caws alert

Imminent guest

Arrival no jest

Reciprocity’s behest


Harbingers bringing

All shades of tidings

First heard, carried on

Lips of wind songs

Twanged on air waves


Easily hopping moats of two

Worlds, its incessant prompts

Impregnating dreams

Forcing gut instincts’ ears

To peak and take notice


Disdain too showed

Indicating finer feelings

Rowdies also have hearts

Like other creatures, when

Grim reaper comes a calling


Distinctive in black white

Reminiscent of emperor penguin

Caw alerts, conversing with

Cognizant and the monks

Knowing many tongues


Jackdaw trickster folk hero

Lover of all things shiny

Notable as caregivers of old

Infirm parents, a minx, even as

Its beak’s shape, considered a jinx

** all crow attributes culled from wiki

Crow talk – 1

Betwixt night and dawn

Sleeping waking groans

A crow interrupted moan


Pirouetting in dark

Feathered cloak, a wee

Whirling dervish it was


Cranky, making me frown

I shouted “go, don pristine

Billowing white gown”


Boosted by Java Joe instigated

Adrenalin kick, thought beyond

Bird’s goofy impromptu shtick


Is he harbinger of good news

Or messenger of snuffed wicks

Or news bearer from soldier son


At theater in ongoing war front

I carefully heeded inner prompts

Voices of departed loved ones


One voice rose above others

Plea from first youthful crush

Taken untimely by death’s brush


Release me from your thoughts

Let me go in peace, finally you are

Deliriously happy, now let me be


Pieces fell in place making sense

Extracted beloved locked in bosom

Sent off, rotating prayer wheel adieus


Weight lifted from my grieving heart

Son is fine; I know n will do us proud

Life gave after taking my world apart


Mark Twain on Crows

I suppose he is the hardest lot that wears feathers. Yes, and the cheerfulest, and the best satisfied with himself. He never arrived at what he is by any careless process, or any sudden one; he is a work of art, and “art is long”; he is the product of immemorial ages, and deep calculation; one can’t make a bird like that in a day. He has been reincarnated more times than Shiva; and he has kept a sample of each incarnation, and fused it into his constitution. In the course of his evolutionary promotions, his sublime march toward ultimate perfection, he has been a gambler, a low comedian, a dissolute priest, a fussy woman, a blackguard, a scoffer, a liar, a thief, a spy, an informer, a trading politician, a swindler, a professional hypocrite, a patriot for cash, a reformer, a lecturer, a lawyer, a conspirator, a rebel, a royalist, a democrat, a practicer and propagator of irreverence, a meddler, an intruder, a busybody, an infidel, and a wallower in sin for the mere love if it. The strange result, the incredible result, of this patient accumulation of all damnable traits is, that he does not know what care is, he does not know what sorrow is, he does not know what remorse is, his life is one long thundering ecstasy of happiness, and he will go to his death untroubled, knowing that he will soon turn up again as an author or something, and be even more intolerable capable and comfortable than ever he was before.

In his straddling wide forward step, and his springy sidewise series of hops, and his impudent air, and his cunning way of canting his head to one side upon occasion…~~excerpt from Mark Twain’s Following the Equator


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