Four and Twenty Blackbirds

[jthserra]

In Blackbirds’ Fields

In trampled grasses, lands long dark
horizons moved on blood stained ground
as echoed voices, the thousands strong
called to Christ and Allah: an eternal scream,
yet the Gods were silent, their names were vain
as the falcon flew and the sparrow died.

Black, black wings spread the day
in long fields, the blackbird’s fields
as ancient foes burned June Twenty-eighth
to call the sky, that evil sky aloud
the last they spoke, the last they cried
as they fell and died in Kosovo Field.



jim : )

 

[Maria2394]

Edgar allen Poe's, The RAven

No thread about crows or ravens
or birds of any dark persuasion,
could ever be complete, complete,
with out The Raven, by Poe, by Poe


*************************************


The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
First Published in 1845

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more."


Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.


And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This it is, and nothing more."


Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---
Darkness there, and nothing more.


Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
Lenore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more.


Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
" 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."


Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.


Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."


Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."


But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."


Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never---nevermore."


But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!


Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"


"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."


"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore---
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."


"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."


And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted---nevermore!

 

[Maria2394]

waving at the wind

one crow wrestled with sister wind
who bore his brother,
and another crow befriended
an unrulier wind, who then
became his second brother

three crows stomping inedible g rubs
amidst dried trees and shrubs
picking up dimes with their leathery feet

there were three crows
who hid
in a shallow cave, waving at the wind

there were three crows and it has been
nine years since sister wind
left them dancing with memories
of wings, waving at the wind

 

[cward2]

To A Crow

the black soliloquy
sits there watching
me as I etch out
these words on paper
breathing

with the deep content
the smell of burnt
cinnamon lingering in
the air as I

think of words
to describe it, slowly
waiting - until it climbs
inside the thought cage
and rattles it with its
never ending call

 

[Sara Crewe]

One weird crow poem comin' right up...

Cutting through the Crust

Grammy yelled at the crows
every day when they woke
her. She blamed them
for the morning, the heat
and sometimes the rain.

She was sure they killed
old Tom down the road
but when I asked her
how, she shushed me
up with a biscuit stuffed
into my mouth and waddled
off, mumbling about kids
and crows and how they
were a lot alike.

 

[sunsetbrew]

firebird

a blackbird know two directions
favoring wings of sin and virtue
one body flies on sin
one spirit soars with virtuous virgins
he is a total heart of generosity

 

[champagne1982]

Inside This Shadow

Look beyond the the horizon
to a shadowed window. Fly
through and rest a while,
beside my pillowed head.

Dark bird, fly to me
and calm my beleaguered
heart. These dreams
do not refresh my soul.

Summer land and honeyed
scent of warm skin; sun
against my cheeks. Whisper
me no more, I cannot go.

What would we leave behind,
dark bird? That call, once
answered, would lead over
winter fields. What then?

What then if there is no
more to dream? Summer land
would fade to autumn
and darken to winter snow.

We've only dreams. Dark bird,
fly to me as I sleep and rest
with me inside this shadowed
room next to my pillowed head.

 

[champagne1982]

Crows Of Winter

The far side of autumn is drawn in notes of gray.
Morning seems to close the drapes on the colours
of the dawn. Flannel sheets of sky, pulled up, over
the reluctant day, settle close against its skin.

Bright songs of springtime mating have drifed south
with flower's bloom, to leave the tired year dying.
Dressed in somber suits of muted light and winter's
clucking worry, now caws the black murder of crows.

The mourners gather round the hearth to recollect
that summer day when those shuttered eyes filled
with the colours of the sails that slid across
the lake, now stilled and reflecting darker sights.

Autumn passes slowly and sheds her bright cloak
as death throes shake her limbs. Each moan of wind
heard through the walls brings another chill
and she draws the flannel up beneath her chin.

She turns to slip away to a dreamland of summer,
far away from the crows of winter and the pain
brought with the cold of night and frost, that waits
over the lake beneath the colours of the sails.