A murther of crowes, muttering together,
atop the sycamore a'bend in the wind
I watched as obsidian beaks and ebony wings
fluttered, klaxon calls gently piercing the glass
Branches swaying and crystalline sparks,
they shift and shimmy like a school of fish,
leaving a pair behind, their talons clutching
a silvery branch become highwire
Eyes casting about, their heads dip close
with outstretched wings touching just so,
I strain to hear their raspy voices, not knowing
what they conspire, these spies or lovers
16 February 2011
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Apollo was said to have turned these birds black when they ratted to him about the unfaithfulness of one of his amours. Nothing like murhtering the messenger. Your olde Irish thought better of their gift for second sight. Spies or lovers, indeed, - Brendan
ReplyDeleteYou've painted a lovely image, but crows still scare me. "...they shift and shimmy like a school of fish" Very nice.
ReplyDeleteHeh-heh. Love the beard.
ReplyDeleteBetter wear a hat tomorrow.
ReplyDeleteEvocative. See, now you're going to have to pub a book of your essays, one for your fiction, and one for your poetry. And your photography.
ReplyDeleteRenaissance man, you.
Lovers.
ReplyDeleteYou wrote this on my birthday.
I like that.
For no reason other than, I do.