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Creek Running North

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December 05, 2003

Crow music

Let my black sun glint off my black beak;
it will spawn a dark coruscation in eyes that pass below.
Let it glint off sable feathers.
Splayed primaries shudder, shine a Sirius of color.

We hold our wiry territory
five strands hung from pole to pole.
Sidle too close along the line, and beak will snap,
nape will flare. We are
an arpeggio of feathers on a blue sky stave.

The rage that sings along these wires
raises not the slightest tremor as we clasp them.

If you who weep hang up your phone,
slam your door, and stalk distracted
past the creosoted timbers holding us aloft,
our corrugated song will steel your spine.

Warm breeze plays about splayed wing.
A bored ecstasy of stretching,
another shudder, and I fold it back along me.

Posted by Chris Clarke at December 5, 2003 06:39 PM TrackBack URL for this entry:
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decorative line of bighorn petroglyphs

Comments

Jungle crows have taken over Tokyo... huge crows the size of ravens. When they sit on a wall top or gable and their eyes glint down at you, there is no mistaking the intelligence. Many people shudder in discomfort and trepidation, but somehow I take comfort in knowing there are others who as intelligent, if not more, as we are, waiting on the sidelines as we screw up the world. I think crows will know what to do in the aftermath.

Posted by: butuki at December 6, 2003 07:44 AM
decorative line of bighorn petroglyphs

Oh, by the way... a real sun-bleached boards and barbwire poem. Just what crows are.

Posted by: butuki at December 6, 2003 07:46 AM
decorative line of bighorn petroglyphs

Good God, this isn't fair. Nobody who writes prose as beautiful as yours has any business writing beautiful poetry too!

I love crows, and this captures all their swagger and "keck."

I know, they're a trash species -- invading everywhere; loud, quarrelsome, endlessly adaptable; brutally displacing the natives. But then, that just describes us to a tee too, doesn't it? I don't see where human beings could get off, condescending to crows. We're the trash species par excellence.

Posted by: Dale at December 6, 2003 09:53 AM
decorative line of bighorn petroglyphs

I like crows, too. (Not surprising!) I especially love it when they hop along the ground, tilt their heads at you, and say "Gronk!" I really like this poem, too; as Dale says, it really captures the essence of crow.

Posted by: Rana at December 7, 2003 05:24 PM
decorative line of bighorn petroglyphs

i have always found corvids endlessly fascinating - and so is the flow of your poem. i envy your complete comfort around words!

Posted by: Anne at August 27, 2004 01:39 PM
decorative line of bighorn petroglyphs