The Crows

The crow By RM JENKINS

The crow, its call cawing,

Across these ploughed fields , Autumn’s leaves falling

Swift blown and swirled through those grey skies,

Bitter sounding, echoing, haunting,

Simple, yet haunting, gnawing.

Simple-black, but beating,

Iridescent arrogance above the clouds,

Majestic but ignoring, watchful but scary,

Still, The Jack of the skies, but master of none.

Its tearing, strutting carrion-cleaning, clockwork-eyed,

Beaded blood- filled beak, Crow -spread crowed,

Above our lives, brazen-black, sinking, rolling.

October’s bell is the crow’s calling

Rising, it’s simple acrobatics, gripping and scraping,

The sky, the clouds, merciless, tearing, pecking,

Perching, swapping -gripping and hopping, imagined God but simple beast.

Lord of the skies! Indeed, with streamlined plumage,

Berry- black, reflected, refracted, with fiery eyes, wingtips and weary dawning,

The crow

So simple at first glimpse, yet then so daunting.

In its simple chaos calling.

One thought on “The Crows

  1. The crow its calling-caw
    Echoing through those damp dark chocolate fertile sillions
    Stirring, striding its haunting claw
    Berry-black, blooded beak, boned and gnaw
    Brazen arrogance above those minions
    Master of none,yet Lord of the skies!
    Perching, swooping, gripping, hopping!
    Imagined God, yet simple beast.
    Wingtips burning, scrapes the sun,flies
    Clockwork-eyed, for the eyes a feast

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