Thursday, February 5, 2015

Crows

Here is the thing about the crows--
they go insane when they see your dark hair.
I'm filled with birds by the thousands, all night-black and twisting,
letting me know they know their business;
letting me know they're there.

Each one can recognize a single face from a crowd.
Each one is individual,
intelligent,
loud.

The face they want is your face.
No use in quizzing them, they don't negotiate.

I can feel them when they get restless--
they remind me of the Nine Mile fire of 1975,
and the millions of nights since then.
They remind me that everything alive begins with black,
then flies, then falls, then stills again.

Here is another poem for you,
flocked with feather thread, I think--
a night-bloom by the crows demand
from match and bauble, soul and ink.
_______

For Ella's challenge at Real Toads. I have tried to capture the feeling just before I write a poem. In addition, she insists on a nod to home; the Nine Mile fire of 1975 was the biggest in the history of the city where I live. 

 

22 comments:

TexWisGirl said...

restless, painful, haunting.

Sioux said...

Match and bauble, soul and ink.

Gorgeous.

(By the way, Picoult's "Second Glance" was not a thrill-a-thon nor a page-turner in my opinion. And of course I'm going to buy 2 of your books--1 for me and 1 for a friend.)

Ella said...

My new favorite! Gosh, I love every line and I have this thing about Crows.
I had black/blue hair growing up. No, I don't have a big beak-lol.

Oh, there is so much mystical illusion in this offering! Your 'wa' is spot on~

Ravens and crow bring messages from the darkness-just like your poems~

Love yours

Cloudia said...

You touch and thrill me like no other. Poet.

Björn Rudberg said...

This is perfection.. How else can we explain the blackness of ink?.. it makes total sense to me.

hedgewitch said...

'.. everything alive begins with black,/then flies, then falls, then stills again.,,' also like the last lines and the rhyme, which serves this dish warmly, as always.

georgeplaceblog said...

That ending is perfection

Kenn Merchant said...

I've always wondered what the difference was between a crow and a raven. I've always been told that a crow is a symbol of death, and that a raven is a symbol for insight. Then one day someone told me it was the opposite. I suppose it depends on a person's perspective. Great poem Shay! Animals always seem to peer into someone's soul.

Gillena Cox said...

Thay do have that quizzcal look about them, these birds here a lot af grackles(black with shiny feathers) are froliciking about, from time to time they alight with athat look

Nice poem about your crows

much love...

Jazzbumpa said...

I have a pretty good beak, but the hair has gone to grey - what's left of it.

Love your poem.

I'm in W. Bloomfield.

We're almost neighbors.

Cheers!
JzB

Wolfsrosebud said...

i felt the struggle in this... hope the writing was easier

Hannah said...

Love the way you employed "black" opening with the crow and closing with black and stillness...the last portion is interesting...the way that it feels, to me, to be separate from the entirety.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

This is gorgeous, one of my faves, full of birds as it is. I especially love "everything alive begins with black,then flies, then falls, then stills again." Wow!!

Outlawyer said...

Feather thread is an amazing notion--and the black and the confusion of hair and faces works so well here--there is that in writing for sure--the sorting of out confusion and the rescuing from the fire. Thanks, Shay. I think a scribble is a word I should consider borrowing if people don't like "draft." Though I think this is certainly finished. k. (Manicddaily and not a robot.)

Susie Clevenger said...

"They remind me that everything alive begins with black, then flies, then falls, then stills again." Powerful line and i love how you ended it.

Kerry O'Connor said...

I love the same lines Susie has quoted. There is always a deep sense of passion at the heart of your poetry.

daisy the blue-eyed river said...

Oh my, Shay. This is gorgeous!!! I'm particularly fond of this one. You do have a special kinship with birds. There's something "extra" in all your bird-related poems.

I'm nuts over the first stanza.

Susan said...

Of the dark of crows a soul learns to speak and fall and rise and repeat, drawn to itself and dark likenesses in hair and shadow ... I believe this and its playfulness and seduction. A powerful origin for poetry.

Mama Zen said...

You've really captured that restlessness, that gathering energy. Beautiful, Shay.

Margaret said...

No escaping (or lying to) their piercing keen eye. Very moody - it's like the calm before the storm and one can hear a pin drop…

Paul said...

Surely the Devil's own creatures these Crows are!

my heart's love songs said...

are all the neighborhoods there named "Mile"? Eight Mile... Nine Mile... Skippidy Doo Dah Mile...