The Raven

Raven, black, atop a tree

Screamed religion spuriously

Bleak-black probed me; evil glee

Before I shot it dead

Raven crowned so hideously

In a dream he came to me

Pitch black, vacant eyes I see

Before he swooped on dread

Raven claws insidiously

Gouge my own indemnity

Black robe swoops to smother me

Before tearing flesh, he said

Raven, black, atop the tree

Why do you seek to crucify me?

I only ask as courtesy

Before I shoot you dead

Rare Breeds

dead-oiled-seabird-kuroshima-dutch-harbor-spill_noaa_356

 

A magnificence of feats,

if dear hearts survive testimony,

witness to the ills of humanity;

stubborn as it is smart,

lethal as it loving –

doomed from the off.

If one red breasted heave

survives our test of time –

life has not been in vain.

 

 

A Quadrille consists of 44 words.

Sultry Goodbyes

Wall Color Flowers Summer Flower

Thank you Robert Greig for some stirring of inspiration. Please check out his blog for  fascinating, quirky insights.

Autumn has beckoned us
just as summer shies into those dark corners
hitherto unkempt and upswept
but only until wild winds kiss the days to come;
blustery and full of bronze talk,
they will clear the woebegone but sultry, silvered
spider’s webs still dancing,
and wondrously, in traces of summer’s
dissipating air and vanishing affection –
and taking with her – leaves, light, warmth,
and birds.
Now the seasons will begin to drape
like three quarter sleeves
of time’s tireless scarecrow,
who smiles when he remembers
the long drawn nights of winter’s
cloak.

Pane #Quadrille

pexels-photo-26691.jpg

Tapping rain becomes the omen,
blackbirds pecked once here before,
feeding at your safety harness
before the window cut through your shade
and more; crumpled, slain, within your own
reflection, you are shattered glass singing
shrill and bleakly, before quietly resting,
as confetti floor.

First Glances

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The crow envied
the white dove for its serene beauty,  bright white feathers
and  symbolism,
which captured the eye of many followers,
and assumed he must be very happy.

The white dove envied
the robin for his burning heart in cold, harsh times,
for being a beacon of the year and its ruby crest feathers, the glow
of pure generosity,
and assumed he must be very happy.

The robin envied
the peacock for his magnificent presence and glorious
kaleidoscope of beautiful plumage and majestic cloak befitting
of ancient kings and queens,
and assumed he must be very happy.

The peacock envied
them all from inside his birdcage prison; his tail hung down behind him,
limp and lifeless among brown straw, and spoke:
‘be grateful for what you have and do not assume what others have is any better.
Always be happy with who you are.’

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