poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “crows”

sorrowful pilgrimage

it was the day after
our bones tattered & torn
knowing not if we were
dead of alive

overnight the crows
became nocturnal
as if the poles had reversed
after a century
of fluctuating

they had become
our field guide
and though we asked
they wouldn’t say if we were
dead or alive

time passed as if
in reverse
each lifeless town we reached
showed no sign of
blood or skin or bone

wildflowers grew by the roadside
we picked them
we put them to our noses
but to no avail

the crows said it was okay to eat them

and so we did

as we traveled further
back in time
the crows became
eerily quiet
in the dead of night

and we knew not if we were
dead or alive

april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Corvid at a crossroads

I thought I had started something
turns out I’m just consciously resuming
released after an abbreviated pause

Don’t think I didn’t notice you banded me
(on my left foot) like a common criminal
paroling me back into society
hopeful my eventual return yields
a multitude of data sets

This much I say & this much you know
I am not some lame carrier pigeon
at the mercy of manipulation
the multitude of neurons in my brain
tells me I’ll never see you again

Meanwhile the family bickers and balks
complacent or jealous or abhorrent
the far majority close to casting lots

november two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the old grey whistle test

even the crows seem to be tired
this unusually long summer
their calls traveling less & less

the hours counting down
the shift will be subtle but felt
like that brief pause
at the top of the carnival ride

their feathers become grey
voices more boisterous than before
the sun making its grand return
sparking wave after wave after wave

september two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

on the fringes picking up pieces

you see me in your dream
taking notes on the sidelines
while the rest of the gang
sit on high like a panel of judges
or a murder of crows
calling on the next witness

I keep my wings tucked
inside my black jacket
pacing back and forth
along the roadside
keeping my mouth shut
and pretending I’m all alone

you’re the only one
recognizing me for who I am
perfectly capable of joining
your little inner circle
but modestly more at ease
scavenging on my own terms

march two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

crows of aleppo

crow followed me home
like a shadow over my sorrow
squawking like a dog does
not knowing where to turn

by the time I got there
it had burned to the ground
that crow following me home
suddenly a dozen or more

as they circled up above
a calm enveloped my being
those crows following me home
neither ally nor enemy

june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

like a crow on a sign post

there is an intangible stirring somewhere
perhaps in the clouds or in the water
in the ground or in the fire
it doesn’t matter ‘where’ really
it could be in the economy or in the wars
lying dormant in a billion dreams
it could be current events or
your everyday laissez-faire
but it is most definitely there
designed to reassure
true change is inevitable

june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

hey diddle’s redux

now the crow
how he boasts
but not like a cow
with no place to go

nobody flew
over the moon
not even the crow
comfortably roosting
atop spotted dog

inside farmhouse
grandma plays fiddle
while diddle diddle
licks the dish clean
spoon her microphone
the cat’s caw her song

december two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

yesterday’s sunshine

you store it in virtual bottles
stashed away in far away places
sealed tight and out of sight

you inspire to relive the bottling
hidden from everyday reality
filled with genuine creativity
and dying to be retold

reopening yesterday’s sunshine
is as dangerous as blackbirds
sulking in the shadows
calling forth the ghost of cruelty
to usher in new beauty

february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

a call to arms

the circle invitation
echoes from miles around
from a solitary flyer
high above the flooded
creek near oxfordshire

days of endless rain create
casualties on the ground
ripe for the taking
by just about anything
remotely intelligent

the size of the circle
grows wing by black wing
gaining strength and sailing
like a school of fish
in the overcast sky

once reconnaissance
confirms an opening
the dark circle transforms
into a ruthless carnivore
spiraling toward the earth

april two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

counting crows

a murder of crows
bide their time
on the outskirts of town
waiting patiently
as the virus
gripped the residents
with fever and fear

death by death
the murder grew larger
their calls becoming
creepingly human
their strategy
instinctively fine-tuned
and well orchestrated

the devastation
never aired anywhere
no mention of crows
nor intelligence
of any pandemic
ever germinating
in an alien field

april two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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