Monday, October 24, 2011

Crows and Wasps.

There is a crow, who feeds the wasps, 
they don't eat much, it is no loss. 
And when they're full, before they go, 
they come and tell it:  "zzzZank-you, crow!" 

There was a cat, who chased the crow, 
the cat would pounce, the crow would go.  
With beak held high, legs hanging down, 
"Are you a cat, or are you clown?" 

"No clown am I," replied the cat. 
"You're lucky that I am so fat. 
And that I mean you no real harm. 
I only chase you, to alarm". 

At this idea, the crow first scoffed. 
Then tried it out, and chased his wasps. 
Who much enjoyed this game, you know, 
and buzzed off, giggling: "zzzZank-you, crow!" 

Saturday, September 3, 2011


Inside my egg there was so much to see,
a frog by a pond, and a crow in a tree,
a bear licking honey, three mice and a flea,
and sights never seen, not by them, not by me.

How big is this egg? asked the frog to the bear,
but the bear could not answer, for he did not care.
We don't think it matters, squeaked the mice, over there,
to the crow, who decided to see, from the air.

So I jumped from the tree and fell into the skies,
and discovered no limit to what filled my eyes.
I think it's as big as the biggest of size,
squawked I, to the frog, and continued to rise.

Soon all the egg was left far down below,
and the heavens now opening, continued to grow.
While the air became thinner, and progress was slow,
still I climbed ever higher, still wanting to know.

With a crack, I ran into the edge of the shell,
and pecked it a few times, really doing quite well.
And when I was able, I popped through, and fell,
and discovered this thing that I now want to tell...

For my egg was the same, both without and within,
but to tell it, I don't quite know where to begin.
There are parts of the shell quite especially thin,
where the light from forever comes streaming right in.

If you look very hard for the light that is there,
you will find that it leads you to everywhere.
There are frogs, there are mice, there are crows, and a bear,
there is honey, a tree, and a great deal of air.

And this is my little autobiography.
From an egg to a crow to a life in a tree.
With a great deal of noise, just to fall silently,
to be right where I am, is just right where I'll be.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

A Crow's Day.

Fresh from his egg, a crow looked out
his world to re-arrange it.
As he matured, he looked again,
and saw no need to change it.

"Why don't you care to leave your mark?"
The owl called out in passing.
"You'll have to hurry, if you dare,
Life is not everlasting!"

The crow, now grown, surveyed the scene,
and found it to his pleasure.
His life was yet, had always been,
an everlasting leisure.

"Care not", he crowed, should this day pass:
"it's long enough to live in".
The owl sped by and dwindled fast,
enamored with the living.

The crow surveyed his perfect tree,
surveyed his perfect pond.
Surveyed his perfect sky above,
and knew that he belonged.

"No need to change a thing", cried he.
"No need to re-arrange it!"
As many changes came to be,
And crows need not explain it.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

I am a crow

I am the one you never saw coming.
I am the one you thought I could not be.
I am the one who may die for your honor.
I am the one who may almost kill me.

I am the one who sees things that you never knew.
I can live nine of my lives to your one.
I am the one who has nothing yet everything.
I am the one who can fight, fly or run.

I am the one who became once as nothing.
I am the one who in nothing, was all.
I am the one who will never lie to you.
I am the one who has no fear to fall.

I am one of those who fly with the black crows.
I am the mountain the sky and the earth.
I am the one who knows nothing that he knows.
I am one whose value is far beyond worth.

I am the one who speaks softly to water.
I am the one who raccoons know and love.
I am the parent, the son, and the daughter.
I am the black crow that circles above.

I am the one who is friends with mosquitoes.
I am the one who is calm in the storm.
I am at one with the wasps and the shadows.
I am the one who is there in the dawn.

I am the bird who is one with the seasons.
I am the eye of the cyclone at sea.
I am the rain, and the wind, and their reasons.
I am the calm in the end, finally.

I am a bird who can say all of these things.
I am all these things a bird could not be.
I am a crow who is nothing, and all things.
Knowing I am all these things, I am free.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Why Crows are Black.

"Why am I black?" squawked the tatty young crow,
to its mother, who foraged for insects, below.
"Why are you black?" she cawed, "Well, I don't know."
Which did not the young crow's question answer.

"Why am I black?" squawked the growing young crow,
to the croaking green frog in the pond down below.
"Why are you black?" croaked the frog, "I don't know."
Which did not the young crow's question answer.

"Why am I black?" squawked the not so young crow,
to the sunbathing cat, by the pond far below.
"You can't ask me that, for cats don't talk to crows".
Which did not the young crow's question answer.

"Why am I black?" squawked the shiny black crow,
to the crow in the pond who seemed eager to know,
why it was, he was black, and who didn't yet know,
Which did not either crow's question answer.

"Let us visit the Shaman, and see if he's home!"
So they flapped off, together, but came back alone.
"Why didn't you come?" They both squawked it, as one.
"We decided to go, but then you didn't come!"
"And why do you squawk everything that I do?"
"Can't you ever think up anything that is new?"
"I think I am really more clever than you!"
Which did not the two crow's questions answer.

"And why, rainbow crow, do you talk to yourself?"
The crow jumped, and noticed the Shaman, himself.
Appearing like a spirit, with guile, and with stealth.
"To which question might I have the answer?"

"Tell me why I am black, if you feel that you can",
squawked the crow, "I'm not happy, as black as I am!"
And the Shaman just smiled, and he lifted a hand,
and the crow became suddenly coloured.

"It's a trick of the light," spoke the Shaman to crow.
"A crow's brightly coloured, but people don't know".
"Since they live in the dark, then they can't see a crow."
Which almost the crow's question answered.

"Why did I, think me black, for a human, I'm not",
squawked the crow, to the Shaman, who almost forgot,
to turn, once more, into the crow, he was not,
where the crow's burning question was answered.

In the pond was a crow, now so coloured and bright,
sparkling, and shimmering, and pulsing with light.
A thing to behold, yes, a fabulous sight,
and all the crow's questions were answered.

And e'er since that day, when two crows stopped to play,
and a Shaman appeared, and the dark went away,
only humans see crows that are black, to this day,
and crows have no questions to answer.

Monday, February 21, 2011

A Crow's Prayer.

Lift your head to the treetops and open your beak.
Settle your feathers, then breathe out and speak.
The sound has no target, no distance to travel,
Your voice is a ball of wool, let it unravel.

Softly, at first, starting deep down inside,
rising like mist, making its way outside.
Sighing like willows in a warm summer breeze,
making it's way where it's going, with ease.

Nothing in life needs much force to succeed.
Nothing succeeding in life, has much need.
Let your thoughts be, what they are meant to be,
Let your thoughts see, that you have set them free.

Some things are harder, than others, it's thought.
Some thoughts, are harder than others, if fought.
Some words are harder, and some words are soft,
Let them all go, set them all free, aloft.

To dance and to curtsey, to skip and to float,
like the laughter of children, in a sandcastle moat.
Each carrying a part of you, each word is alive,
so choose each one carefully, for words never die.

Your words are all precious, though none has a price.
As they fly to the heavens, and are gone, in a trice.
But the echoes from each will endure for all time,
Ringing out through eternity, in harmony, rhymed.

Infinite Deep.

A poem inspired by my favourite ENFP. 
She reminded me that I write poetry, so I sat down for twenty minutes... 

Infinite Deep...

A crow in a treetop, looked down at the pond,
that lay next to his tree, and of which he was fond.
Every day he would eye it, and wonder sometimes,
at the bird perched inside it, who sat plotting crimes.

One day he determined to fly down and see,
what the pond bird was doing, and who it might be.
He flapped in wide circles and hopped to the ground,
after checking, as always, for what lay around.

There was nothing in hiding, no threat that lay near,
no excitement to speak of, except for a deer.
So he hopped to the side of the pond, and sat down,
and spying the bird, asked it what it had found.

"You are the crow in the tree", said the bird.
"And I am the crow in the pond, have you heard?"
"I was wondering when you would come talk to me.
I've been wondering if you might be stuck in that tree."

"You say you're a crow?" asked the crow from the tree.
"Yes, a crow's what I am," said the crow, "can't you see?"
"Then why do you live in a pond?" asked the crow,
from the tree, to the crow in the pond, "do you know?"

"I do," said the crow in the pond, to the crow
from the tree, who always liked new things to know.
"You live in the pond, and you live in the tree..."
said the crow as he entered the pond carefully.

The water was cool and a frog pedalled by,
croaking a greeting, a wink in his eye.
"Don't come too far in," said the crow in the pond,
"or you'll wet all your feathers, and that would be wrong."

"Why would it be wrong?" asked the crow from the tree.
"Crows can't fly, 'til they're dry, 'til they are, they can't flee."
"What is there to flee from?" asked the slightly damp crow.
But the pond crow decided that he didn't know.

"I know," said the owl, who had landed, to drink.
"If you give me a moment, then I'll try to think."
And while he was thinking, the tree crow took off,
and squawked down at the owl, appearing to scoff.

"Tell me why you are laughing at me?" cried the owl.
"I find the respect that you lack, for me, foul."
"Please excuse me," said crow, "I mean no disrespect,"
"I am only a crow, so what could you expect?"

"So you are," said the owl, "I can see you are dry."
"Had you not been, then you'd not be able to fly."
"If I see you again, and your feathers are wet,"
"I shall eat you for supper, and teach you respect."

"And what if I give you respect here and now?"
Asked the crow, of the owl, since he wanted to know.
"Then I shall not eat you, and we will be friends,"
"You could fly down here now, and we could make amends."

"Should I trust him?" the crow asked the crow in the pond,
who was carefully listening to these goings on.
"Why not?" spake the pond crow, "You might as well see,"
"He might not eat you, he has never ate me."

So the crow, after counsel, decided to trust,
for the sake of experience, knew that he must.
He sat down by the owl, who had finished his drink.
So surpised by the crow, knowing not what to think.

The crow in the pond was delighted at this,
He splashed out to join them and gave them a kiss.
The owl, quite ruefully, explained it thus:
"The taste of a crow, is not delicious."

And crows, tasting awful, may do as they please,
for nothing will eat them, no not even fleas.
So now sat together, once one, now were three,
the tree crow invited them back to his tree.

"Why bother with that?" said the owl to the crow.
"Could it be there is something that you still don't know?"
"That the owl and the crow and the pond and the tree,"
"are all the same thing, it is no mystery."

"Ah," said the crow, as he pondered this news.
"I'd suspected as much, I had noticed the clues."
"It is nice to be friendly with all that I see,"
"It is not hard at all, knowing all of it's me."

They splashed and they ruffled, the birds and the pond,
while the tree dipped its roots in, and distance was gone.
The frog pedalled by, once again, with a croak.
The sun went to sleep, and the night drew its cloak.

Through the darkness, the birds and the pond and the tree,
along with the frog, sat and talked, until three.
Then they all became one with the silence of sleep,
while the universe turned, in the infinite deep.