Muttering of Crows

The crows had been gone for a couple of days.

I noticed the bread crumbs hadn’t been eaten

and thought they’d lost their taste for whole wheat

but when a fresh salmon skin sat untouched

I knew something was up, a crow convention

or an earthquake coming,

thinking apocalyptic as the skin dried

and the bread hardened, wondering

about a world without crows

and what the silence would tell us

when the birds were gone.

Last night moon broke through the clouds

and in the stillness with the ebb softly flowing,

luna’s light across the water,

I forgot about the crows

though I still missed them

and let the oneness with Her go deep

in union like the days of old

before the tweet and ring tone.

I settled into the rock and the earth beneath

letting my desire surface as I rarely do,

falling asleep still looking out to sea,

knowing She was there but wanting to know

that I was still in touch with what I loved.

In the morning the crows were back;

they’d spent all their money in Vegas

and were pretty hung over

but said they’d had a good time

before eating their stale bread and dried skin

as I sat on my bench in the early breeze

still filled with a feeling of wonder

and the muttering of crows.




17 Responses to “Muttering of Crows”

  1. Lori B says:

    This one really touched me. Thanks!

  2. Tom Wilson says:

    Love the mystical in this poem, and have always been drawn to crows. Research on them is showing what a high level of consciousness they have, amazing memories, ingenious tool makers. Have you ever read Ted Hughes’ poetry collection called Crow?

  3. Elaine says:

    Beautifully written. When I lived out closer to the lake, a flock of crows use to sit in a big tree in the park along the lake where I jogged. As I came through the park I would “speak” to the crows and they would follow me as I jogged along the lake. When I turned around to come back home, they would follow me and nestle back into the big old tree in the park, awaiting my presence again the next day. I do miss those crows and the beautiful lake!! However, there are crows where I live now and I continue to “speak” to them but it’s different some how, like they don’t care and don’t want to liste. I am not sure why, maybe the negativity of the area where I live. I sure know it’s not me as I am always trying to radiate positive energy wherever I go.

  4. David Banner says:

    I love this one….your great sense of humor floods forth!

  5. Another lovely poem reminding me of patience with cycles, with Nature, with enhancing connections. All in good time, but not necessarily as I expect, but definitely as I trust.

  6. allen guisinger says:

    My resident flock of crows visit the goat’s yard daily to clean up any left-over food bits. Yesterday, I noticed that they had found a rabbit’s tiny babies in a fur-lined nest amidst the tall grass at the center of the goat’s yard — the crows had enjoyed a nutritious meal of baby rabbit. Once again the beauty of life’s design – nothing wrong – just balance and living according to their perfect nature and purpose.

  7. Sylvia says:

    I love crows…I talk with them on occasion and they humor me with answers! I think this piece is so much fun…thank you.

  8. thea says:

    The crows were gone from me last week: I left the bones of goats for them and nobody came to the feast.

  9. thea says:

    Don, did I just write a poem?

  10. Lloyd Meeker says:

    Don, in my heart this love poem from a faithful lover resonates after several readings. It’s playful, profound, passionate – so beautiful. And the humor really deepens it for me. Where else would crows go, but to Vegas? Thank you.

  11. You poem brings me to a place of natural balance, homeostasis (or perhaps fowlstasis, to coin a word); a place of wonderment at the playful patience of the crows, assured that food will be where they fly — and more common to our seashore area the seagulls. Birds always fascinate me. I watched a couple of high-flyers ride the winds of Isaac this week. Thanks, Don, for the muse.

  12. Meghann says:

    Wonderful poem, rocking me towards a peaceful sort of nostalgia, for Nature, for old age I haven’t seen yet… I’m almost sad, until they’re back from their trip to Vegas, and then I’m smiling amusedly before the mysteries of our world. Thanks.

  13. Scott MacRae says:

    I know those crows. I’ve heard them and their brothers and sisters speak their language East and West. They all sound the same to us but I’m sure the New York Crows talk different than those Northwest Crows.

  14. admin says:

    Scott: East coast crows are all “fogeddabowdit,” west coast are just “whatever.”

  15. Pichay says:

    All of God’s critters sing in the choir
    Some sing low, and some sing higher
    Some just sit on the telephone wire
    And others just make a sound…
    With anything they got.

    A few lines from a long ago tune. All critters go where they go, when they go, why they go, in perfect attunement with Gaia. We humans assign our favoriite perception to answer our questions of the wherefors and whyfors of critter movement. Ofttimes what we observe doesn’t make human sense, as you craftily alluded to in this excellent poem. A person has to depart from his or her community for a long period in gain understanding.

  16. Don Dickinson says:

    I hope you and/or your wife are enjoying my book. Being a pilot almost from birth I’ve watched the flight of seagulls with fascination all my life . . . but crows are more fun.

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