methow grist 2011-2014 archive

Listening To Corvids On A Spring Morning

A murder of crows
A clamor of crows
A clash
A mash
A marauder of crows,
En mass
Through the scrittle and scree
Of the magpies’ endeavors
In the bare willow tree.
What a ruckus ensues!
All kinds of abuse,
Obscenities not even sailor would use.
And this scuffling of branch
And flutterance of wing
Is their discordant dance
To the coming of spring,
To the woodlot’s rebirth,
The freshening earth,
And the loitering evenings
That summer will bring.
Gone is the darkness,
The somnolent snows,
And gone is the freedom
To languish and doze.
Now there’s work to be done,
Calls the caw and the cackle
Work to be done
Squawks this cacophonous gackle,
This ear smacking sklackle
Of magpies and crows.

From David Asia’s online collection, ‘Conjugating the Verb To Be:
The Poetry of Time and Place’


Have a comment? >>