This appeared recently in an anthology called New Poets of the American West. It's no crow (we have ravens at our altitude—no idea why), but close enough....
From a Swaying Hammock
With a raw squawk the raven breaks his glide and alights on a pine’s
spring-like branch. What peaks gleam in his onyx eye? What fat anoints his beak?
When I doze, it seems I hear my name picked apart by his artful caws,
feel the combs of his claws prowling among my graying hairs.
And, oh, I forgot to mention: my first book of poetry, entitled "Bridget bird and other poems", is coming out soon.
That's right: a book I've named after my friend I see every Spring/Summer in the tree outside my window. It's my way of saying thanks to the things I can't write without.
This appeared recently in an anthology called New Poets of the American West. It's no crow (we have ravens at our altitude—no idea why), but close enough....
ReplyDeleteFrom a Swaying Hammock
With a raw squawk the raven breaks
his glide and alights on a pine’s
spring-like branch. What peaks gleam
in his onyx eye? What fat anoints his beak?
When I doze, it seems I hear my name
picked apart by his artful caws,
feel the combs of his claws
prowling among my graying hairs.
How can I sleep with him perched there?
Birds are always among the best poetical subjects, full of mystery & menace: and both these poems prove it.
ReplyDeleteAnd, oh, I forgot to mention: my first book of poetry, entitled "Bridget bird and other poems", is coming out soon.
ReplyDeleteThat's right: a book I've named after my friend I see every Spring/Summer in the tree outside my window. It's my way of saying thanks to the things I can't write without.
J,
ReplyDeleteYour raven poem makes my crow look like a sparrow!
C,
Great title; I'm sure the poems will be a fitting tribute to your friend.
Thanks to you both for commenting.