new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
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 HammockWith 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.
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.
J,Your 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.