Like the coming and going of an ocean tide — the currents, the “waves” — A small gray Mockingbird chased a big black Crow — relentlessly: From tree to tree, branch to branch — disappearing within the green leaves.
When a Crow speaks, it’s a definite page;
Calling all sensitives – time to engage!
The Crow [plisky] untied his shoelaces.
Is this because he doesn’t know faces?
When a Hawk’s near, the Crows KERFUFFLE!
“Get Away,” they scream feathers a-ruffle.
Long lush green grass, dark feathers akimbo;
Two lustrous Crows dance a jammy limbo.
Big Crow lands on my porch rail, silently
And stares at me — quietly — intently.
Perched on the precipice, telephone pole — The huge black Crow cawed, to connect his goal. When a Crow’s calling, he thrusts his head out, Extends his neck, feathers a visual “shout”. His whole body’s involved in this cawing, Beak slightly open — this bird’s vibrating. I think he’s lonely, looking for kinfolk; Take a chance, roll that dice, go for broke. When birds are talking they give it their ALL. I’m running down the Hall; will I trip and fall?
Cumulus [Cyclops} Black Crow standing at the side of the gray asphalt road… in the narrow sand-colored gutter… pecking, cawing, then walking up the street… with his long talons, it’s more of a grand strut than a walk.
Murder of Crows,
One, Two, Three Crows
(If two or three are gathered in my name…)
Crows In A Tree Cawing To One Another
(Are you near, can you hear me, dear?)
Authentic Atonal Musicians
To One Another
Bartok, Stravinsky, Schoenberg
I love the thought of that.