I decided I’d post some old and new poetry I’ve written. I’ll eventually post poems by other people as well. Since there currently are some ravens speaking to each other in my backyard, I’ll start off with this one…
Ra ra ra! I hear you call.
The bird of death arrives, they say.
But I have never seen a war
Nor battlefield where wolves will play.
I’ve never seen you swooping down
To flock to an unholy meal.
I’ve never seen your beak or feathers
Dipped in blood the Reaper steals.
I know you most in early hours
When the sun still lies in bed,
When the sky is palest yellow
And pillow clouds float overhead.
While I’m nestled in my quilt
I hear your voice from the back field,
Or from the fence line, by the berries,
Or in the forest trees, concealed.
Your call is like a grating trumpet,
Clashing cymbals, nagging, sick.
It wakes up all the little birds
To lightly chirp their soft music.
But something in your cry delights me,
Fills my soul with expectation,
Like a call to new adventures;
A train departing from its station.
The cool dawn air breathes on my face,
I see you flapping through the sky.
I hear and feel life all around me.
Your “ill omen” is a lie.
No, I do not need doves or larks
Or robins trilling with delight.
Instead, let your exuberant shriek
Wake me up from the long night.
But silly me, you’re just a bird!
You do not care what people say.
You only want a meal to eat
And trees from which you eye the day.