Nevermore

About Prometheus,

Not all things combust this way.

The will with wings

plies the sky same as our rows are sown, 

the bird does not always

Fall for it,

and never sweats it. 

The Raven, not Michael nor Quoth

Wingnut, whose pine cabin home was hewn

down in front of mine-by a giant crane

now moves from Ficus to Loquat to Mexican Fan

Palm and gets around others-his heritage gone-

Well, I watch him still,

He plants trees in the front yard.

I watched him with his will 

balanced at 2 o’clock rest,

Perched fifty feet up high 

toward the end of a silver branch

when he notices me

watching Him.

He cocks his head, his eyes drop 

to tiny me,

He lifts his left leg dramatically, 

talon spread wide and up,

his eyes fixed toward me,

Sure he was about to pivot

to change 

the view-

Instead

He fell,

He tucked his wings to his sides and plummeted,

He fell.

My heart rattled,

Hart Crane.

And just when I could no longer see him, 

he rose.

Wings wide, he climbed with his will,

promptly doing a flyby down 

the empty driveway.

About intentions, 

Prometheus knows nothing of arson

He can only carry on

hot air to rise-

besides, 

Legends live too long, 

Atlas lifted all but his eyes,

too busy with the world and all

Fire and Friction.

Meanwhile, I am learning 

to lean on the wind,

like the crane floating offshore

feeling 

this is not falling.


Artwork By Kawanabe Kyōsai (Artlino archive) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Cockcrow of the crows and a cockatoo

There are city dwelling birds

that are not your common stool pigeons.

The ravens occupy the east

side of the tracks.

The gulls guard the windy west.

On garbage day they all rise early

not for worms in the green box holes-

they know the small fries

are at the bottom of paper bags.

We had a murder

before our pine tree was felled

from illness. Yet, like serial flyers,

they moved to another pine,

preferring needles and sap

to the plethora of palms;

mexican fan, kintia, canary, 

the King and Queen and the Phoenix.

The ravens also get dates,

taking them out to 

happening intersections

and drop them so they 

get cracked by cars,
rolling through

while the fair gulls glide along

bellies filled with stale soft bread-

And I remember good old Fred.

Taken in and taught by those

crows

how to

blend in seamlessly-though he's a cockatoo.

They fly as one flock

rise and cockcrow,

the gulls sneer and squawk.

The city birds are not blind

deaf or dumb, 

winged with wayward choice

The murder

doesn't mind

one more white bird

or a cock or two. 

Image By Liftarn (Traced from Image:Odin's ravens right.PNG) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.