I am a crow
Who circles camps
Of spiritual claims.
Sometimes, seeing something shiny,
I light for that moment
Of inclusion;
Then, spooked by certain noise,
I fly back to the safe perch
Of overview.
Irr: crows are very intelligent birds, and maybe a glimmer of hope distracts them to a point where they seek a prior safety nest to rest in.
This is a poem about the spiritual journey with crow as a symbol of mind/soul interaction.
Looking from the heights of the soul, the mental world contains sudden items of rare beauty worth consideration and flashes of the ultimate horror of devouring (See Wm. Blake’s “Book of Thel”). My Am. Native friends would understand this brief poem.
I beg your pardon. I was seeng in your poem more from sharing a bird’s eye view, more densely I suppose yet, with the irony infused generality that adds value to a glimmer of added objectivity which supposes truth in the proposition:
The more, the merrier.
I think this, because some consider the crow alone the harbringer of trouble.
I try to be more positive in approaching poetry as more accessible, though really appreciate Your iwn intention to particular relevance to anthropological types the poem is geared toward.
The connection of mind and soul elements can part take consistenbe to other parallel motives. which may not ignore Your thematic intention , yet
bring forth a number of visages connecting to one’s own particular position in life.
So this:
“Verily, I myself am the scared crow that once saw you naked, and without paint; and I flew away when the skeleton ogled at me.”
by Nietzsche , can be seen as a particular “sudden flash of rare beauty” without shifting the objective of the intended meaning.
I think You are very insightful to point out the constructed thematic object in particular, because it embraces the manyfold possible meanings that can bring to bloom the intensity of the actual and imminent landscape evolving through it’s living change.
Thank You for the poem, and I suppose we are really all native Americans in a sense that defies late immigration as excluded from being part of this beautiful, yet incomprehesively complex land, at first appearance.
Yet the charm, with which the poem introduces the varied blocks to the newbees is successfully muted .
Thanks, Irreleus.
Meno,
I think that you are both beautiful and brilliant. 
I love crows and I agree with you as you say:
The beauty of poetry to me is that it speaks to us individually from who we are and we can take from it what we will. We cannot put it in shackles. It is free to express itself and to become whatever thing of beauty or vision one sees in it…whether like some kind of wonderful abstract painting or some kind of clear, awesome panoramic landscape.
Of course. this/these are just my feelings/intuition about it and there are many, many, many others besides mine. Otherwise, I too, would be holding beautiful poetry in shackles.
The sky and beyond is not the limit.
I don’t really know what to say , but thanks.
I really feel the balance between the above and what’s below, :
The willow weeps into a very deep fountain of compassione, only to be washed away by the stream.
I wrote this poem in the 1990s when, wherever I went,
a murder of crows appeared. I imagined they had a number of sounds that signaled my name.
Five caws was for me!
One day at work when I was unloading a truck a crow came and perched on a pole close by. My boss, who was helping me heard the crow’s cries. I asked her to respond. She said she felt like a fool talking to a crow.
They do not congregate around me these days.
Meno_
Beautiful imagery there, Meno_.
But would the willow have done otherwise had it known its fate?
Let me think about that one Arcturus.
“One day at work when I was unloading a truck a crow came and perched on a pole close by.”
It was Odin, dude. Did u have any runestones with u?
While I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t see what this has to do with my poem
Maybe so. No I don’t have any runestones.
Do you not realize, Ierrellus, that through and during one’s journey through life, there are many off-the-beaten track paths to walk, many trails that have not as yet been discovered and are meant to become known?
Let the crow speak to your heart through its beautiful cawing, Ierrellus. There you might just find something so, so “shiny” that is well worth your contemplation of it and well worth leaving something behind for a long moment or two.
Arc,
I’m sorry if I came across as insensitive. It was not my intention.
_
Years ago, I saw and heard crows every, and then people started dying, and it hasn’t stopped since… though I don’t see nor hear many crows anymore. They only perched on certain houses at certain times of the day, and were really really loud.
Yo, you should have installed some kind of scarecrow.
No, no, no, no, no - you did not come across at all as being insensitive, Ierrellus. That is not what my words to you were all about.
Perhaps you can think of them as some kind of abstract painting from the Universe painted upon the Sky just for you to ponder.
Perhaps I shall ponder them myself.
"Arcturus, ponder those words. "
I just wanted this thread to be about the possible spiritual nature of crows, maybe as harbingers. Perhaps my aim is too narrow.
Talking about insensitive , I wish it to have been some kind of comic relief.
Hope you know me better than that
As always
See, I will admit to have a good and bad side, like most people, but instead of the ugliness , down deep i wish to project beauty.
Something is always amiss. But it is so terribly difficult to re-present an objective nowedays , with the world gnawing away at one’s entrails.