19 Corvids

 

 

Let’s go to the square and feed the birds,

You said,

Qualifying;

They don’t cough.

 

Those ones do, I said, once we were there,

Pointing at a dark tessellation of 19 crows

At attention like all in black chessmen patient formation,

On a lawn mower striped board of green grass;
Listen;

Kark. Kagg. Kaff.

You turned from filling the nut cage with seeds that were too small

For the mesh and ran like gold

Dust off the scales of your cupped palms.
They are not coughing.

You said.
They are embarrassed to be seen always in Undertaker’s weeds,

Always in tight, ebony shoes.
Inside, they may feel quite as you or I

May, or may not feel;

 

As colourful,

And as contrary;

 

Wanting to be noticed.

 

Wanting to turn away.

 

Dan Belton 28/3/20

 

I am the Road Crow (an Omen)

Black sky rip

Bin bag in your sight

Can’t believe your eyes at

My jag mask;

Dreck taking flight.

 

Limping fright wig

Horripilation.

Weather clap winged –

 

Black rubber-a-tumble

Bowl and roll straggle

The punctured gasoline blue tyre;

A ragged oscillation.

 

Crooning invert.

Puddle breathed.

Tarmac is my sky.

 

Street corner inspector;

Dog shit lifter,

Swag bag

Hefter.

Licker.

Snicker.

The dark twin

Of a laugh;

The bonfire

Crack

in the storm.

 

Beer skittle hopped.

Perched,

Wind wobbled on

Doorsteps;

Darkling milk.

Devil’s bottle.

Kazoo necked.

Corpse-gas bellied.

Shaped for ruin –

Formed in the shadow of

The end of days becoming

Nothing.

 

I am this.

That.

I am other.

 

Flitch

And thatch.

 

Egg pith pitted.

Cafard yolked.

 

No trees for me.

I beat wings of antipathy

Beat the bounds:

Kerb/Shoulder/grade/vomit/drain/crossing/camber/kerb.

 

 

I squat like roof slate –

Cloud of Grim.

Garret voiced.

Acid battered umbra,

Purple shade

Mustard eye

Custard eyed

Cowered

Coward

 

What have we done

What have you done

What have you not have done?

 

Dan Belton                                                                          3/10/2019