A poem for the new year - Some Call Me Raven

If you are subscribed to the blog via email you would have already received this poem as a Christmas present ( lucky you).

This poem was one of my experiments in having more fun in my poetry.  I have this tendency to think that Poetry is all very, very serious (a pattern of thinking I am endeavouring to change) so I tried to be a bit more theatrical ? in my approach this time.  You'll notice this particularly if you listen to the audio below.

I have made a tentative agreement with myself to publish more poems on the blog this year so...

Please enjoy.

Some call me Raven

others Crow.

A god before the slow decline

to memory and thought. I brought

good omens before bad.

Will I rise again? No.

Nevermore.

All things must

fall.

You judge.

Unkind or murderous,

which is worse?  Forever cursed;

bearer of unwanted news

or to be thought unkind

for all I’ve done?

This unwanted guest

has cleaned the mess of a thousand

bloodied fields. Is that it?

The mud and gore sticks? Am I

the fetish for your hate

and foolishness?

Confess,

the vulture does the same -

perhaps you pity his ugliness?

I don’t sing

sweetly.  I’m harsh. Frequently

I disappoint you but to say

I lash you with my screams? An obscene

reaction to my call.  Straight spoken truth

never suited you.

Call me cruel?

You pluck the eyes of lambs.

Hypocrite -

their ribs were mutton chops,

lips and arshole spam,

before I came along.

Those muddy squatters under your eaves,

those cooing vermin that breed

and shit everywhere. Nothing to say?

No one ever thought it romantic

to feed the crow.

No.

I’ll build my nest in trees

as far from you

as I can go.

Is it the colour?

The villain always wears black.

If I had a golden bill, I’d be more

pleasing to the eyes? No?

No.

As I recall they ended

up in pies.

I will never lead a nation.  March

golden at the head of men.  Grace

stately coats of arms again. The

harm’s done.

The best I can hope

settled here on this branch

is to herald the oncoming

autumn and the darkness

of things.

All fall.

All fall -

more so those of us

with wings.