There is always some subjectivity in judging poetry. Sharon
Auberle read the crow poems submitted this month, and said she thought the best
one was “Crow Gang.” Bruce Dethlefsen thought
the best of the bunch was “Ghazal of the Crow.” So we have two winners this
month. Here they are.
Crow Gang
On our
forty, crows belong to a gang.
They
hang together, fan out in the
morning
to do assignments.
Fearless
during the day,
at night
gather for protection,
one to
stay awake and watch.
Instantly
know the newest road kill,
spread
the word,
always
first at the scene.
>
>
Share
only with eagles,
understand
power.
Members
have no pity—eyes cold.
Swagger
when they walk,
rarely
move over for you to drive by.
Eat baby
birds or anything
defenseless,
rob nests of eggs,
clean up
leftovers,
have no
respect for boundaries.
Take
care of their own,
hold
secret trials,
dole out
punishments.
Don't
need your opinion on matters.
Been
around the block
once or
twice.
Their
uniforms are black and stark,
their
motto, "Crows Rule."
Peggy Trojan and her husband retired from teaching to seventy acres of woods in northern Wisconsin, where they built their own house next to a little trout stream. She published her first poem when she was seventy-seven, finding time, finally, to write. Currently working on two chapbooks, one a collection of poems about her large family, and the other a collection of childhood memories of World War II. She is a member of Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets.
~ Peggy Trojan
Peggy Trojan and her husband retired from teaching to seventy acres of woods in northern Wisconsin, where they built their own house next to a little trout stream. She published her first poem when she was seventy-seven, finding time, finally, to write. Currently working on two chapbooks, one a collection of poems about her large family, and the other a collection of childhood memories of World War II. She is a member of Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets.
Ghazal
of Ur the Crow
I.
Thirteen
lucky Corvus Linnaeus for my murder of crows,
making
twenty-six crows’ feet
lined
up, black bird feet on a crow’s wire
at
the way-too-early crowbar
guzzling
morning, their vocalizations the crowbar
that
pries open sleep; my pair of crow’s feet
crinkle
awake from a dream’s crow’s-nest
view
of ebony trickster’s crowing
fables,
tales told in crow tails and crow cawws.
II.
Caww!
says I, I am
ur-crow.
I am
ubiquitous, omnivorous, scavenger crow.
Caww!
I am
archetypal crow.
Caww! I am Chaldean crow, Viking
crow.
Caww!
I am shaman’s
crow, druid’s crow.
Caww!
I am Chukchi
crow and Haida creation crow.
Caww!
I am
Sheshat’s crow.
Caww!
I am Jewish
crow, Christian crow, crow of Allah.
Caww!
I am the
Epic-of-Gilgamesh crow.
Caww!
I am Faerie
Queene crow.
Caww!
I am Poe’s
nevermore crow.
Caww!
I am Cubist
crow, I am jazz crow—
ain’t
no Jim Crows allowed in the crow ’hood.
Caww!
I am the
crow you eat when you eat crow.
~
Karla Linn Merrifield
You can find Karla Linn Merrifield on the internet at the following sites:
You can find Karla Linn Merrifield on the internet at the following sites:
Poets
retrain copyright on their poems.
The
new challenge will be posted on May 1. Maybe you will be the winner next month.
©
Wilda Morris 2013
