I never had to eat crow until i was 24. i’m not saying i was always right before that… i’m just saying most of the time i could back up what i was saying. all the time in fact. until i met the one person in the world who was smarter than me…. my wife.
This weekend there was a moving running called a Murder of Crows. I saw this movie years ago and thought it was pretty good. I dont really remember what its about or how it ends but i would have liked to watch it to remember. Stars Cuba Gooding and was about him being charged with a crime he didnt commit, or did he?
There was a crow sitting on the pavement right in front of the house where my grandmother used to live. It sat there, just waiting as if nothing happened. Waiting for food, maybe, or another handsome crow. But no food or handsome crow showed up. Neither did my grandmother. She never came back home from that long trip to the hospital.
“You have to be kind to crows”, my grandmother always said. “They are emissaries from the other side.” As if being kind to them was a choice – I suppose you could go and hunt them, but really, they exist almost outside the normal plane of experience – so smart, able to use tools, recognize human faces, and communicate this to their young.
Damn straight you better be kind. She really should have said “Don’t mess with them, child, or you’ll be in for a world of hurt.”
Crow. What is a crow? A big dark chair. And a man sitting there. Having a glass of scotch. The crow watching him. And what do you do? When he turns around, spotting you in the entrance.
Crows do not let other birds live in their habitat. They are competition for the other birds, and may even kill them for food. A diversity of birds are not found where crows are. But, they are scavengers, and help clean the environment, by eating decaying food.
a beautiful bird that is usually potrayed as a bad omen.. personally i think its a freaking awesome bird and it comes to collect on people who are down on luck, some what like the reapers minion, do
The crow in the drain. The polluted air. Blah, Blah. The piece of literature that I will always remember. And dread. Literature in my school was lousy and insignificant. A shadow of what other schools learn, what we could have been thought.
crows are fascinating creations whom i enjoy watching but fear getting too closer. perhaps it is the knowledge of their long life span that scares me, cause i know i’m never gonna live as long as they do.
Dead crows lined the wall and blackened the pathway towards it. There were dozens of them inking the snow, and dozens more decorating the stone. What could have killed them and more importantly what happened to their eyes?
“Where are you going?” Was her quiet question, poised in the thin air. The bird looked down to her in a curious manner, having the decency to at least caw before spreading his wings and making his way elsewhere.
A line of electricity springs for from the wooden pole of the common stay, a perfect perch for a dark, soul-carrying bird of the rubbish bins. Overhead, one of these birds flew-cawing rudely at the passerbys.
The crow on the fence cries out as she walks by. Like an omen of the death to come and the ones that have already passed.
“Don’t think about it”. They keep telling her this. As if she could just forget. Not that she would want to even if she had the choice.
They just don’t like me Robin….. and I can’t seem to figure out why
Robin? Robin?
The crow sat on the wire staring at the diminishing image of the robin and sighed
where’s the pain when the death is slow?
i’m disgusted by thoughts
i stay for a seldom breath
so many lonely nights
thin line between sad and wrong
we can fantasize
but it’s strangeness
counting crows as they circle
the nature of living.
The bird was black, like the rest of the birds in the damned city. It was an inherent, bleeding effect, from the dark tar lining the edges of the rundown motel windows to the smoke that rolled like molasses from sewer covers to the color of the blood that stained the sidewalks as if some grim scars. What came first, the birds or the city? I’d like to imagine the crows used to be doves, forever changed by some cruel osmosis.
I hear you
and here you are
confessing the unthinkable
pouring your vital organs out
exposing your disease-ridden insides
not knowing how beautiful I see them to be
and yet you cack and craw and you cry and collide
letting this life pass you by as I am starting right in front
promising that I, in complete flesh, am open to consuming you
and no amount of cockroaches or worms or decomposing bothers will ever
rid me from the satin soft feathers that once held me in our less insane days
alas
Quote the raven “Nevermore”
I am met with curious, beady eyes when I open the blinds. Crows—at least six of them. They’re all ruffled black feathers and indignant posturing, huddled together inharmoniously on my windowsill and out of the rain.
The sky was dark with clouds, wispy and tendrous. Across the sky flew a black crow, swooping and winding and rolling. A field mouse began his run across the dry road, and the crow swooped and grabbed it in its talons, poking at the rodent’s eyes as it lifted it up off the earth for its first and last time.
they seem like bullies, although i know they are bright and adaptable birds. i’m bummed to see so many around these days. i think they have scared off the song birds.
i saw crow atop his nest. he stared, his beedy eyes piercing my skin. he called out, a screaching sound that had me instantly covering my ears. in the darkness, he flew off and i was left wondering what happened of the crow.
there was a crow squaking so loud at me while i was sitting drinking my coffee this morning. he flew to the next tree and was still just as loud. another bird was chattering at him as well. i don’t think he makes a good neighbor
The bell tolled twelve times. The solemn procession began and as the mourners made their way into a church, a crow flew overhead and landed on the steeple. It’s cries put the final dark accent on the afternoon.
At first I thought about buzzer but now I realize I believe a crow is more like a Raven which is an animal I find very interesting. I think of it sometimes that it may be spirit pet either Raven or Crow. I’d like to look more into it but I’m not sure what I’d prefer to look into crow or raven. Perhaps both and see which I relate more too and connect with. It could be interesting.
the darkness of the crow, enveloping her every movement, following the tracks back to her house. Its eyes light like fire, search for the weakness in her breath. She is scared of the dark, and of the crow within. And how it follows her feet tracked back through the snow.
I never had to eat crow until i was 24. i’m not saying i was always right before that… i’m just saying most of the time i could back up what i was saying. all the time in fact. until i met the one person in the world who was smarter than me…. my wife.
This weekend there was a moving running called a Murder of Crows. I saw this movie years ago and thought it was pretty good. I dont really remember what its about or how it ends but i would have liked to watch it to remember. Stars Cuba Gooding and was about him being charged with a crime he didnt commit, or did he?
There was a crow sitting on the pavement right in front of the house where my grandmother used to live. It sat there, just waiting as if nothing happened. Waiting for food, maybe, or another handsome crow. But no food or handsome crow showed up. Neither did my grandmother. She never came back home from that long trip to the hospital.
“You have to be kind to crows”, my grandmother always said. “They are emissaries from the other side.” As if being kind to them was a choice – I suppose you could go and hunt them, but really, they exist almost outside the normal plane of experience – so smart, able to use tools, recognize human faces, and communicate this to their young.
Damn straight you better be kind. She really should have said “Don’t mess with them, child, or you’ll be in for a world of hurt.”
“Eat crow!” he said. Well, I guess I deserved it. Who knew a big man could be so nimble?
Makes me think of some people who are there just waiting to see where one falls and fails to take advantage…
Crow. What is a crow? A big dark chair. And a man sitting there. Having a glass of scotch. The crow watching him. And what do you do? When he turns around, spotting you in the entrance.
It’s a sad bird. Nobody likes him, because they think it’s a bad bird. He doesn’t sing because of his sadness.
Crows do not let other birds live in their habitat. They are competition for the other birds, and may even kill them for food. A diversity of birds are not found where crows are. But, they are scavengers, and help clean the environment, by eating decaying food.
a beautiful bird that is usually potrayed as a bad omen.. personally i think its a freaking awesome bird and it comes to collect on people who are down on luck, some what like the reapers minion, do
The crow in the drain. The polluted air. Blah, Blah. The piece of literature that I will always remember. And dread. Literature in my school was lousy and insignificant. A shadow of what other schools learn, what we could have been thought.
crows are fascinating creations whom i enjoy watching but fear getting too closer. perhaps it is the knowledge of their long life span that scares me, cause i know i’m never gonna live as long as they do.
Dead crows lined the wall and blackened the pathway towards it. There were dozens of them inking the snow, and dozens more decorating the stone. What could have killed them and more importantly what happened to their eyes?
“Where are you going?” Was her quiet question, poised in the thin air. The bird looked down to her in a curious manner, having the decency to at least caw before spreading his wings and making his way elsewhere.
She sighed, trudging onward towards her school.
A line of electricity springs for from the wooden pole of the common stay, a perfect perch for a dark, soul-carrying bird of the rubbish bins. Overhead, one of these birds flew-cawing rudely at the passerbys.
The crow on the fence cries out as she walks by. Like an omen of the death to come and the ones that have already passed.
“Don’t think about it”. They keep telling her this. As if she could just forget. Not that she would want to even if she had the choice.
This is a widow, I just know. You ask me how? She’s not only black but sad as a crow
The crow falls from the sky and crashes to the earth. Deafening sound of a future unheard and undone.
Sometimes the crow gets a bad rap. He wishes he could even have the stature of a seagull or pigeon. Is he the blackbird baked in a pie?
The bird silently sat there. Mocking me with its incessant crowing.
“Shut up,” I snapped. “This isn’t funny.”
Yet it continued to laugh at my distress, its night-black wings waving cheerfully as it pushed off to fly even closer towards me.
Crows circling overhead
Don’t know why they’re waiting
I’m already dead
Lying on the ground here
Waiting for a miracle
But there’s no phoenix tear
They just don’t like me Robin….. and I can’t seem to figure out why
Robin? Robin?
The crow sat on the wire staring at the diminishing image of the robin and sighed
The crow is considered a bad omen for many. its black colour and ugly features don’t sit well with most people. racism is what it is.
where’s the pain when the death is slow?
i’m disgusted by thoughts
i stay for a seldom breath
so many lonely nights
thin line between sad and wrong
we can fantasize
but it’s strangeness
counting crows as they circle
the nature of living.
to brag
a misunderstood bird
pride – eating crow
The bird was black, like the rest of the birds in the damned city. It was an inherent, bleeding effect, from the dark tar lining the edges of the rundown motel windows to the smoke that rolled like molasses from sewer covers to the color of the blood that stained the sidewalks as if some grim scars. What came first, the birds or the city? I’d like to imagine the crows used to be doves, forever changed by some cruel osmosis.
I hear you
and here you are
confessing the unthinkable
pouring your vital organs out
exposing your disease-ridden insides
not knowing how beautiful I see them to be
and yet you cack and craw and you cry and collide
letting this life pass you by as I am starting right in front
promising that I, in complete flesh, am open to consuming you
and no amount of cockroaches or worms or decomposing bothers will ever
rid me from the satin soft feathers that once held me in our less insane days
alas
Quote the raven “Nevermore”
I am met with curious, beady eyes when I open the blinds. Crows—at least six of them. They’re all ruffled black feathers and indignant posturing, huddled together inharmoniously on my windowsill and out of the rain.
The sky was dark with clouds, wispy and tendrous. Across the sky flew a black crow, swooping and winding and rolling. A field mouse began his run across the dry road, and the crow swooped and grabbed it in its talons, poking at the rodent’s eyes as it lifted it up off the earth for its first and last time.
they seem like bullies, although i know they are bright and adaptable birds. i’m bummed to see so many around these days. i think they have scared off the song birds.
i saw crow atop his nest. he stared, his beedy eyes piercing my skin. he called out, a screaching sound that had me instantly covering my ears. in the darkness, he flew off and i was left wondering what happened of the crow.
there was a crow squaking so loud at me while i was sitting drinking my coffee this morning. he flew to the next tree and was still just as loud. another bird was chattering at him as well. i don’t think he makes a good neighbor
black
bird
bad
beak
rain
blue
sky
tree- branch
egg
eyes
hair
witch
story
food
cloudy
crying
Matt was woken up for the third day in a row by the crow outside his window.
“I’m going to kill that goddamn bird!”
WIth that, he set off for the back door with his rifle.
The bell tolled twelve times. The solemn procession began and as the mourners made their way into a church, a crow flew overhead and landed on the steeple. It’s cries put the final dark accent on the afternoon.
Shamed for their color, but when it comes down to flight
Crows and doves fly the same; and only one comes in white.
people listen more when you speak less
At first I thought about buzzer but now I realize I believe a crow is more like a Raven which is an animal I find very interesting. I think of it sometimes that it may be spirit pet either Raven or Crow. I’d like to look more into it but I’m not sure what I’d prefer to look into crow or raven. Perhaps both and see which I relate more too and connect with. It could be interesting.
the darkness of the crow, enveloping her every movement, following the tracks back to her house. Its eyes light like fire, search for the weakness in her breath. She is scared of the dark, and of the crow within. And how it follows her feet tracked back through the snow.
This nigga be real. When dey done swoop at you dat some instagram shit.