Tuesday, February 14, 2012

A brief poem-like observation, about crows

The crows roosted outside my office window in Bloomington tonight. 
They called and scolded and begged each other, high up in the cold trees. 

And when they seemed settled, for reasons known only to them, 
hundreds would suddenly leap into the air, silent except for the rush of black wings.

c. 1625–50 / 
Japanese Artist 


  1. This is lovely, Mr. Patterson. I like the description of silent flight, as if taking to the air together quelled all need for conversation. There seems to be a battle raging in the Japanese piece; what a mystery it is, the oft-invisible impetus for f(l)ight in the hearts of bird and man.

  2. Thank you kindly. I am not entirely happy with it, but it took only a few seconds to write itself. I will unfortunately never be a poet of much talent; scansion is strangely beyond me. I know when something is right (or close to it) by how it feels, but I cannot find the problem when something is wrong. And once I begin thinking about it, my gut feeling quickly dissipates.

    An additional observation: crows in the air rarely seem to quarrel amongst themselves (though they will mob a hawk or owl), and seem to reserve all their fighting for time spent on the ground or perching.