Well, my friends, this is it. I spent the last few days of the previous week revising the following poems. This morning, I arranged them in the book A Walk with Words I have been thinking of making it simply Walk with Words). I have the book mostly ready. Now, all I have to do is start publishing. I imagine the process will take a few weeks. I will probably get at least two proof copies before I settle on the final product, but we should have a book ready to read by mid-May. I hope that you will purchase a copy when its ready and share the book with friends who may purchase copies as well.
Please remember that each of the ditties below is to be considered on its own merits and not as parts of a whole. While an obvious loose connection is evident, I do not build the Three Crow Brother verses into a continuity. Heck! I couldn't possibly remember the previous verses when I am repeating the current verses over and over in my head. No way! As always, ENJOY!
The Three Crow Brothers Add Another
There’s the three crow brothers.
They’ve added one crow more.
Unless he helps with findin’ grub,
I can’t see what he’s for.
He joins the murder on some poles
Left lyin’ on the ground.
The brothers flit and caw and spit.
He sits without a sound.
He turns his head to watch me
As I warily walk by.
The brothers flit and caw and spit.
He keeps me in his eye.
I don’t like this outsider.
His gawp makes my skin crawl.
The brothers flit and caw and spit,
And he critiques us all.
The Three Crow Brothers Eating Habits
There’s them three crow brothers
A scratchin’ at the grass
Or maybe they are tearin’ at
A decomposing mass.
I’ve seen the crows are picky
‘Bout the freshness of their meals.
They like their meat still bleedin’ out,
Not pulped by rubber wheels.
They’re awfully fond of livers
And next prefer the eyes.
Crisp kidneys and soft stomach parts
Come as a sweet surprise.
And in their dreams, they eat a man
Creamed richly in a roux.
I don’t think they’ll be eatin’ me,
But I can’t tell ‘bout you.
Where Are Them Crow Brothers?
Where are them three crow brothers?
I ain’t seen them around
Though I walk the same ol’ trails
And tread the same ol’ ground.
They’re absent from the fairground fence
And from the dead oak tree.
They’re missing in the cedar grove
As far as I can see.
They’re not among the honkin’ geese
Splish, splashin’ in the pond.
They’re not perched on the pile of poles
Of which they are so fond.
They’re not up by the gun range
Or bobbin’ in the sedge.
I looked for them at buzzard’s roost,
But not to near the edge.
I’ve rummaged ‘round for four damned days.
I can’t believe they’re gone
Nor ever stayed here in this place.
What the hell is goin’ on?
The Three Brothers Return
I found the three crow brothers.
My spirit is renewed,
But their feathers look all ruffled
As if there’s been a feud.
One is slinking in the sedge,
One’s up in livestock row,
One’s sittin’ in the arena seats
As if to watch a show.
And all of them are silent
And hardly stir a wing
And if I holler out at them,
My words don’t rouse a thing.
I wonder what can make three crows
Get mad enough to fight,
For they have shared most every meal
Right down to the last bite.
I’ve watched them fight a big ol’ hawk
Because they had each other,
But they have also fled from jays
Much smaller than their brother.
I guess I should not worry.
Their fight’s not mine to know.
I’m sure each brother’s sorry,
‘Least as sorry as a crow.
Feed Him to the Crows
I see them three crow brothers,
Unless my vision warps,
With two hawks and four buzzards
A feastin’ on a corpse.
It is an odd assembly,
This carrion-lovin’ crew.
Hawks most often kill their food
Not like the brothers do.
The brothers like to find their snacks
Fresh but laid to rest
While red tails fly their wrigglin’ meals
A squealin’ to their nest.
But some man killed this whitetail deer.
I could not tell you why.
It’s small, stippled, and hornless
To any seeing eye.
Yes, murder’s easy to a man
When his hands hold a gun,
But killing helpless animals
Is hardly sportin’ fun.
If I ever cross this wastrel,
Slayer of yearling does,
I’ll stake his dumb ass to her corpse
And feed him to the crows.
Eating Crow
There’s them three crow brothers.
Two’re perchin’ on a knot.
The other’s peckin’ at some fur.
I can’t see what he’s got.
They’re watchin’ me suspicious
As if I had a gun
And I’m the type of feller
Who’d shoot a crow for fun.
Fact is I’ve never hunted crow
But I have eaten lots.
Now, you can fry it up it pans
Or boil it in pots,
But it is always bitter
And usually gives me gas.
I think with all the crow I’ve et.
I’ll let these three crows pass.
The brothers, though, they follow me
As if I’ve more to tell
About this act of eatin’ crow.
Well, they can go to Hell!
The Three Crow Brothers and I Call a Truce on Account of the Weather
I see them three crow brothers
Tip-toein’ through the grass.
They have a stray with them today.
He takes flight as I pass.
The other three just look at me
As if they’ve turned out bold,
I think that it’s too hard to fly
In winds so stiff and cold.
I say,” We’ll call a truce today.”
They stare with coal black eyes
And promise that we’ll be fast friends
Unless somebody dies,
And then there are no guarantees
Of what three crows might do.
They’d likely pluck a lifeless eye
And maybe I would too.
A Crow Brother Plays the Blame Game
I saw them three crow brothers
Perched on a rusty rail.
One had some missing feathers
That I’d call a snaggle-tail.
I asked him what had happened.
He answered with a squawk.
I think that he had meant to say,
He tangled with a hawk.
When dining on a carcass,
Most hawks and crows are friends,
But when the meal is one small scrap
That cool alliance ends.
The daft crow has no talons
But likes to flap his beak.
A redtail’s claws and bill are sharp.
He does not need to speak.
Seems brother crow attacked the hawk
With caws both harsh and crass
And then redtail hawk replied
By plucking feathers from his ass.
Now, the crow sits on the fence,
His head bowed down in shame
Because there is no way that he’ll
Find someone else to blame.
The Three Crow Brothers Find a Shoe
I saw the three crow brothers.
They were looking mighty blue.
The sky was gray, the dirt was clay,
And a boy had lost a shoe.
Now, crows do not sport footwear,
Don't wear moccasins or boots.
About a stocking or a sock,
They will not give two hoots.
Still, the birds were gathered
Around the random shoe
And lookin’ all dejected
Figurin’ out just what to do.
They pecked some at the rubber sole
And pulled some at the laces,
But mostly stood around and stared
At other puzzled faces.
I reckon that the misplaced shoe
Smelled strongly of kids’ feet
And suppose the three black crows
Thought it smelled good to eat,
Or maybe they just wondered
How it wound up in a field.
Had the boy thrown out the shoe
Or had the boy been killed?
Geez, let’s not get morbid!
There’s no body in the grass.
Although the crows might like it so,
They’ll find no rotting mass.
It’s a shoe, a simple shoe,
A shoe that’s been discarded,
And goodness knows those three damned crows
Are sure to sit and guard it.
No Crow Brothers
I did not see a crow today.
It was a day of storms.
I don’t know where a crow keeps dry
Nor near what fire he warms.
The brothers weren’t atop Knob Hill,
Hip-hopping through the sedge.
They perched not on the stockyard rail
Nor in the park house hedge.
They crowed not in the quarry
Nor by the bursting stream.
Had I not seen them all last week,
I’d think they were a dream,
A dream of shapes not too bizarre,
Horrific, or erotic
But of a rather common theme
That borders on exotic.
I think tonight I’ll dream of crows
Or other off-strange forms.
I missed the three brothers today.
It was a day of storms.
Any suggestions for a next project. If so email me at mbt1966@yahoo.com. I will consider just about any poetic project.
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