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Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.-Edgar Allan Poe

Poetry is when emotion has found its thought and thought has found words--Robert Frost

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance--Carl Sandburg

I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry--John Cage

You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some of it with you--Joseph Joubert

Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own. ~Dylan Thomas

joybragi84

Poem-a-Week: Yep, We're Stuck on the Crow Brothers


I have had a new phone for about three or four months now. I don't like it. So far, I have not been able to figure out how to take consistently good photos with it like I could with my old phone. However, I found this moth or butterfly sitting on a bed of pine needles along the road, and I got the good picture above without even getting too close. If you open the photo by clicking it, you can get a really good sense of all the details. Maybe, I've been trying to get to close.


Well, you know that when I am writing poems, I tend to get stuck on certain themes. The last month or so, I have seen the three crow brothers nearly every time I walk at the Salem City Park and Fulton County fairgrounds whether in the evenings or the mornings. Wherever they happen to be sitting or whatever they happen to be doing gets a ditty started in my head, and then I have to follow it to its conclusion--or, at least, all that I can fit in my head. This week, I saw the crow brothers doing a few different things, and the lyrics just popped into my head. Someday, I may join these things together or finish them besides what I can sing in my head as I walk, but, for now, we are not revising these. They are what they are and here they are. ENJOY!


The Three Crow Brothers IV

 

There’s them three Crow brothers

A scratchin’ in the clay

A searchin’ for some shiny thing

To brighten up their day.

 

One has found a bottle cap,

That’s sparkly red and round.

The other two are puzzlin’ at

A bleached white thing they’ve found.

 

It used to have two coal black eyes

And soft, fur-covered skin,

And a pink and raspy tongue

Inside its possum grin.

 

But now it has a toothy smile

Like all dead mammals do.

The three crows think it looks like them.

I think it looks like you.


The Three Crow Brother V

 

Up there’s them three crow brothers

A hidin’ in the pines.

Seems Satan needs some messengers

To serve some heedful lines.

 

He’s got some for politicians,

And some for corrupt cops,

And one for he whose dark desires

Aren’t sated till he stops.

 

There’s some for pulpit preachers

Who don’t speak as they do.

I’ll ask the brothers, but I think

That he’s got one for you.


Well, to my knowledge, one person has read Uncle Boog and the Dogfight and proclaimed, (This is pretty much an exact quote.) "I started it, and I couldn't put it down." You better get your copy and see if you can put it down. Here is where it is at Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Uncle-Boog-Dogfight-Michael-Thomas/dp/1304261174/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2DKFI2QCXCAZM&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.OyhVU7Mus8xj_IbC5SgxFg.h8HWpO6scRpqx-fpu7KHg8sVRh0Ol9HwR2HRRr8ITfc&dib_tag=se&keywords=uncle+boog+and+the+dogfight&qid=1728232262&sprefix=uncle+boog+and+%2Caps%2C131&sr=8-1



There, I've done all the work for you. All you have to do is click. Here is what the book looks like:


Don't be missing out on it! Go get you a copy!


Later!


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I find that I cannot exist without Poetry--without eternal poetry--half the day will not do--the whole of it--I began with a little, but habit has made me a Leviathan.-John Keats

We do not quite say that the new is more valuable because it fits in; but its fitting in is a test of its value.-T. S. Eliot

A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases.-George Gordon, Lord Byron

The great beauty of poetry is that it makes everything in every place interesting.-John Keats

Our faulty elder poets sacrificed the passion and passionate flow of poetry to the subtleties of intellect and to the stars of wit; the moderns to the glare and glitter of a perpetual, yet broken and heterogeneous imagery, or rather to an amphibious something, made up, half of image, and half of abstract meaning. The one sacrificed the heart to the head; the other both heart and head to point and drapery.-S. T. Coleridge

The purpose of rhythm, it has always seemed to me, is to prolong the moment of contemplation, the moment when we are both asleep and awake, which is the one moment of creation.-W. B. Yeats

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