A murder wings o’er skeletal trees,
pinions beating hard ‘gainst bitter winds.
Raucous mobs roost along barren boughs
stripped of all but a few frost-crisped leaves.
The gathered horde sings a rowdy song
to disturb this season’s morbid hush.
Then the scoundrels raise a harsher din
and rise into a threatening sky.
Ragged dark specks amongst the flurries
whirl in churning clouds o’er snowy hills.
Flocks search cold fields for man’s poor leavings,
hoping to feast on refuse and death.
A former laboratory technician turned home educator, Richard H. Fay now spends his days juggling various writing and art projects. He resides in Upstate New York with his wife, daughter, two cats, and a rather confused shepherd-chow mix. History, myth, legend, folklore, as well as the classics of fantasy, horror, and adventure literature all serve as inspiration for Richard’s creative endeavours. Many of the fruits of his labour have appeared in various e-zines and print magazines.
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Posted on March 10, 2009 in Poems
15 Responses to “WINTER CROWS • by Richard H. Fay”
Comments
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March 10th, 2009 at 12:11 am
Don’t you just love the phrase, “A murder of crows”? Nice imagery, Richard.
March 10th, 2009 at 12:12 am
I gave you a five, BTW.
March 10th, 2009 at 4:35 am
Very fine poem, its descriptions and imagery filling the scene with actuality and bringing it alive, but I have a question. (I don’t know anything about crows.) Why did the poet use the word “murder” to describe the harshness of the crows’ existence? Did he mean nature was murdering by it’s wintry winds? Crows have been around for eons. Or does it refer to something else, to human events unnamed but to which the last line alludes: “refuse and death.”
March 10th, 2009 at 7:58 am
Really well done, Richard. A near perfect picture of the avian world.
–dj
March 10th, 2009 at 8:43 am
Well written…crows…a haggled lot.
March 10th, 2009 at 11:03 am
Roberta,
A group of crows is referred to as ‘a murder of crows’.
March 10th, 2009 at 11:45 am
The “o’er” and “‘gainst” make it seem dated, unless you were going for that 19th-century feel–in which case, you succeeded. Great imagery. (I hate crows.)
March 10th, 2009 at 12:40 pm
Wonderful use of language, Richard…
March 10th, 2009 at 2:50 pm
First off, thanks for all the positive comments so far. It does this particular poet good!
Secondly, as once commenter already mentioned, murder is the designation for a group of crows. I’ve always found that term to be very evocative, and used it at least once before. It does seem to fit with the theme of death I tried to carry through the work, but basically I just used a fancy way to say a flock of crows flew overhead.
Thirdly, I’m fascinated by crows, in a strange sort of way. They are one of the smartest of birds, and they seem to thrive on things that we literally consider refuse. And when together in a large flock, they make quite the dramatic racket! Every so often, communities around here try to remove the crows from certain locales by scaring them off, but it never works for long.
Fourthly, I’m a sucker for archaic language. I like to use some of those poetic archaisms like o’er and ‘gainst every now and again. At times, it just feels right. Perhaps I was going for an “older” feel, thinking what these flocks would look like when the buildings were shorter and the hillsides more rural.
Cheers!
March 11th, 2009 at 3:13 am
great poem. i like that older feel, especially for a poem about crows, because they seem to have a sort of “ancient” vibe about them.
March 11th, 2009 at 5:54 am
A very good description of the crows in my back field.
March 11th, 2009 at 6:35 am
Paul and Richard H. Fay –
Thank you. I had never heard that phrase.
But the poet has the crows “feasting on death”, not causing it by swooping down on crops.
March 11th, 2009 at 6:56 am
Roberta,
By wintertime, the crops should hopefully be well harvested. Around here, the corn fields are definitely stripped bare well before winter weather freezes everything. I was thinking more along the lines of crows feeding on roadkill, or animals killed by winter’s chill, or the scraps left in a field after harvest. I’ve even seen crows feeding out of dumpsters and the crumbs of food dropped in parking lots. Crows are basically scavengers. In other words, the crows in this case are more “heralds of death” than “bringers of death”.
Cheers!
March 11th, 2009 at 11:47 am
Great poem, captures the scene with concrete images of winter. I especially enjoyed the rhythm – it fits perfectly with emphasis in all the right spots (I’m never sure exactly what that’s called) – so when it’s read aloud, it sort has an empty ring to it, much like the stripped trees and overall tone of lifelessness in the poem. Well done.
March 12th, 2009 at 1:16 pm
Like those large black fowls that forage along the highways as I travel by,
At times the fly, or know to sit and feast on that which has made a way to the side off the beaten path.
That which has died not far is now consumed by winged flight, drawn far away.
The feathers dark, like the night, lift and left nothing in sight.
The murder is gone.