Friday, January 05, 2018

Thousand Thousand Crows

—Anonymous Crow Photos

—JD DeHart, Chattanooga, TN

scarlet lacy fabric
on the back
and two shining twin pistols
spelling disaster

he licks his lizard lips
at the lower section of town
eyes never moving from his
target, but catching all.


—JD DeHart

with her majestic
emerald long bow she

gives Robin Hood
a run for his money

sent straight through

to the core of targeted
soul sends showering

unexpected results.

 The Magic Hour 

—JD DeHart

I came
to a skidding halt.
While these other
clowns, creatures, and heroes
are saving the world
on a grand scale,

I’m the clean-up man, yes sir.
Maybe not as bright as some
of these others.

Maybe a hidden genius.  Part man,
part car.  I screech and skid
along on this pavement stream.

Pardon me as I pause
to pick up another piece of litter
to keep our city clean.

 Something Shiny

—JD DeHart

One of these days, the wise old
prophet says, this world will

Nothing lasts forever. 

There will be remnants, I am sure,
who will travel on to other cities,
landscapes, planets.  They will start
a life there.

What was once true will become
myth and legend.  And maybe that is
why we have superheroes after all.
Maybe all these panels and stories

are the mythological leftovers
of what used to be something like the

Then again, maybe we’re just making
it all up.


 Urban Crows

—Michael H. Brownstein, Chicago, IL

fur of pain,
leaf in blood,
slash of white power:
flesh is not bark,
xylem is not bone,
blood is not syrup.

a weakening of lungs,
snarl and melody,
the hum of an underbelly.
a lack of sleep,
the failure in endings,

the failure of skin scars.

 Crows in Sky

—Michael H. Brownstein

the house facing the end of the road
the pole dividing the path into factions
the thousand thousand crows clouding the sky
the witch tree and bewitched tree
the time Sunday was the first day of the week

the shadow of the suicide girl and her mother
packing cans and other trash a week
before the first day of spring
and the light in the distance moves
not the shadows
not the twigs on the branches:

a snail of curiosity—

the bee-sting of intellect—crow of cold


Today’s LittleNip:

—Michael H. Brownstein

A man in love
cannot hide his shadow.
A man alone
sees a reflection of the mirror.
A man with a new haircut
hears music with his feet.
A man in love
has an inside light
flash bright. A man
in love

hears dancers with his voice.


Many thanks to JD DeHart and Michael Brownstein, our poet-contributors today!

Head up to Placerville tonight, 6:30pm, to hear Winters Poet Gary Kruse (plus open mic) at The Good Earth Movement Poetry Night, 250 Main St., Placerville. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.


 Crow Rides Eagle
—Anonymous Photo
Celebrate poetry that flies!


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then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
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