Along with stories, I have for most of my life, enjoyed writing poetry. Some ok, some bad, some terrible, and once in a long while, a winner. You be the judge, and please leave constructive feed back.

Sunday, January 4, 2015

The Wind and the Crows

The top most branches in the oak were tossed
By a heavy breeze that had come on
Behind the parting clouds that were fading
And breaking up as they were pushed along

The winter leaves that held on to their branches
Were fighting now to hold on once again
The wind was pulling hard to tug them free
Though neither one had much to lose or gain.

Into this scene I saw a sudden murder
Of crows, black against the winter sky
Some were trying to land in wind-tossed branches
Some were struggling hard in trying to fly

One on a limb was bounced like an old cowboy
Riding on a twisting turning beast
While overhead its partner swooped and turned
In currents flowing, blowing north and east.

Some twenty crows were fighting for a purchase
To perch and rest their wind-weary wings
Most just landed and rested a few brief moments
Then left in search of other, better things.

I watched the last of them as they were leaving
Diving, swerving, sailing to the west
Until the sky and trees were grey and empty
And the wind moaned its song of loneliness

James L. Frady
(c) January 4, 2015