Crow On A Perch

The tree-ferns they buttress, an inch-thick cream
Curd sits tall, sits pretty- on his feet;
As snow and milk scatters, from the moon
Wiping his beak into the froth.

Languid, smiling, cackles does he, tempting
Feasts under feathered tin cups, the apple
Sleeping, snow-borne, rotting nicely, he
Is pecking. Arrow-tipped eyes,

Watch, they are watching, watching me, always.
He is busy, he is trite and black
and bony. Rustling pearly ball-gown
Feathers, boring out the forest chill.

Mindless, mindless wandering- he is sore,
He is Kingly. A dotted branch, snaps-
Matted curly nooks he falls like stones
That scarlet fish gobble as jewels.

Perching, the crowny thorns sit left and right,
The nimble spider, he spins and drops
A moonstone pebble, upon the ground;
He ticks and watches, better-born.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

6 thoughts on “Crow On A Perch

  1. Hi Eve. The comparison of voice between this poem and the poem ‘bird’ is astounding. This one contains all essence of crowness. I like the way you use word repetition. ‘pearly ball-gown feathers’ is great. Jane

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