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Crows are never the whiter for washing themselves.

Malagasy proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Brain Washing

Ooh-ooh
Old mr. joe, he build a house away
On top of some hill
Old mr. joe knew he had to go, so he
He got right down and wrote bank will
He say now, heres to mother hen
And her chicken, lord have mercy now
Master, will you take a roll in the mud
Like you know you should?
The old barnyard, the old barnyard
Birds and the chick, ooh-wee
Whos got to watch out for brother mongoose
With his top hap and walking-stick?
Its just the poors brain washing
(poors ...) they told me a long time ago,
Its just the poors brain washing, ooh-wee
(poors brain washing) now look at a thing like this
Cinderella and her long lost fellow
In the midnight hour, she lost her silver slipper
Humpty dumpty sat on a wall
While jack and jill had themselves a fall
Its just the poors (... brain washing)
And I dont need it no longer (... washing)
Its just the poors brain washing
Coming through to a poor mans child, ooh-wee, look at this
Little miss muffet she sat on a tuffet
While little red riding hood delivered her grandmoms food
Ooh-wee ooh-wee
Ooh-wee, look at one more thing like this
The cow jumping over the moon
While the dish got jealous, he grabbed the handy spoon
Its just the poors brain washing
And I dont need it no longer, I dont want it no longer
I dont need it no longer (...washing)
And I dont care for no more brain washing (... washing) ...

song performed by Bob Marley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Crows for Konstantin

Crows.

The noise of conflict dies away.
Those left alive will now depart.
Only the dead allowed to stay,
they have no further part to play.

The warring sides in full retreat
The crows tonight dine on fresh meat.
Though neither side claims victory.
The crows will feast quite happily.

Since man first slew another man.
It seems to be Dame Natures plan.
The crows will feast on the remains
The scavengers alone will gain.

While warring sides must count the cost
of fighting men that they have lost.
Perhaps one day we’ll realise
In war there are no victories.

Bar for the crows who do not fight
but satisfy their appetite.
On those who do who in their view
Choose to fight. they don’t need to.

Although in death they feed the crows.
I don’t suppose the crows oppose.
The idea that men come to blows.
Nor do they care I must suppose.

The only winners are the crows
who feast until they’re comatose.
On what is left of those who chose
to risk their lives exchanging blows.

Sunday,09 May 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Raven Crows

The Raven Crows
by Charles Robert Hice on Thursday, November 22,2012 at 9: 27pm ·
The Raven Crows
The Raven stretches its wings and flies into the gray winter skies while the raven flies it Crows its rawkish voice makes aweful noise
it blows the wind it howls and sounds like a mechanical noise inside the wind
the noise pretends to be the raven as it crows it flies it crows and flies it dives down into the wind and sounds like a noise falling fast and then it sort of dies and falls away not the sound it echoes and it blows
in the middle of the night no one can see the ravens flight but they hear the voice the noise the sound even the wings they flap they glide silent and they hide
The raven seldom crows when it is in its glide it falls and hides no one can see the feathers as it plummets from the sky it moves in a silent fashion
as the raven glides it hides from the eyes of the men it has a sense of reality and a purpose as it glides it looks neither to the left or to the right finally it is satisfied with its destination in its sight the raven crows one final time and plummets like a stone into the night and suddenly a poem is come to earth as Poe hears his famous bird not the crow the rook or the blackbird as it sings but the Raven as it speaks to only him
Nevermore
The Raven Crows

poem by Charles Hice
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Take Me To The River

I dont know why I love her like I do
All the changes you put me through
Take my money, my cigarettes
I havent seen the worst of it yet
I wanna know that youll tell me
I love to stay
Take me to the river, drop me in the water
Take me to the river, dip me in the water
Washing me down, washing me down
I dont know why you treat me so bad
Think of all the things we could have had
Love is an ocean that I cant forget
My sweet sixteen I would never regret
I wanna know that youll tell me
I love to stay
Take me to the river, drop me in the water
Push me in the river, dip me in the water
Washing me down, washing me
Hug me, squeeze me, love me, tease me
Till I cant, till I cant, till I cant take no more of it
Take me to the water, drop me in the river
Push me in the water, drop me in the river
Washing me down, washing me down
I dont know why I love you like I do
All the troubles you put me through
Sixteen candles there on my wall
And here am I the biggest fool of them all
I wanna know that youll tell me
I love to stay
Take me to the river and drop me in the water
Dip me in the river, drop me in the water
Washing me down, washing me down.

song performed by Talking Heads
Added by Lucian Velea
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As the Crows Gathered

As the Crows Gathered
By: Adam M. Snow

Surrounded by bodies of murder
the flocking and squawk arose.
Score of many rows on girder
feast of death drew the crows.
One to carry souls of many;
one onto life beyond life.
Yet was not the foe-of any-
to leave this world of strife.

The crows they flock,
they flock, they squawk;
flapping their wings tremendously.
They caw, they pecked,
they grew many in score
groups gathered more and more.

Blackened the sky with their endless flutter;
'But what of this? ' I utter.
'My days are long now being nighted.
The crows around have united.'

Feathers falling, covering the ground with black;
everywhere I look, it covers every crack.
The thought of death surrounds us all
before the crows, life will fall.
The ominous bank of crows like a cloud,
covers the world like an endless shroud.
Leaving I, overwhelm with fear
it is death lurking near.

The crows they gathered all in vast;
all is dark than a shadow cast.
They prey the lost and many more,
time has come for death to bore.

poem by Adam M. Snow
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Crows

THEN, suddenly, I was aware indeed
Of what he said, and was revolving it:
How, in the night, crows often take to wing,
Rising from off the tree-tops in Drumbarr,
And flying on: I pictured what he told.

The crows that shake the night-damp off their wings
Upon the stones out yonder in the fields,
The first live things that we see in the mornings;
The crows that march across the fields, that sit
Upon the ash-trees' branches, that fly home
And crowd the elm-tops over in Drumbarr;
The crows we look on at all hours of light,
Growing, and full, and going these black beings have
Another lifetime!

Crows flying in the dark
Blackness in darkness flying; beings unseen
Except by eyes that are like to their own
Trespassers' eyes!

And you, old man, with eyes so quick and sharp,
Who've told me of the crows, my fosterer;
And you, old woman, upon whose lap I've lain
When I was taken from my mother's lap;
And you, young girl, with looks that have come down
From forefathers, my kin ye have another life
I've glimpsed it, I becoming trespasser-
Blackness in darkness flying like the crows!

poem by Padraic Colum
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Washing Machine Albeit So Weird

I do not trust the long rinse and spin cycle of the
washing machine, loud and insane, scrunch up
the washing, making careful hanging to obviate
ironing impossible; I always interfere in rinsing-
spinning since washing machines have been
designed by demons bent on torturing humans

My distrust of all kinds of machines; except my
adorable laptop who takes every word it is fed
and returns it to me in the script I like; led to my
never using a dishwasher, an evil device that
runs in unfathomable cycles driving me crazy
with uncertainty about objects and motives

And degree of cleanliness; therefore I turn the
kitchen radio to Radio Pretoria (because they
play German music, the bedroom radio stays
tuned to FM Classic, TV alternating between
Nat Geo Wild and Deutsche Welle while the
big screen TV remains on sports channels)

And wash the dishes by hand; - I forgot to
add detergent when washing Tiaan’s dusty
clothes two washes ago, somehow I hold an
irrational belief washing should require little
detergent if any– and the washing machine
did not remind me – hah! – point is

While it is impossible to wash by hand, my
wrists go numb as I scrub and twist - the
washing machine is a strange invention
that refuses to wash in a way I can
understand - but I shall always use
it, albeit so weird…

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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The Common Crow

The Common Crow, "Caw-Caw"—with its familiar sound
Is a harmless bird very adaptable on land
Almost all over the world it is invariably found
Except in South America, Antarctica and New Zealand.

It is of average size—in color—grey and black
And abounds, teems and thrives in many numbers
Where other birds' survival is considerably slack
As it is the most intelligent of its bird family members.

The Ravens, Magpies, Rooks, the Black-birds
And the Jays—all belong to the family of the crow
They are all hunting migratory birds
Who forage together like the crow.

It has shining black feathers, is clever and curious
It is omnivorous and the diet is very diverse
It eats grains, rodents, insects and is mischievous
And swoops down to grasp things from man's source.

It roosts in large trees high up
Each mating pair has its own nest
Which usually takes one to two weeks to build up
Gathering leaves, feathers, sticks and twigs best.

Baby crows stay in the nest
For up to two months before leaving
The mother crow guards them with zest
And the father crow feeds the family striving.

The young are flesh-colored and born blind
Their eyes open for the first time after five days
The young ones- the family together mind
The elder fledglings tend to help in their own ways.

In Hinduism it is customary to offer food
To the crow before taking the meal
And it is supposed during ‘Shraddha ‘expired ones would
Take food and offerings through the crow's feel.

The crow often lives together in large families
An assembly of crows called a ‘flock of murder'
Forge together and defend their territories
Even high up in the air and down under.

It caws and calls the other crows to its station
To take part of the food that is found
It shows signs of planning communication
Which man must consider and himself bound.

[...] Read more

poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Stone the Crows

'Why stone the crows!' 'e sez. 'I like 'er style,
But alwiz, some'ow, women 'ave appeared
Set fer to 'old me orf a 'arf a mile.
I dunno wot's agin me: p'raps me beard.
But, some'ow, when I speak 'em soft they run.
I ain't no ladies' man,' sez Danny Dunn.

'I like 'er style,' 'e sez. 'Wot's 'er name? Rose.
The neatest filly that I ever see.
She'd run in double splendid. But I s'pose,
She'd never 'arness with the likes uv me.
Wot age you tell me? Risin' twenty-nine?
Well, stone the flamin' crows! She'd do me fine.

'I wonder can she milk? Don't look that kind.
But even if she don't I would n't care
Not much. Stone all the crows! I'd 'arf a mind
To 'ave a shave an' 'ang me 'at up there.
But I ain't got the knack uv it, yeh know,
Or I'd been spliced this twenty year ago.'

Ole Danny Dunn 'as been to pay 'is call
An' tell us 'e'll be settlin' down 'ere soon.
'E lobbed in on us sudden, ziff an' all,
An' ain't done nothin' all the afternoon
But lap up tea an' stare pop-eyed at Rose,
'E ain't said nothin' much but 'Stone the crows!'

Now, as I sees 'im orf, down by the gate,
'E's chirpin' love-songs like a nestin' thrush.
Rose 'as 'im by the w'iskers, sure as fate;
Fer Spring 'as sent 'im soft all uv a rush.
'E's got the beans; an' so she's fixed fer life,
If Danny's game to arst 'er fer 'is wife.

An' so me scheme works out all on its own.
I grabbed the notion that day in the train,
When Danny tole me that 'e lived alone.
I reckoned, then, I'd 'ave to use me brain;
But 'ere 'e is, stonin' the crows a treat,
An' keen to sling is pile at Rose's feet.

I'll show 'em! Them 'oo thinks I got no brains
Will crash when Rose is Mrs. Danny Dunn.
Doreen don't need to go to too much pains
To show me that she thinks I've nex' to none,
When I take on a job I don't let go
Until I've fixed it, all sirgarneo.

'Listen,' sez Danny. 'Do yeh think a man

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Futility

The scarecrow dressed in cast off clothes.
Sticks grimly to his given task
But does he frighten off the crows,
that is the question we must ask.

When he is new perhaps he will
but crows are wise and realise.
This ragged figure stands stock still
and will not take them by surprise.

He cannot move, inanimate.
Which leaves then free to eat their fill.
A guardian quite inadequate.
He does not and he never will.

Frighten the crows who are too wise
to be afraid of straw stuffed clothes
Though he appears in manly guise
he can’t deter the hungry crows.

The scarecrow fails in his attempt.
He never really stood a chance
Crows treat him with amused contempt
and disregard his vigilance.

5-Aug-08

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Servant To Servants

I didn't make you know how glad I was
To have you come and camp here on our land.
I promised myself to get down some day
And see the way you lived, but I don't know!
With a houseful of hungry men to feed
I guess you'd find.... It seems to me
I can't express my feelings any more
Than I can raise my voice or want to lift
My hand (oh, I can lift it when I have to).
Did ever you feel so? I hope you never.
It's got so I don't even know for sure
Whether I am glad, sorry, or anything.
There's nothing but a voice-like left inside
That seems to tell me how I ought to feel,
And would feel if I wasn't all gone wrong.
You take the lake. I look and look at it.
I see it's a fair, pretty sheet of water.
I stand and make myself repeat out loud
The advantages it has, so long and narrow,
Like a deep piece of some old running river
Cut short off at both ends. It lies five miles
Straight away through the mountain notch
From the sink window where I wash the plates,
And all our storms come up toward the house,
Drawing the slow waves whiter and whiter and whiter.
It took my mind off doughnuts and soda biscuit
To step outdoors and take the water dazzle
A sunny morning, or take the rising wind
About my face and body and through my wrapper,
When a storm threatened from the Dragon's Den,
And a cold chill shivered across the lake.
I see it's a fair, pretty sheet of water,
Our Willoughby! How did you hear of it?
I expect, though, everyone's heard of it.
In a book about ferns? Listen to that!
You let things more like feathers regulate
Your going and coming. And you like it here?
I can see how you might. But I don't know!
It would be different if more people came,
For then there would be business. As it is,
The cottages Len built, sometimes we rent them,
Sometimes we don't. We've a good piece of shore
That ought to be worth something, and may yet.
But I don't count on it as much as Len.
He looks on the bright side of everything,
Including me. He thinks I'll be all right
With doctoring. But it's not medicine--
Lowe is the only doctor's dared to say so--
It's rest I want--there, I have said it out--
From cooking meals for hungry hired men

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Frost
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Touch

Touch
One touch, spark, electricity
Flame burns hot and viciously
Microscopic, glittery
Catalystic energy
Time need glow so flickery
Scintillation, glittering
Ember, heat, so viciously
Pulsing flow
Electricity
(Touch)
Theres an energy
Washing chemically over me
I cant take it anymore
Like my destiny
Running endlessly over me
Youre the one Im waiting for
(Touch)
You know that we are the sun and the moon, the stars
Every time we touch
You know that we are the light
And the universe has been changed because we touched
Our sun flash so brilliantly
Incandescent energy
White hot luminosity
Phosphorus intensity
Radiate so vividly
Beam of light transmitting a
wave of Glowing, glimmery, shining flash
Every time we touch
Theres an energy
Washing chemically over me
I cant take it anymore
Like my destiny
Running endlessly over me
Youre the one Im waiting for
(Touch)
You know that we are the sun and the moon, the stars
Every time we touch
You know that we are the light
And the universe has been changed because we touched
One touch, spark, electricity
Flame burns hot and viciously
Microscopic, glittery
Catalystic energy
Time need glow so flickery
Scintillation, glittering
Ember, heat, so viciously
Pulsing flow
Electricity

[...] Read more

song performed by Darren Hayes
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Are The Sea

The cruelest thing to someone like me
You wash towards me, covering everything
Then pull away and disappear again

You infiltrate every cell of me
I gladly wrap my hope and joy in you
Then you gradually disappear again

I've been sitting in this hotel room for so long
I keep thinking I hear the phone ringing
But it's not
I keep thinking I see the sun rising
But it's not
It's just the sea
Playing its tricks on me

I say too much on the subject
I dwell too long on the subject
Can't shake your face
Can't shake your name from my head
Said too much again
I've said too much again

The cruelest thing to someone like me
Is what I do to myself, waiting for high-tide
Ignoring everything I have, torturing myself

The craziness in me is just spilling over
Diving into shallow water from the rocks
Forgetting everything I have, torturing myself

I've been sitting at this bar for far too long
I keep thinking I hear your voice behind me
But I'm wrong
I keep thinking I see you walking by
But I'm wrong
It's just the sea
Playing its tricks on me

It's been nearly a year of concentrated longing now
Nearly a year of pining after the sea and the girl
Nearly a year and no single step closer
Nearly a year and still I don't know her

I keep thinking this is what I really need
But it's not
I keep thinking this is all so clear
But I'm wrong
It's just the sea
Playing its tricks on me

[...] Read more

poem by B. Alexander
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Where Do the Crows Go

I see and hear less Crows in Spring.
Where do the Crows go?
While the Morning Doves chirp,
And the Bluebirds sing.
At dawn I use to hear the Crows...
From the rooftops and fences,
Do that 'crowing' thing.
And now that Spring has arrived,
I do not see a Crow around.
Where do the Crows go?
That's what I want to know!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dont Think Twice Its All Right

(words & music by bob dylan)
There aint no use to sit and wonder why babe
If you dont know by now
There aint no use to sit and wonder why babe
If you dont know by now
When the rooster crows at the break of dawn
Well look out your window baby Ill be gone
Youre the reason Im movin on
Yeah, dont think twice its all right
Ive headed down that long lonesome road, girl
Where Im bound I cant tell
Goodbye is too good a word girl
So Ill say fare thee well
I aint sayin you treated me unkind
You could have done better but i, I dont mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
Oo, dont think twice its all right
Take it on
When the rooster crows at the break of dawn
Well look out your window baby Ill be gone
Youre the reason Im movin on
Yeah dont think twice its all right
There aint no use to sit and wonder why babe
It dont matter anyhow
There aint no use to sit and wonder why babe
If you dont know by now
When the rooster crows at the break of dawn
Well look out your window baby Ill be gone
Youre the reason Im travelin on
Oh dont think twice its all right
Im headed down that long lonesome road, babe
Where Im bound I cant tell
Goodbye is too good a word girl
Ill just say fare thee well
I aint sayin you treated me unkind
You could have done better but i, I dont mind
You just sorta wasted my favorite time
Oo, dont think twice its all right
Wow
When the rooster crows at the break of dawn
Well look out your window baby Ill be gone
Youre the reason Im travellin on
Oh dont think twice its all right
Ive headed down that long lonesome road, girl
Where Im bound I cant tell
Goodbye is too good a word girl
Ill just say fare thee well
I aint sayin you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I dont mind
Yeah, youre the reason Im travellin on

[...] Read more

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sugar

On the vermont transit bus I leaned my arm into alittle chink of sun,
Going somewhere older than I was,
Strapped into something tight, keeping me small.
I dug into you like rock climbing;
Too scared of coming down,
Too scared of going up,
Too scared of rockface.
I shouldve split my sides or spilled my guts or hit you or something,
But I was good, and your fathers little pancakes
So round and perfect and me sitting up too straight,
Laughing in wrong places, kissing you,
Kissing up, kissing too soon.
When the cock crows
When the morning comes where will I go?
When the cock crows
When the love is gone where will I go?
And when you got me pregnant I stopped the party and
I stopped the typewriter and I stopped your dumb ball game in the red barn and i
Stopped your father and bled instead.
And I felt the lie - something sticky on the inside,
A bitter wind in my throat,
Stopping me wanting,
In my stomach, in my head and you said
Sugar sugar, you couldnt come come
Sugar sugar, without your mother
Sugar sugar, you couldnt taste it
Sugar sugar, in my throat.
When the cock crows
When the morning comes where will I go?
When the cock crows
When the love is gone where will I go?

song performed by Heather Nova
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Wounded, Old And Treacherous

A walk on the quiet side, late in the day --
Don't mean to get in anybody's way.
The gods seem willing: sun's in the sky.
Old crows cawing as the straight crows fly.
There was a time when love was the law.
There was a time for the tooth and the claw.
Last rites given, no holds barred.
Heaven express on my credit card.
Now let me draw the jungle line --
I won't cross yours if you don't cross mine.
Won't make trouble, i don't need no fuss.
But i'm wounded, old and i'm treacherous.
Allow me to draw the jungle line --
You cross it once, you cross some friends of mine.
They won't make trouble, they don't need no fuss
But they're wounded, old and they're treacherous.
In the crisp of evening, on sacred ground --
Ghosts of fathers pushing moonbeams round.
Big cats prowling inside your head --
They left for china; better left for dead.
Let me draw the jungle line --
I won't cross yours if you don't cross mine.
Won't make trouble, i don't need no fuss.
But i'm wounded, old and i'm treacherous.
A walk on the quiet side, late in the day --
Don't mean to get in anybody's way.
The gods seem willing: sun's in the sky.
Old crows cawing as the straight crows fly.
There was a time when love was the law.
There was a time for the tooth and the claw.
Last rites given, no holds barred.
Heaven express on my credit card.
Living mountains going to shake that town --
Big mother calling you from underground.
She don't want trouble, she don't need no fuss.
But she's wounded, old and treacherous.

song performed by Jethro Tull
Added by Lucian Velea
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A dove and crows

A Park

A dove came to sit
near to a lonely man.
He stops watching the lake
and talks to it
I cannot hear
what he says
But as he seem
to loose his smile,
the dove is chased away
by.. crows..
Moves next to a bench,
Where a young couple
have a small feast
Of course the dove
Gets to be fed few crumbs
But crows come there too!
Like at a signal
Ground is filled with lots of crows now
And more to come! !
Young couple interrupt their eating
Bento goes back inside the bags
they stand ready to run away..
But crows insist! Starts yelling:
One by one, taking turns:
-Craaawwww! ! ! ! Craaaawwww! ! Not fair! !
-Craaaww craaaw only two crumbs..-Pleaaase! !
-What's the criterion
of your food to share?
-The color of my feathers?
-What color I shall dye them, pink! ? !
-The sound of my voice?
-Should I be mute, you think?
-Size? ! ?
-Teach me! How can I shrink? !
-Is it my fault?
-That I'm not cute
-I can't enchant..
-Why? am I so unpleasant?
And then, in chorus:
-Why? ? ! ! ? ?
Being smart..
does not count?

Without a word, couple gone
to answer questions they did not mind
But.. By leaving in such a hurry
not noticed was, the onighiri left behind..

[...] Read more

poem by Elena Sandu
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Black Crows

Darkness and light, wrong and right
thoughts bleed and dissolve, dreams evolve
paper and smoke, churn and stroke
prayers drip like sweat, slavery and debt

White trash fires, unholy liars
truth falls off the edge, desire walks the ledge
political drugs, who picks the judge
hammers of fear, moments lost to years

Graves open and close, nuclear rose
black shadows turn, pages crumple and burn
lightning or gunfire, stakes higher and higher
death clock chimes, wind thru the pines...
black crows on the lines... black crows on the lines...

Mothers crying and cold, babies bought and sold
welfare Cadillacs, anxiety attacks
trailor tub meth, lonesome last breath
kneeling by the bed, prayers for the dead

Runaways lost, who pays the cost
nursing home ghosts, headstones and posts
pictures turning yellow, goodbyes and hellos
people folded and spent, no messengers sent...

Graves open and close, nuclear rose
black shadows turn, pages crumple and burn
lightning or gunfire, stakes higher and higher
death clock chimes, wind thru the pines...
black crows on the lines... black crows on the lines...

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Watching The Crows

A bushman got lost in a scrub in the North,
And all the long morning the searchers went forth.
They swore at the rain that had washed out the tracks
And left not a trace for the eyes of the blacks;
But, trusting the signs that the blackfellow knows,
A quiet old darkey stood watching the crows.

The solemn old blackman stood silently by;
He stood like a statue, his face to the sky.
Black Billy was out of the bearings—we thought—
If he looked above for the bushman we sought;
For we rather suspected the spirit would go
In—well, quite another direction, you know.

Most bushmen on solemn occasions will joke,
And unto Black Bill ’twas the super who spoke.
He asked, as he cocked his red nose in the air—
“You think it old Harrison sit down up there?”
“I’m watching the crows. Where the white man lies dead
The crows will fly over,” the blackfellow said.

The blackfellow died, and long years have gone round
Since the day when old Harrison’s body was found;
But still do I see, in my vision at night,
A faint figure come like a shadow in sight,
And nearer and nearer it comes till it grows
Like the form of that blackfellow—“watching the crows”.

poem by Henry Lawson
Added by Poetry Lover
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