Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
GreenMan Feb 2020
The church tower crows

Drifting black kites

In organised rows

Revelling in the heights


Why do they fly?

Just for the love of it

Why do they cry?

To let us all know of it
My first attempt at rhyming poetry.
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2019
The rooster crows when the day begins
He yells "****-a-doodle-doo!"
Awakening not just the farm animals
But the farmer and his tired wife too
Day 13: Write a short poem a child would like
Chris Apr 2019
Crows
A girl walked through the field one morning,
free of worries, doubts and woes.
The path was clear, forever going,
Through the corn field through the rows.

She walked and leaped and laughed and sang,
Until she stopped to see the view,
Something strange has stopped her legs.
She would have walked on if only she knew.

There across her stood a stake
With a strawman tied and bound,
The crows sat on him,sat and ate,
But they didn't make a sound.

A scarecrow- she thought, but amused,
I've never seen one this upclose,
But isn't all for which he's used,
To chase off those nasty crows?

A girl drew closer and so did the clouds,
The birds shrieked and flew away,
The girl went pale and screamed out loud,
She aged a century that sunny day.

There on the stake bound with rope,
In the corn field attracting crows,
Hung, half eaten, beyond hope.
The girl's neighbour, farmer Joe.

She kept silent after that,
As the gray clouds spat out rain.
And the wind blew of the scarecrow's hat,
To reveal the farmers brain.
What most of us don't see.
David Hutton Mar 2019
The deceased piling up in battle,
Enough blood to fill more than one barrel.
Crows pillage the scene,
Nibbling on their cuisine.
From a distance you can hear them cackle.
Inspired by Vasily Vereshchagin's "The Apotheosis of War" painting.
Elizabeth Sage Mar 2019
hitherto the crows enveloping the sky
and whereupon my zest for life decayed
were a trio of three- she, him and I

in the meadow grew hollyhock and rye
he catered to the grain, i to the flower
the roots began to shift and the rustling wind sigh

though beautiful, she was the apple of my eye
the flower paled in worth, my attention drew elsewhere
her voice was soft and musical; enamourment nigh

quiet was the night and little time did i bide
for death only lay dormant and life dreamt uncertain
so I offered her a walk, a moonlight stride

‘twas lovely until she dipped down, collapsed and cried
i, mortified, could not quell her despair
had he heard?; not a minute passed and ‘lone he arrived

her despair was my own and solace i could not find;
the hollyhock has long since died; i wish for no more
hitherto the crows enveloping the sky
were a trio of three- she, him and i
Grantland Mar 2019
Identical crows
Each one the other's shadow
Disappear amid the trees
Crow’s nest in the tree
Precariously nestled
Breeze rocks chicks to sleep
Next page