Tag Archives: crow

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Down at the Crossroads

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I’m down at the Crossroads, but the Devil is late…
He must be on another date.
Think I’ll sit a spell.
He’ll come along, oh he’ll come along
I’m too good a treat.
Just you wait
He’ll come along.

Time is a crawl,
the sun dropping like cold molasses
down a stuccoed wall.

I spy a crow staring at me
from across the road
he sits in shadowed tree.
He knows.
This crow has seen many a men such as I.
Whether from the East, out of well worn dreams
the West, where disillusion abounds,
the South, where love was lost a hundred times.
or the North where the hidden want to be found.

All I know
is that I’m boned tired.
As raw as a bone can be
One, any dog would love to gnaw.

So I sit, for there is still
somethin’ deep within
residing, abiding the day.
And all I need is for him
to set it free.

A thousand times a thousand
A million sunsets,
A million souls
bartered and bought
I’ll just be another on his roll.

My ears never hear an approach
As my back feels his grin
licking
I turn to him
as the sun drops away
into hell I suppose
to keep the fires burning
below.

Nary a foot separates
as he sits
legs folded delicately
as if he’s always been
He looks left
He looks right
He looks behind
Then ahead at me
and smiles
so confidently
like a fisherman
with his catch
flopping on the deck of his boat.

In that moment, I see,
he needs me.
No matter the grin
or the dark eyes.
He is afraid

This creature
is Lost.

He can do nothing
I could not.
So I jump up from that spot
Give him a grin of my own
and turn with a tip of my
hat to the crow.
Who only caws at me with
a laugh,
as I walk the road that
faces me.

by Philip Wardlow 2017

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work, Stories and Story Excerpts

The Crow Waits ~

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crowwaits

The Crow Waits~

I see it on high sitting in a tree, a Crow amongst the sparse fall leaves
that yet hang to the branches, even though winter fast approaches,
no one told them it seems that they are dead and should already be on their way.

The crow with its pitted black eyes knows me it seems, for it calls my name
across the wind while I languish on the ground in my own blood which spills
from my body and forms around me like a macabre picture frame.

Funny thing, how the crow knows my name, a simple carrion bird waiting for
this warrior’s death so it can pick me clean and leave nothing but my bleached bones,
rusted armor, and a forgotten sword as my only legacy.

Long has the battle been gone from this place I now rest in, the victors have gutted me
like a fish on a stone and left me to the flies and the maggots to fester inside.

But yet shall I live, ever stubborn to die and only the Crow truly knows why.
I hear it laughing at me, calling me a fool for an adventure I sought full of folly
with only death to be met at its end.

It has seen many a fool I am sure and feasted contently before the sun has set.
But still I live! You will not have me fool or not!

So sit your perch and wait for you shall not have me this day or the next,
for even if I should pass these earthly bounds so shall my shade pick up
my blade and strike you down!

The sun has set and the night grows cold, the crow sits in his tree and
waits;  for it has seen many a warrior born and bred and knows full well their
strength, courage and the valor which fills their head, but it knows when dead is dead

by Philip Wardlow

 

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

My Third Eye – A Poem

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Patipat Asavasena

 

 

My Third Eye –

 

It’s been plucked.

Right out of my head.

There it is, pinched between

that raven’s beak.

It has been reclaimed it seems

since I never chose to use it.

An eye always closed.

grows dark and distant.

Best to give it to someone else.

Yet, I feel the pain of its

loss already

My mind, my spirit, my heart

has already dimmed.

I want it back.

I have learned my lesson.

I promise.

I will use it,  give it back…

give it back,

please give it back.

I will use it

just give it back.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2014

 

darksiders_raven_by_eldeivi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

30 Days of Halloween Poem Challenge, Inquiring Minds

Death Waits – 30days till Halloween Challenge – a Scary Poem a Day. Poem #1

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DeathsFamiliar

Death Waits

Blackness stands vigilant

over a life you deemed

of no worth.

It sees your path laid out like a meandering stream,

soon to dry out in a dead valley gone from tall green

to wilted brown.

Patience is one of its skills for

the time it will take  you

to slowly unwind from your mortal coil.

But unwind you will.

With a keen blade

as sharp as the sickle moon which hangs the sky,

it shall cut you from the

thread of life

you never cared

to hold.

By Philip Wardlow

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

You Cheeky Raven, Nevermore! A Poem

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PLUM2G

Oh Raven,  you may tap,tap,tap,

incessant in your endeavors to ever trap

me in your tangled lies ten feet deep.

I be not such a fool to fall sway to your unearthly rules

of tortuous maladies you delight in inflicting on ever passerby

you do seek to see that lies in your line of darkest sight.

Your taunts as you perch and preen on pedestal high

do naught a thing to one such as I.

Your guile lies transparent as a ghost.

A thrown token. shiny and bright to fall at my feet.

Yet, as I do bend down to pick it up,

you no sooner pilfer my pockets of my weeks hard earned

fortune as you seek to simply

call it black luck where I would be none the wise.

Nevermore you say!

Bah, I say . Be gone this night before the morn

brings the dawn and turns your cheeky words

to flotsam to be carried away on the shore’s

of my discontent.

You may know the depth of many souls

as you may know mine,

but there is no barter to be had, no wager to be paid.

MY soul is my own.

No matter how dark and cold.

By Philip Wardlow

GiFs for your Entertaiment, Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

Raven’s Journey – Poem

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Raven’s Journey

We cut the night air with wings of black,

we cut the life strings at twilight’s blessing.

My brethren and I see far and wide,

for we are many.

There is no escape,

no hole can hide you,

nor disguise

mask a spirit

so foul.

We bring you home to purgatory to sit and

roost in a black shed of despair,

to dwell upon a life where dark leanings

led you to dissolution of a soul that

sought heights they were never meant to fly.

So contemplate, ponder,

wander this dim world between

darkness and light,

and perhaps we shall

return.

By Philip Wardlow

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Night Entreats – A poem for Halloween and the coming FALL next week!

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The crows rested in the trees;

for the killing was all done and they

were full.

Their caws as they conversed,

sounded like laughter to my ear;

as if the murders they had committed

 had been all in good fun.

The wind whistled in the trees

and nudged the dead leaves

to life across the road.

Brown and gold skittered like roaches

and hopped like bulbous toads

traveling in a disorganized parade

for the dead.

The bright moon held no warmth

for it worked with the cold wind

and played through the trees to

cast pale blue shadows upon me.

Figures of dark demons, witches, and imps

danced in front and behind as I  softly crept

 lest they hear me trespass in their day they

called night as they played.

My step quickened as the wind seemed to thicken

and pushed at me like a hand on my back.

I grabbed myself against the chill which

ran deeper than it should this fall night.

This hallowed eve, it seemed, held more magic than ages

past, more power, more darkness than the last.

An ancient magic flew on a mystic wind

That brought to my soul a feeling of dread and

memories of evils best left long gone and dead.

The night entreated and beckoned

me to come and walk off the path I was on,

to follow the dead parade as it marched on.

Perhaps I could join in the fun

and dance with the minions

of the night who ate and drank of sweet

things they called treats.

They grinned at me from out of the dark,

but I saw the trick in their eyes

as they wiped the blood from their lips

I would not be fooled

So I ran,

faster than the wind could find me,

Faster, faster, faster I ran.

until I reached my hallowed home.

and clicked the lock shut tight.

The night retreats.

by Philip Wardlow

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Dark Tree – A Poem

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It swayed and creaked in

the wind.

The black silken crows

gave a queer semblance of

life to the tree,

Its bare branches covered

with a multitude perched like

the clinging of leaves.

It swayed and it creaked

and spoke of its sins,

Dark feathers fluttered,

as if to  fool a passerby’s eye

that life still dwelt in the trees dead limbs.

None made a sound, not a caw

not a screech, no  utterance did they speak;

for you see they had  been given a task long ago,

to bear silent witness to the migration

of lost souls.

For no man,

should ever die alone.

So they perched and they preened

as the body swayed and creaked

on the rope below.

by Philip Wardlow

Inquiring Minds, Poetry Work

The Crow Waits

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I am sure you have seen my avatar the Crow on my Blog and other places such as my facebook page so I thought it only fitting to create a poem to commemorate it…so here goes..hope you enjoy…by the way my weekly blog in the Inquiry Section of my blog which hits on here every Wednesday…enjoy the poem below.

The Crow Waits

I see it on high sitting in a tree, a Crow amongst the sparse fall leaves
that yet hang to the branches, even though winter fast approaches,
no one told them it seems that they are dead and should already be on their way.

The crow with its pitted black eyes knows me it seems, for it calls my name
across the wind while I languish on the ground in my own blood which spills
from my body and forms around me like a macabre picture frame.

Funny thing, how the crow knows my name, a simple carrion bird waiting for
this warrior’s death so it can pick me clean and leave nothing but my bleached bones,
rusted armor, and a forgotten sword as my only legacy.

Long has the battle been gone from this place I now rest in, the victors have gutted me
like a fish on a stone and left me to the flies and the maggots to fester inside.

But yet shall I live, ever stubborn to die and only the Crow truly knows why.
I hear it laughing at me, calling me a fool for an adventure I sought full of folly
with only death to be met at its end.

It has seen many a fool I am sure and feasted contently before the sun has set.
But still I live! You will not have me fool or not!

So sit your perch and wait for you shall not have me this day or the next,
for even if I should pass these earthly bounds so shall my shade pick up
my blade and strike you down!

The sun has set and the night grows cold, the crow sits in his tree and
waits;  for it has seen many a warrior born and bred and knows full well their
strength,courage and the valor which fills their head, but it knows when dead is dead.