My Omen Crows, a poem by Paul Thwaites at

My Omen Crows

My Omen Crows

written by: Paul Thwaites


My omen crows trade shades,
Trawled on funerary wing,
Weed widowed, rasping saws
Crone wise,
Cynic onyx in their eyes.

Wake ploughs their razoring serrates
Of earth’s snatched thing,
Augering to bore,
Wormed wry,
Bubonic on the plaguing sky.

And all the air is flayed,
The black gamps, fling,
In scatterings of claw,
And midwife cries,
That dark upon the midnights rise.

Wracked in scurrilous debates,
Dark rhetorics they sing,
Lantern jawed,
Bone dry,
Jet silked the barristers of sky.

The nerve abrade,
And squabbling portents bring,
Of ricket reason, flawed,
That harbingers apply,
When time draws nigh.

In awful gait,
What lurking prophesy they bring
Awkward to squawk,
In paltry sky,
The raucous offers of their augury.

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