My Omen Crows, a poem by Paul Thwaites at Spillwords.com

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.

Paul Thwaites

Paul Thwaites

I am a writer living in Yorkshire, England, recently retired from the teaching profession. I have always written and love poetry and have a large backlog of work. I have, through my own neglect had little published. I had four poems in a recent anthology: "Viral Verses," put together to raise funds for the NHS and am currently working with a sculptor writing poems to complement his work. I have a few collections on the go: "Norse Gods," "Box of Ochre," "Water Dancing with the Moon."
Paul Thwaites

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