crows are black and ugly. they have scary eyes. they swoop at you. they are evil. they carry away babies in cradles. they eat new born turtles. they need to be extinct. but they are higher than magpies in the bird hierarchy..so i guess we should keep them alive for now. crows wake me up in the morning with ugly CAW-CAW-CAW~~~~~’s.
Jennifer
The crow stood silently, on the wre whilst waves of heat rose from the stark red earth. The heat sucked the breath from the animal.
Crows are the smartest animals of the air. Er, I’m sure there is a better way to phrase it. Ornithologists call them apes of the air. They remember garbage men’s routes, etc. they have a strong sense of family. But when I hear of the word crow i always think of Edgar Allen Poe for some reason. The darkness. The beating heart. The fear. Despair. And then I think of alcoholism. I think of Edgar Allen Poe and how he died, outside in the cold. Someone so talented, gifted, and gave so much to the world for generations and still sooner. And it made me wonder if the disease had pushed everyone away. They’ll love an asshole, if he’s gifted, I’ve always observed… But how is that different with Poe? Was his talents not recognized until much later, or was he really that bad or maybe he secluded himself.
Heather
caw caw!
a cow yawns in the meadows.
and whisks his tail slowly.
the black shadows answer
the summons of the weary dawn.
Sing your blues, yonder Crow up on yon tree.
Sing your blues, until the winds blow wild & free.
Sing your blues, ’til those who hear will learn to see.
Sing your blues, until she come back home to me.
Sing your blues, a-whilst I set here ‘neath this barren maple tree.
Sing your blues, a-whilst I set here with a banjo on my knee.
WryCrisp
Caw Caw! The crow flies around in circles above our heads. An ominous sign. The show is about to begin…
darkness. a cold wind. the hair on the back of my neck stands up, goosebumps running down my spine. a crow? here? now? its the middle of the night. something is wrong – i can feel it in my bones, all the way down to the marrow, down to my center. i shiver, pull my coat tighter around me, and run.
mel
never more never more never more,
of course that would be the only thing you can think
when he walks out the door.
your heart on the floor boards, teeth in your head,
grinds out the sounds that fill you with dread.
Two fingers, elegant and pale, stroked the blackened feathers of the crow, running over them in a tender caress which belied her uncaring nature. “Why if it isn’t Lady Gray; to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, her voice lilting attractively.
“You know why I’m here, Ravenna,” she snapped.
The woman, Ravenna, laughed, the sound quickly devolving into s sinister smirk that pulled back ruby painted lips to reveal a mouth full of pearly teeth. “Oh, my dear; of course I do. The REAL question is,” she leaned forward, the movement signal enough for the bird to take flight, careening about the throne room in a flurry of feathers. “…do YOU?”
The crow swooped down like it was hungry for more. Ducking, I crouched down low and avoided it’s first attack on my burger. But it was undeterred. It came at me a second time, this time, claws outstretched, hoping to score the prize that it had come for today.
Matt Chen
The black crow cawed blatantly at the small girl who stood in the field. There was a box of matches in her hand. She would strike them one by one and watch them burn down to her fingers. Why? She never really pondered why, she just watched the matches burn and contemplated what her next move in the world would be.
Brittany Landers
Before me stood a crow. He stared at me. I stared at him. And we just remained there. Silently, intertwining our two worlds as if we were friends although we had never met.
Alayna Steele
Crow made my day by standing on the bust of pallas o’er my doors frame. I was having a solitaire inspirationless night and a headache when suddenly I heard a tapping as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. So I openes and in came a crow just like in a poem I once read…. made my day
jirafa
from my memories, crows are evil.
they pester and annoy
they also
make me dream of death
all seeing
all powerful
all fleeting
crows
Steveodukk
On top of the barbed wire fence, a crow missing half of its wing sat perched, waiting for the Baron to arrive at his estate. It could not call out to its neighbor, its voice as dried up as the nearby swamp that used to be the grandiose city lake. The Baron had sucked it all up – for reservoir purposes, ironically – and the county remained in perpetual drought. The saddest part was that the bird was the only creature that awaited the man’s presence – no one else desired to see him appear.
Belinda Roddie
The black grey ashes of the sun melted into the cityscape. At the top of the tallest tree on the tallest building was a girl, her face turned to the wind. She yelled the mountains that had lodged inside of her throat; they took root in the soil beneath, in the overturned cars and in the skeletons of the bodies of the people of the dead city. She yelled for her mother and father, and for her overturned life.
‘I am stronger than Superman in the sun!’ He crowed, slamming his fist against the side of the building. Skin split, bones broke and he started crying fat, stupid tears.
It sat above me with contempt. I was only gardening. I couldn’t imagine what I had done to infuriate this bird so to stalk me wherever I went. At lunch I saw it perched outside on a fence post, when I walked to my cabin as the sun was setting I saw it land on my roof. A long silence passed between as we looked on one another as old friends, a character from another story come to life to remind of what it means to be lost in my own reality.
there was a black crow sitting on the gate that morning. an ominous omen, no doubt. all cali could do though was stare at it’s pitch feathers and fear for what it meant. she walked the faded sidewalk in the cool fall morning. the brisk air only intensified her anxiety. what could it mean? cali fumbled with her lips and continued down the path and to her home. she opened the door and found archemedes waiting for her. she loved that cat.
brianne
In the Passion of the Christ, the crow that lands on top of Jesus’ cross scares me. No, it lands on the crosses of the two thieves. No, just the one thief. The one that blasphemes. Anyways, that visual has always freaked me out. The crow eats his eyes.
They are black evil creatures of the night! They come at you from the tops of trees and in the midst of bushes. Claws out and beaks pointed. The loud caw echos from the surrounding buildings. Death looms and you know that it is near. The shadow flies across your path.
Abbey
The word crow. Something black. Something that will bring out the demons inside of others while being a friendly fellow. How do they operate, what do they think about? Do they even think at all? Why is that we have crows? Ever since the move the Birds they seem to be wretched creatures.
Ruby
the farmer never appreciated the one crow that sat in his feild day after day. its not that the crow bothered him or that he disliked it but he just never felt something towards it. until the day that crow flew away forever and then the farmer was sad.
Madison
“Oh my God, what the fuck is that sound?”
“It’s a crow?”
“What do you mean, ‘it’s a crow?!’ It sounds like a dying baby!”
“What the hell do your crows sound like?”
“Not like this! Australia’s more fucking weird than I ever thought!”
“Well excuse us for being a little more unique than America.”
Paige Skalski
Dark like the night, the crow is wise. Beautiful.
Hallie
they are black. angry gawking everywhere. flying in the sky yelling “caw caw caw” so loud. small wings. scary pointy beak. beady eyes staring down at everyone as they yell. flapping its wings away. They are swooping. Angry that no one is sharing their bread. they cry because they are so hungry. yelling because they want someone to hear.
mo berry
A beautiful black bird, intelligent and cunning as they come. Crows are a magnificent, magical bird.
Natasha
I watched as Nick targeted the black creture on the wire and shoot it. It fell to the ground with a soft thud in the dead grass. He trampled through the cracking blades and held the crow up by it’s legs. We’d found dinner.
If there’s one thing I hate the most, it has to be crows.
Black and noisy, they sat in a murder on the bare skeletal tree that was outside my window. They were there every day.
No matter what I did to get rid of them, they would still come back.
Maybe they were an omen, telling me that I would soon perish like all the others in this dead village.
Celine Wu
They came. Waves of black cascading through the sky. Storming down towards us. From the backdoor you could watch them. Inky black feathers dotting out every speck of sky. I wondered how we were going to get out of this one. How something so simple could turn into such an eruption.
as its black wings spread out into the moonlit night, the cry of desperation broke the profound silence, life disappearing in an instant, like the blackness that comes from the loss of love.
Many people think the crow as a bearer of bad news or of ill will. It turns out they are very smart.
We probably knew that somehow. Hated their black hard eyes judging us.
They recognize faces, you know. Really.
The crow sate with his beak open, pinching the eyeball. Where did this organ originate from? What happened to its owner? Only the crow knows and he isn’t speaking. His beak is full.
wmchamberlain
Waking up to hear
The crow squawking outside my
Window, good morning
redglassesgirl
A crow was outside my window. “Creepy,” I vaguely thought, without much signifigance. The crow made a noise.
Then I got a call from you.
After that call, everytime I see or hear the cry of the crow, my heart rips in two.
And perched above her bed sat the midnight crow.
It’s piercing cries sang to her sleeping mind,
sang it into madness.
Obsessed and senseless,
she followed the sound of it’s feathers against the air,
followed it into the land of the dead.
She fell down on her knees as it flew into the trees,
asking why it had taken her too early.
But the crow never returned, never answered her call.
Only left her to the mercy of death.
The crow looked around the desolate area. All was quiet and there was no one in sight. The ground was carpeted with a thick blanket of snow and the chimneys were smoking. It was wintertime, pickings would not be so easy.
liyasha85
As I sit in my room, surrounded by symbols of my wandering college debauchery — caffeine, alcohol, weed, decay — I wait for the crows to pick upon the remains of the life I once had.
The movie in which Brandon Lee died whilst in the process of fliming it.
The black bird that symbolises death and other negative, occult-y stuff.
Somewhat a pest in my country that often gets shot down if their numbers get out of hand.
crows are black and ugly. they have scary eyes. they swoop at you. they are evil. they carry away babies in cradles. they eat new born turtles. they need to be extinct. but they are higher than magpies in the bird hierarchy..so i guess we should keep them alive for now. crows wake me up in the morning with ugly CAW-CAW-CAW~~~~~’s.
The crow stood silently, on the wre whilst waves of heat rose from the stark red earth. The heat sucked the breath from the animal.
Crows are the smartest animals of the air. Er, I’m sure there is a better way to phrase it. Ornithologists call them apes of the air. They remember garbage men’s routes, etc. they have a strong sense of family. But when I hear of the word crow i always think of Edgar Allen Poe for some reason. The darkness. The beating heart. The fear. Despair. And then I think of alcoholism. I think of Edgar Allen Poe and how he died, outside in the cold. Someone so talented, gifted, and gave so much to the world for generations and still sooner. And it made me wonder if the disease had pushed everyone away. They’ll love an asshole, if he’s gifted, I’ve always observed… But how is that different with Poe? Was his talents not recognized until much later, or was he really that bad or maybe he secluded himself.
caw caw!
a cow yawns in the meadows.
and whisks his tail slowly.
the black shadows answer
the summons of the weary dawn.
Sing your blues, yonder Crow up on yon tree.
Sing your blues, until the winds blow wild & free.
Sing your blues, ’til those who hear will learn to see.
Sing your blues, until she come back home to me.
Sing your blues, a-whilst I set here ‘neath this barren maple tree.
Sing your blues, a-whilst I set here with a banjo on my knee.
Caw Caw! The crow flies around in circles above our heads. An ominous sign. The show is about to begin…
darkness. a cold wind. the hair on the back of my neck stands up, goosebumps running down my spine. a crow? here? now? its the middle of the night. something is wrong – i can feel it in my bones, all the way down to the marrow, down to my center. i shiver, pull my coat tighter around me, and run.
never more never more never more,
of course that would be the only thing you can think
when he walks out the door.
your heart on the floor boards, teeth in your head,
grinds out the sounds that fill you with dread.
Two fingers, elegant and pale, stroked the blackened feathers of the crow, running over them in a tender caress which belied her uncaring nature. “Why if it isn’t Lady Gray; to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, her voice lilting attractively.
“You know why I’m here, Ravenna,” she snapped.
The woman, Ravenna, laughed, the sound quickly devolving into s sinister smirk that pulled back ruby painted lips to reveal a mouth full of pearly teeth. “Oh, my dear; of course I do. The REAL question is,” she leaned forward, the movement signal enough for the bird to take flight, careening about the throne room in a flurry of feathers. “…do YOU?”
The crow swooped down like it was hungry for more. Ducking, I crouched down low and avoided it’s first attack on my burger. But it was undeterred. It came at me a second time, this time, claws outstretched, hoping to score the prize that it had come for today.
The black crow cawed blatantly at the small girl who stood in the field. There was a box of matches in her hand. She would strike them one by one and watch them burn down to her fingers. Why? She never really pondered why, she just watched the matches burn and contemplated what her next move in the world would be.
Before me stood a crow. He stared at me. I stared at him. And we just remained there. Silently, intertwining our two worlds as if we were friends although we had never met.
Crow made my day by standing on the bust of pallas o’er my doors frame. I was having a solitaire inspirationless night and a headache when suddenly I heard a tapping as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. So I openes and in came a crow just like in a poem I once read…. made my day
from my memories, crows are evil.
they pester and annoy
they also
make me dream of death
all seeing
all powerful
all fleeting
crows
On top of the barbed wire fence, a crow missing half of its wing sat perched, waiting for the Baron to arrive at his estate. It could not call out to its neighbor, its voice as dried up as the nearby swamp that used to be the grandiose city lake. The Baron had sucked it all up – for reservoir purposes, ironically – and the county remained in perpetual drought. The saddest part was that the bird was the only creature that awaited the man’s presence – no one else desired to see him appear.
The black grey ashes of the sun melted into the cityscape. At the top of the tallest tree on the tallest building was a girl, her face turned to the wind. She yelled the mountains that had lodged inside of her throat; they took root in the soil beneath, in the overturned cars and in the skeletons of the bodies of the people of the dead city. She yelled for her mother and father, and for her overturned life.
‘I am stronger than Superman in the sun!’ He crowed, slamming his fist against the side of the building. Skin split, bones broke and he started crying fat, stupid tears.
It sat above me with contempt. I was only gardening. I couldn’t imagine what I had done to infuriate this bird so to stalk me wherever I went. At lunch I saw it perched outside on a fence post, when I walked to my cabin as the sun was setting I saw it land on my roof. A long silence passed between as we looked on one another as old friends, a character from another story come to life to remind of what it means to be lost in my own reality.
there was a black crow sitting on the gate that morning. an ominous omen, no doubt. all cali could do though was stare at it’s pitch feathers and fear for what it meant. she walked the faded sidewalk in the cool fall morning. the brisk air only intensified her anxiety. what could it mean? cali fumbled with her lips and continued down the path and to her home. she opened the door and found archemedes waiting for her. she loved that cat.
In the Passion of the Christ, the crow that lands on top of Jesus’ cross scares me. No, it lands on the crosses of the two thieves. No, just the one thief. The one that blasphemes. Anyways, that visual has always freaked me out. The crow eats his eyes.
They are black evil creatures of the night! They come at you from the tops of trees and in the midst of bushes. Claws out and beaks pointed. The loud caw echos from the surrounding buildings. Death looms and you know that it is near. The shadow flies across your path.
The word crow. Something black. Something that will bring out the demons inside of others while being a friendly fellow. How do they operate, what do they think about? Do they even think at all? Why is that we have crows? Ever since the move the Birds they seem to be wretched creatures.
the farmer never appreciated the one crow that sat in his feild day after day. its not that the crow bothered him or that he disliked it but he just never felt something towards it. until the day that crow flew away forever and then the farmer was sad.
“Oh my God, what the fuck is that sound?”
“It’s a crow?”
“What do you mean, ‘it’s a crow?!’ It sounds like a dying baby!”
“What the hell do your crows sound like?”
“Not like this! Australia’s more fucking weird than I ever thought!”
“Well excuse us for being a little more unique than America.”
Dark like the night, the crow is wise. Beautiful.
they are black. angry gawking everywhere. flying in the sky yelling “caw caw caw” so loud. small wings. scary pointy beak. beady eyes staring down at everyone as they yell. flapping its wings away. They are swooping. Angry that no one is sharing their bread. they cry because they are so hungry. yelling because they want someone to hear.
A beautiful black bird, intelligent and cunning as they come. Crows are a magnificent, magical bird.
I watched as Nick targeted the black creture on the wire and shoot it. It fell to the ground with a soft thud in the dead grass. He trampled through the cracking blades and held the crow up by it’s legs. We’d found dinner.
If there’s one thing I hate the most, it has to be crows.
Black and noisy, they sat in a murder on the bare skeletal tree that was outside my window. They were there every day.
No matter what I did to get rid of them, they would still come back.
Maybe they were an omen, telling me that I would soon perish like all the others in this dead village.
They came. Waves of black cascading through the sky. Storming down towards us. From the backdoor you could watch them. Inky black feathers dotting out every speck of sky. I wondered how we were going to get out of this one. How something so simple could turn into such an eruption.
as its black wings spread out into the moonlit night, the cry of desperation broke the profound silence, life disappearing in an instant, like the blackness that comes from the loss of love.
Many people think the crow as a bearer of bad news or of ill will. It turns out they are very smart.
We probably knew that somehow. Hated their black hard eyes judging us.
They recognize faces, you know. Really.
The crow sate with his beak open, pinching the eyeball. Where did this organ originate from? What happened to its owner? Only the crow knows and he isn’t speaking. His beak is full.
Waking up to hear
The crow squawking outside my
Window, good morning
A crow was outside my window. “Creepy,” I vaguely thought, without much signifigance. The crow made a noise.
Then I got a call from you.
After that call, everytime I see or hear the cry of the crow, my heart rips in two.
And perched above her bed sat the midnight crow.
It’s piercing cries sang to her sleeping mind,
sang it into madness.
Obsessed and senseless,
she followed the sound of it’s feathers against the air,
followed it into the land of the dead.
She fell down on her knees as it flew into the trees,
asking why it had taken her too early.
But the crow never returned, never answered her call.
Only left her to the mercy of death.
I rarely ever see a crow.
This doesn’t bother me.
I don’t need to see a Crow
To Grow.
The crow looked around the desolate area. All was quiet and there was no one in sight. The ground was carpeted with a thick blanket of snow and the chimneys were smoking. It was wintertime, pickings would not be so easy.
As I sit in my room, surrounded by symbols of my wandering college debauchery — caffeine, alcohol, weed, decay — I wait for the crows to pick upon the remains of the life I once had.
The movie in which Brandon Lee died whilst in the process of fliming it.
The black bird that symbolises death and other negative, occult-y stuff.
Somewhat a pest in my country that often gets shot down if their numbers get out of hand.