Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Calling Crow, Obedience

The next two poems are interspecies. What if I were a crow? What if I were of all things a mushroom? Not like "I must be a mushroom 'cause they keep me in the dark and feed me bullshit". Not like that. Crows have inner lives. That's obvious. This particular mushroom I wrote about/turned into does too. There is a mushroom in the midwest and one in Oregon also. Each are huge, but not much shows. They both are nearly all underground. There are estimates of age too. These guys are ancient. How long does it take for mushrooms to achieve depth of soul? Never? I don't believe that.

Calling Crow

In the black and white
Of my world, remember red
And yellow and blue.

I am a crow on sand alone,
Pinched and hunched, and raggedy.

I have called before.
My soul returns to me my
Lemon memories.



Oh Lord, I am here.
Palest flesh, big intentions,
Uncounted children.

I really am so hidden.
Nearly nothing of me shows.

In the dim damp light
I have blossomed just for You.
I'm at Your service.


  1. I love the crow, and his 'lemon memories'. That sense of the inner life is very evident to me with most birds, but I'm not sure it's exactly what's called consciousness, some kind of deeper what-we-are-ness.

    I can't comment on all your posts and poems, I haven't always got anything appropriate to say, that doesn't sound crass. But I read all and wonder greatly.

  2. I was going to comment, "Careful with them mushrooms, Christopher!"

    But then I read Lucy's comment, and was too ashamed to do it.

  3. Walt, I think mushrooms that have an inner life are also really self protected. In other words, I do not feel at risk that I might eat one of them.

    Lucy, Thank you for coming by. I value your opinion. I have a hard time thinking I would consider your comments crass.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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