Ray Sharp’s most recent poem to appear here was What the Poet Knew About Music, published as part of Contributor Series 9: If Men Had Ears.
Late August, Liminga Road
By Ray Sharp
By Ray Sharp
Three ravens on the road, picking at a fresh kill.
Big heads, black feathers puffed out, chests forward,
strutting over the remains of a bad luck squirrel
who couldn’t outrun the wheel of fortune.
They fly to a nearby tree as I approach,
and one could mistake their guttural croaking
for annoyance, when it’s just another good morning
blessed by opportunity, how they make their living.
They remind me of young men, their bravado.
A doe in a field of browning grass lifts her head
from browsing on alder shoots and blackberries
and watches me as a poet would, morning
a chilly presence on our hides, the first hint
of what’s to come. She knows I’m no threat
this day. There was a season when I thought
my spirit animal was Coyote or Raven,
a playful trickster, indefatigable. But over time
I have changed, from hunter to scavenger to prey.
Beautiful, especially love the finish. I have a fondness for steam-of-consciousness style poetry. 🙂
Three ravens on the road, guttural croaking, remind me of young men.
I have changed, from hunter to scavenger to prey.
Powerful!
stream…. 🙂
Read this three times and liked it more each time. Powerful thoughts and images.