Conversation with a Crow

The view from the moutain oversees the valley stretching out below. A great blue stream running into a sea of green. The path I took was long, my feet have blisters but it was worth this view. The air feels cleared, my lungs feel stronger. Even the clouds here seem pleased to see me. It’s from here I can let my thoughts run wild, with every ragged breath I take, every forced step I make to climb higher and higher, my thoughts become less pained.

There is a bird that has joined me here in my sacred place. A crow without friends or family. I think we could understand eachother so long as he doesn’t fly away from me. Birds are nervous, untrusting creatures. Understandably. Humans are just as nervous and more untrusting. But being larger gives us confidence.

The crow cocks his head sideways to check my advances, calculating inside that pea-sized brain of his. Am I a threat? Or friend? I sit within three feet of the crow on a stone and begin a conversation with it.

“Crow, are you lonely? You are all by yourself. I am lonely, I haven’t seen any of my kind for months.” “I have not seen any of my kind neither, human. Maybe we are the last of our species?” “For all we know we could be, crow.”

Becoming a Politician

A man sits by the harbour

With a cap full of coins

He’s not sure how it happened

 

He was talking out loud in town

To passersby

Speaking strongly of the current political situation

Ruining Britain

And how we should solve these issues

He had fair points

Solid plans

But no one would listen

Walking right by without a glance

 

Someone told him to dance

While giving his speech

To liven things up a bit

And so he did, he had a jig

Whilst starting his speech over again

He looked like a fool, an idiot

He looked hilarious

People stopped and laughed, and listened

The money came flowing

The coins rolled in his cap that lay at his feet

They signed his petitions

In return for the man signing their shirts

They wanted his photograph

And he gave it all to them

In return for something

Worth a lot more

A signature

 

A False Speech

He took to the stage

All eyes followed him

All voices quiet

Ears poised for position

He readjusted the microphone to his height

And spoke his piece:

“All men are greedy and ugly. Every one of these men running for this local election only care for their own pocket. Not your livelihoods. I promise to bring about a new era where I put the people first, and not myself!”

The audience clapped

He took off the stage with a smile and a wave

To sit in the VIP seat reserved for him

The next man was ushered on

He readjusted the microphone to his height

And spoke his piece:

“This man was lying! He only cares about lining his own pockets. He’ll tell you anything to get votes! Vote for me and you will get nothing but honesty.”

The audience clapped

He took off the stage with a smile and a wave

To sit next to the other man

In the VIP section

Both sharing a laugh together

The next man was ushered on.

A Real Dream

Your words come to me

Slowly, as if it were a dream

Their muffled sounds penetrate me

Until the meaning becomes clearer

I can make sense of the dream now

“You’re a waste.”

 

It’s a sound I’d like to forget

But it keeps rolling around in my head

I keep dreaming it

Your laughter starts to become clearer

I can see it’s just good sport to you

But I’m boiling from the inside

Boiling, slowly erupting

Was it a dream

Did you really?

 

Becoming a Man

“I hate the way it feels.” “The way what feels, Jamie?” Asked his mother, putting her book down. “The way my limbs feel just awkwardly laying about. I just can’t rest them. Do you ever get that feeling? When everything is just uncomfortable.” “I can’t say I do Jamie, I don’t often have time to think about anything I’m feeling, I’m so busy, as you know.” “Busy with what? All you ever do is watch over me and read.” The mother sighed. “Can we not just have a conversation?” “I know exactly where this will lead Jamie, and I will most certainly not speak of it again. Now you sit there, and be a good boy.” “Mother, I am twenty tomorrow, do you not see how patronising you sound?” “But you are just a boy, Jamie, nothing more. You do nothing, you do not work, you do not study, you sit there, complaining, and you call it conversation.” “I just want someone to talk to, mother, that’s all.” “Talk to me when you’re a man, Jamie, then I may listen.”

And so, Jamie took it upon himself to learn to be a man. He put himself to work, for money he certainly did not need and know how to spend. He gave half his wages to his mother, who refused to talk. Months passed, work grew grimmer and dimmer, the money kept coming in, yet he still didn’t know what to do with it. The pile grew and grew, the sparkle of gold certainly caught the eye of some young ladies. Eventually they would come knocking, coming to teach Jamie how to spend his money. Makeup, perfume, holidays and restaurants, they came and went, until the pile diminished and they lost interest. Until one lady came knocking even though there was no pile. Jamie, enthralled, moved out immediately, shadowing the great figure of the lady who took a chance on him. She managed him, rationed to him, washed him, pleasured him, until he became a man. He hates the way it feels. But his mother talks to him now.