Friday, April 30, 2010

Black Like Jazz

He's black
but black on a crow is like jazz,
full of variations, never quite the tune
you think it is.

He sidles near my feet, peering up
with a beady eye. He pecks at potato chips
spilled yesterday, glued to the sidewalk
by last night's rain. He's black like jazz
with purple highlights.

He calls his friends,
hunching his shoulders, tail flaring.
Huge effort for such a rusty squawk.
Crow, you're not a sax or a trombone
but still you're bold as brass
and black like jazz.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside


Stacy Lynn Mar said...

I am always looking for new, talented poets, and I think I've just found one!

I'd like to invite you to submit to my magazine

Also...would totally be up for reviewing your book. If interested please mail me at

And keep writing!

Marinela Reka said...

Very well written poem :)
Enjoyed it!
Short Poems