The crow on the crossbar

It was a grey November
afternoon, I walked
the leaf-lit street,
I sent slender letters.

I took to the Rye with adventure in mind,
where dogs scattered tame,
and their walkers strolled
aimlessly along.

A jay barked
at the young heron
(burping)
on the bridge,

it watched me down its beak.
The brown rat ambled
along the passage
underneath.

In the alien plane
wood, redwing
were rumoured.
But all I found:

the conspicuous corvid
and the murmuration
of feeding, fleeing starlings,
(autumn’s little darlings).

On the Common I called
to the crow on the crossbar,
I kicked around below a dull ceiling,
with dark birds and leaves.

A couple asked for the ashes
as I took to the undulating
paths of the old cemetery,

the magpie perched tropical
on a gravestone.

I touched the frills of turquoise
lichens, eyed the portals
in the condominium
of the dead and fallen

birch.

Helicopters were whales
in the deep sea sky,
the moaning after noon.

They lay the boy in his grave
and gunshots skipped the gloom:

Luv u fam,
Miss u fam,
Neva guna forget u fam.

© Daniel Greenwood, 2012

“It was a grey, dull day but noisy. Helicopters were circling overhead all morning and through into the afternoon, something which happens regularly enough but not for that duration of time. I went for a walk through Peckham Rye and back through Camberwell Old Cemetery. Later that afternoon, perhaps an hour after I got home, we heard on the national news that a teenager had been shot dead after the funeral of a boy in the cemetery. The final stanza is from comments scrawled on the pavement outside the shop where the shooting took place” – Daniel  Greenwood.

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2 responses to “The crow on the crossbar

  1. Pingback: The New Nature | just launched «·

  2. Pingback: The New Nature | just launched « The aerial edible garden and other urban adventures·

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