Poem: Fallen Crow


While walking in Carpinteria,

I felt a presence from the sky.

A life crashed to the ground

Swoosh, it splattered dead.

I looked into the dark clouds.

Murders of crows were speaking–

cries, squeals, angry barks,

aggressive flapping of wings.

The sky felt heavy and cold.

One of their own had died.

Only crows allowed, they implied.

Its body laying lifeless in the street.

I wanted to stay and pay my respects

but I feared the crows in that instant.

I feared the crows would choose me

to take out their anger and loss

for their fallen brother.


Freelance writer, poet, yogi and photographer from Santa Barbara, California. I write and take pictures about a variety of topics, from my early childhood in Philadelphia, to my years as a family therapist, and finally to my soul-searching years in California. The things that move me may have a humorous or serious content or both. Either way, I hope my poetry, pictures and stories resonate with you.

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