M/D Ramblings 108: A Gang Of Crows Poem by bradley blue jay phipps

I am sitting
at my window again looking out
trying to figure what
is in my frame of mind, since
some snow fell
last night.

A gang of crows
has descended upon my feeders
flashing signs and chasing
the cardinals away by
shear numbers
alone.

The contrast of
colors is decidedly dreadful
as one looks deep into
the emptiness within their
hollowed green
glass eyes.

Evil birds flourish
while roaming the skies looking for feed
upon which to gorge, while they
disrupt my property and
spiritual
values.

Like uncut grass
and a car on blocks with weeds growing
skywards as altars of
indifference 'cept to self,
they lay waist
my view.

There is a war
going on in my backyard this morn
over food and nothing
but food for sustenance is
covered with
the cold.

How odd that my
window brings peace of mind most times, but
today it reflects the
struggles humans have between
compassion
and self.



“One thing leads to another? ' Not always. Sometimes one thing leads to the same thing. Ask an addict.' - george carlin


Food is a weapon. Always has been. Torture is a tool. Always has been. Sex is both weapon and tool. Always has been.

It is a wonder what comes to mind as one sits and watches the world drip by. We had 5 hours of freezing rain last night followed by several hours of snow. I count 5-6 inches on my yard. I woke to see if going to work was on the horizon. It was not, so with coffee, muffin and heating pad on back, I slowly waited for the dawn to emerge. Why is it that snow and the word pristine only come to mind when there are no tracks? Not just human. Any tracks. In my mind it is that way.

I remember riding the ski lift on the backside of the mountain where there were areas one traveled over with no trails. Just cliffs and the tops of tall trees sticking up through the snow. Looking down you would see the outline of a bird, a large bird, where the shape of it's wings were still visible in the crust of white. It is beautiful to behold even with the realization that death happened on that spot. Or the beginning of death. Torture, if you will, as talons gripped and ripped you from your forage for food. You were just going down to the corner for a little milk and bread, then feathered hell was leashed upon you.

It is said that 900,000 people go missing every year in the United States alone. Mostly children. One moment you are a little varmint looking for sustenance, and the next a bird of prey has made your family wonder where you are. Sometimes there is a little evidence, so there might be a little closure, but do they really ever know what really happened to you? What you went through? The emotions? The fear? The terror? Is this not torture?

Hope is torture, don't you think? Or can be. Pandora and her box of curiosity unleashed upon us, all manner of evil, with the lid closing just as hope was beginning it's flight of freedom. To have a relative, a sibling, parent or child go missing without a trace must be the absolute definition of hell. In Christianity it's coming to realize Jesus was the answer, but you choose to go to Wal-Mart, and are now stuck in the check out line forever. The Blue Light of - Forever! And with the knowledge it did not have to be that way. You just made the wrong choice, and do not have the chance or ability to unmake it.

I know it is not that easy when one talks of heaven and hell. Maybe they are only human concepts, since the Universe is a whole lot bigger than we thought. If there is duality, why not 2 Universes? If 2 why not 4? It is widely known that 2+2=5 at times. Boolean Algebra. Deja vu, anyone? I had a moment the other day. Like a certain Valentine's Day on acid, I tried to let the experience wash through me. It was too fleeting, but I was aware of being aware of...

Men need food for thought in more ways than can be imagined. Today it's been my window. I made tracks early to stand in the magic of falling snow. It was soothing. I miss my mountains of southwest Colorado. My tracks were for the purpose of bringing seed to the bird feeders outside my window.

I have sat here for a few hours looking out through glass and screen watching the birds - 3 cardinal males,2 blue jay males, several cardinal females and sparrows and chickadees. Then the crows descended blighting the beauty of the white with the flying of their colors, much like a biker-gang descending on a small town. All my birds were chased away by the rumble and numbers alone.

I chased them away by banging on my window and raising it and yelling at them. They came back because I was all bark, so I made the trek to the backdoor and threw something their way. I have not seen them for awhile, but know they are still out there. The squirrels helped. They finally came from the warmth of their holes, and have taken hold of the feeders. I let the dog out to chase them away. He loves that, and I love to watch.

The sun is now out. The birds and squirrels made a truce and shared the seeds for awhile. The only one still hungry is the King of the Squirrels, who sits and sups on his throne nailed to the oak tree in my backyard, while someone has gone missing and their loved ones cling to hope. There is still no snow in Anchorage or rain in California. One of the most fertile agricultural valleys in the world is dying by the lack of a drop, and there is no money to feed the refugees from Syria or any of the other places of around the world, now known more for their topography of displacement.

Food for thought, and the torture of hope. How does sex fit into this little ramble? How does it not? Without sex nothing would have happened today. I'm just not ready to talk about it, yet.