poet Sheena Blackhall

Sheena Blackhall

Bannockburn Crow

We crows saw the deadly shower of arrows
The soup of brains and sweat
The gralloched spearmen
Turning the moss sour.

Terrified horses churned the buttercups
Into a golden pulp amongst the lardy flesh of the dead
Rich pickings for us crows
There was a clamour of rooks
On the back of a Welsh archer
A screech of gulls on the spilled
Bellies of pack horses

At night a stare of owls
Watched moonlit women
Stripping the field of trophies

Later, in our parliament of crows
We talked of this, how men
Tear open men, providing
A feast for the winged ones and the worms.

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Add this poem to MyPoemList

Rating Card

4,5 out of 5
2 total ratings
rate this poem

Comments about Bannockburn Crow by Sheena Blackhall

  • Wayne Bowen (1/31/2010 2:51:00 PM)

    Very good...a picture painted of crows and others gathering from a battlefield.
    Nice wording..Wayne

    Report Reply
    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?