Fable: Noah And Raven Poem by Hans Ostrom

And he sent forth a raven
Which went forth to and fro
Until the waters were dried up
From off the earth.

Genesis 8: 7


Notice: Raven didn't return and make a report.
Didn't like the voyage from the first in fact.

Wasn't surprised when, deep into the cruise,
Noah went sea-mad, tossed birds

Up into the wind. They fluttered back
To deck, bewildered, bruised, and flappable.

Raven thought, This isn't working.
Then Noah, becalmed, dispatched Dove

And Raven on recon. Dove cooed.
Raven cawed, wondered Why not send

Seagull or Duck? Hence the term "water
birds." Humans—as thick as two planks!

A portly black kite, Raven rode the breeze,
Alighted on a shred of dry land,

Ate surfaced slimy creatures. Told Dove,
Hey, you're nuts to complete the mission,

Said, You watch, they'll make your image
A symbol of something fine, hunt

Your kind, cook tenderness off your hollow
Bones, thank God not you for it, eat.


No big surprise to Raven when
The Noahs finally showed, parked the Ark,

Unloaded, promised God to be good,
Began to subdivide. The grandkids

Laughed like apes, threw rocks at Raven,
Flung filthy anti-avian epithets.

The little bullies wept for days
When Raven hired snakes to put

The fear of God in them. Old
Bird-brained Noah, though, turned out

To be almost all right. His hair went wild
Eider-white. He'd stumble out,

Toss bread-crumbs Raven's way,
Tell the brood, Stop being s'goddamned

Mean to animals. The Old Man seemed
To have his doubts about Dry Land,

Spent most nights alone in the mildewed
Ark, playing cribbage with God. So

Wonder not, children of the Weather Channel,
Why millennia later ravens are resentful,

Strut snidely, rustle wings,
Curse us in Squawkese—us and our endless

Multiplication. They build nests like
Carpenters, love hard rain, keep their black

Exteriors as sleek as gangster cars,
Dive-bomb languid lovers two-by-two

In the pigeony park, know how
To read the rainbow signs.