the silence of books, the strangles of crows (18/March/18)

wrapped I sit among the silence of books and the strangles of crows who perch and fly as though ghosts in reverse, themselves interlopers in the once again transformed whitescape draping the hedgerows, balanced on branches crooks, exposing once invisible webs much to the spiders dismay, layer by layer gathering flakes settle on roofs to soften the grey of the tiles of slate, dashing the panes from which peer and peruse from within wearing a Wee Willie Winkie hat, bobble and all… I must look a sight from outside but there’s no one to be seen to see, once again the weather has withered any will to venture forth into a world where footprints make the chance of any stealth impossible… this new ‘beast from the east’ is perhaps more of a mini-beast but nonetheless impressive in its subtle way, painting itself in tundra tones although rudimentary sufficient to impose a sheet of secrecy and covert hues on everything that doesn’t move, and even that which does……
… perhaps this is the Soviet response, or more accurately one man’s ego, to an increasingly frigid impassive war between two politics, while us lowly souls care little and know less and less each day of the tit-for-tat affairs of state… who will cast the first snowball?… ah, I see it’s already been thrown…… if snowballs were the weapon of choice then all would end in fits of giggles… being unable to send us too Siberia perhaps they have sent Siberia to us…… they? they?… so easy to fall into that bear trap… language helps to separate, discriminate, stand apart when used as such… them and us, with or against, the cult of the other…… farmers see all black birds as crows and all crows as crows, it makes things simpler, just point a shoot…… oh, the games people play, never saying what they mean, never meaning what they say… petulance, never a fair maiden won……
… meanwhile me and the books watch impotent and mute the twists and turns grow more twisted and tortuous…… the snow tries its best to mollify, pacify, disguise, erase the mistakes, the eyesores, the ruins, is itself both giving and unforgiving, not as cold as it appears yet as cold as it is… my books sits on their shelves shoulder to shoulder, spine to spine, despite their differences never a cross word or hidden agenda…

© 2018 robert greig

(from the House of Books annals)

the jackdaws know (11/March/18)

the natives are restless, or the Jackdaws in this case… as well they might be…… creeping apprehension creeping like the ivy up the trunks to tickle their feet……
the Jackdaws know,
the Jackdaws see,
from way up high in their canopy,

they know more than they’re letting on… but why should they tell us, the ungrateful bunch we are… they know that when the levee breaks they’ll be fine way up there watching all going to hell in a handcart, seeing our egos get the better of us and convincing ourselves that maybe it’s not that bad after all… as long as we start 3-D printing that Ark asap we’ll be fine… won’t we?

I mean, hey, he’s no worse than any other despotic dictator, right?…

neither has it gone unnoticed among the canny Jackdaws, misappropriating  tweets that were the sole domain of the birds and twisting them into an anthropomorphic bun-fight of bile-ridden proportions… but the Jackdaws aren’t bitter… much…
but the Jackdaws know,
the Jackdaws see,
from way up high in their canopy,

just waiting for our self-annihilation to stop us chopping down their trees……

he’s feathering his own nest, you see that, right?….. it’s as plain as the beak on a Jackdaw’s face… every decision, choice, policy pushed through designed merely as a pension-plan for a certain Mr President… which sounds in itself as a title a bit comic-book… but who am I to judge, I’m not even a Jackdaw…
but the Jackdaws, they know,
they see,
from way up high in their canopy,

you know in the outside world his name has become a by-word for bile and shorthand for a certain kind of nasty… don’t be coy, you know who I mean, Mr comic-book President…… note: beware leaders with a track record of naming projects after themselves …
but the Jackdaws know,
the Jackdaws see,
from way up high in their canopy,

Red Bull doesn’t give you wings, just diabetes, tooth decay, headaches, irritability, constipation, attention deficit disorder and addiction issues… being a Jackdaw gives you wings…
as the Jackdaws know,
the Jackdaws see,
from way up high in their canopy.

© 2018 robert greig