I was reminiscing about some old things that I'd written that could never stand alone. Here's one of them - rescued before its ascii characters become brittle and its bits start to drop off. It doesn't work by itself without some background, so I'd better tell you what inspired it.
A certain EK member (who may wish to remain anonymous) posted a message about being freaked out by the crows that were gathering in the tree outside his home. He started wondering if they were an omen for some impending event, or perhaps a punishment for some past sins. He would have taken a picture of them, but lacked a camera.
As is usual in such Dining Room threads there were reply posts suggesting various ways to shoot, stun, roast and/or eat them. One post stated "I thought you said cows" creating some quite humorous cow-in-tree mental images.
A later post from the crow-haunted member noted that his younger sister had just shown signs of her developing womanhood. Based on Dining Room logic it was decided that there was a mystic connection between the "unnatural" appearance of the crows and this natural event.
The Cromen
In the tree the crows are staying, watching windows where I'm playing
"build your own imagined omen" using only wasted time.
Is this normal? Someone tell me. What if some strange curse befell me?
Will these sinister birds of hell become a Hitchcock pantomime?
Oh, to have a digi-camera! Surely that would be sublime.
Shooting crows is not a crime.
"Grab a gun then you can screw 'em. Juice 'em first then pluck and stew 'em.
Grab a sling-shot - that should strew 'em o'er the ground if you're inclined."
"Are those scavengers just seeking for some garbage that's been reeking?"
Yet I find my brain is freaking out and fear has left me blind.
'Tis an omen black and brooding, tightly in my fate entwined,
Forming in my fevered mind.
Dropping just one lonely letter, humour makes my mood much better,
"Cows in trees" my laughs unfetter in a comedy bovine.
Larson-esque cartoons surround me. Twisted tales of six dumfound me.
Thoughts of sins long past now hound me. Can these crows bear news divine?
Still the six stay cawing quietly. I must delve their dark design.
"Speak thy message, murder mine."
Crow the First, whose name was Sorrow, cawed "I envy much the swallow
Who brings summer, spring to follow. Thus his duty's always kind."
Joy, the second crow, responded "Storks with better tasks are bonded.
Bringing babies from beyond'd never, ever be a grind."
Girl, the third, croaked her agreement as she on a branch reclined.
So the sextet spoke its mind.
"Even ravens in the tower, keeping monarchy in power,
Play a role that seems less sour," Boy, the fourth crow, then opined.
Silver praised the bluebird's duty, bringing happiness acute. "The
Albatross," said Gold, "has beauty in the luck it seems to find.
But we crows with ragged voices mourn the task we've been assigned:
Bringing rags to women-kind."