12-9 Cawcophony

On Saturdays, consistent with my FB posts, here I paste poems I presume has some humor. They are from Witless, humorous poems on my site, petervenable.com




Caws grate on January calm.

Through skeletal branches, fingery twigs,

a huddled shape roosts.

Crows hover above, squawk from neighboring limbs.

It gazes, ear tufts silhouetting grey skies.

The black horde thickens, circling, cawing

over the bleak sycamore.


From the deck a cat stalks,

and crows turn towards it.

The owl bursts through a woody portal,


feathers spiraling toward wet pine straw. Geese

honk, skim over treetops. The cat


races under the deck.


One by one crows rise and plunge

in winter mist. One remains, ruffles feathers,

preens, and glares at the empty perch.