Back to Issue 1

The Crow By Ken Thomas

I hear your repeated syllable
of loneliness and despair
come across this ploughed meadow
as I search for arrowheads.
Ancient bird,
watching from your pine perch,
remembering
the campfires
of those who brought us here
and their prayers
that went up like smoke in the wind
leaving only some stone intentions
to survive.

The Painting By Ken Thomas

she spent her life kneading dough
but her heart billowed like a sail as
her eyes followed the gilt-framed eagle
over the windy crest
her stew was praised by all
her blueberry muffins
'mouthwatering'
when she died
they put on her stone
enclosed between two mourning doves
'good wife and mother'
but could they have known the longings
that once simmered in that now still heart
they would have been as amazed as
an explorer finding footprints
on the sands of Mars

Bio: Ken Thomas live in the foothills of the Cumberland with a hound, a cat, a pet robin and various other wild critters that hang about on the fringes.