Angele Toomey Poetry

This poem was inspired by the calls made by crows* I heard all the time when I was growing up in Australia. After watching the video about Ravens and Crows (the link is in the last paragraph of this intro), I might have been hearing ravens!!

Anyway, regardless of their official name, they remain one of my favourite birds because, no matter how severe the drought, they always look magnificently dressed in their shiny black suits. I also find their birdcall rather comforting – it can’t be that bad, if the crows are still here!

If you would like to know more about the crows and ravens of Australia, check out this awesome video: What bird is that? Ravens & Crows – YouTube. It is 3:11 minutes, presented by an expert and produced by BirdLife Australia.

The sisters of death
At first it is almost indiscernible
amongst the background noise
of everyday life.
Eventually it will become loud
enough to cut through everything:
the sound of death.

Once heard, it will echoe deep
within the soul of every cell.
Then comes her sister,
imbuing all
with a rotting sweetness:
the smell of death.

The air will become almost solid
and lungs try to find the oxygen
needed to go on...
to go on
go on,
go on to what?

Nobody asks to for the last sister.
Her gift eternal coldness 
to everything so temporary:
the touch of death.
Leaving you to 
fall into that last
crow song.