This is the literary weblog of Jeffrey W. Hull, M.D., a pediatrician. It is intended mainly as a place to maintain a collection of poetry created for the enjoyment of a few friends and as an archive for my family. All material is protected by US copyright.

Jeffrey Hull

Friday, October 21, 2005


I passed a flock of wary crows
   That perched in Hangman's Tree,
And with a shout their wings arose—
   Could what they feared be me?

They, sentries for a field of corn,
   And I, a passerby;
They railed at me with raucous scorn
   Then fled to twilight sky.

The black-winged undertaker flies
   While but the thought remains;
A brooding silhouette that cries
   And chills my coward's veins.

© 2005 Jeffrey Hull


Jeff, I really like the overt and physical sense of the environment you create with the description of birds and place. Then...the marvelous interior sense I get when I associate what I felt as a foreboding experience with the " black-winged undertaker," and how time flies in life. Yeow! I like it!

I love poems that leave me a lot of room for projection. Nice work.
Thanks, Dan. It was a good one to write; glad you enjoyed it. The game is to present an image that has multiple layers of suggestion, and people see in that image what they see. Thanks for looking "into" the poem.
"...The black-winged undertaker flies
While but the thought remains;
A brooding silhouette that cries
And chills my coward's veins...."

Four shadows in receding superimposition.

I dislike 'coward's dominant strength, even though it DOES put
the reader inside the body projected in this poem, but can't think of a two-syllable word that evokes mere humble mortal powerlessness.

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