The Raven Roosts
With a flap and whoosh he alights
to rule from the clothesline pole,
his shield casting a shadow
of gloom on the bush branch that once
held the quick morning sun finch
whose seven-tone jazz riff played,
wee wee see wee dee wee dee.
Answered by unseen, trading sevens,
who who wee wee see wee dee.
Sweet memory of morning chirps,
the flash of red and yellow breasts
serving up my teacup of jazz.
Morphing week by week, slow improv
the feathered finch band my ecstasy.
No longer do Dizzy and Miles
peck into our sunflowers, snack
on our avian apple tree bounty.
Now the flap whoosh raven holds court,
his rusty gate says Chaah Chaaw,
The C H is of Baruch, a blessing
not C H of Church, but Baruch that
the polite find hard to say when
not clearing their throat in private.
Chaah Chaaw obsidian-feathered beast
squares my morning phonic mirth,
dominates the airwaves of flight,
flies like herons gulls eagles all.
I used to love the raven
’til he ate my morning jazz.
Corey Weinstein is a retired physician whose poetry has been published in Vistas and Byways, The New Verse News, Forum, and Jewish Currents. He currently attends writing classes at Osher Lifelong Learning Institute in San Francisco and hosts their Poetry Circle. Weinstein has also been published in a number of medical/academic publications. He is an advocate for prisoner rights as the founder of California Prison Focus, and he led the American Public Health Association’s Prison Committee for many years. In his free time, he plays the clarinet in a local jazz band.