When the Mountain Spoke the Albino Crows Aquiver

The shredded angel

 Amalgamated cigarette
yolk exorcism.

When murk bullwhipped brontide,
tone alluring versal.

Albino crows
spoke 3:00am.
The mountain aquiver.

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Zero the Poet

All rights Reserved.

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40 thoughts on “When the Mountain Spoke the Albino Crows Aquiver

    1. Thank you, Holly.

      In my dreams mountains spoke of something arriving. A levitating red shiny glob of voices speaking verses
      from a bible I have never seen before. Loud Whispers came from Television sets…weird huh? hahahaha!!!

  1. Wow, now I have another one to dwell on. Will be thinking on both of these poems all day. Incredibly full and cryptic work my friend 🖤🖤🖤

    1. When I wrote this – I had a clear sense of a prophesy with these ancient albino crows
      who have been amongst us dating far back as 998 b.c. It could mean they’re return in a metaphorical state
      or just a hesitation of when earth will shed her first tear.

  2. It always strikes me how you string together these sentences, like making love with a dictionary between your legs and talking with a condom around your tongue. You make illusions disappear and aspirations appear

    1. hahahahaha!!!! LOL!!!! Excellent description and by far the best comment I’ve ever read. hahahaha!!! My stomach was hurting of laughter when reading your awesome comment. 🙂

      Well, I do love the dictionary a lot. And I’m always trying to find innovation to build world after worlds of illusion for all readers to escape and see something different from any other image.

    1. The Albino crows lead to clues of their return after earth has done its job at survival.
      They are ancient with abilities unlike any creature scientist have ever witness or known about.
      I’ve seen them in my dreams and they exist. They protect me somehow. Crazy right? hahaha!!!

    1. Thank you, Ortensia.

      My dreams have increase in its world I can’t even remotely grasp but I try my best to visit the Albino crows
      who date back 998 b.c. They told me their return would be when earth itself ran out of sarcasm and oxygen.

  3. As I bathed,
    Centuries ago
    In the murky turquoise river of
    Ptolemy to Berenice,
    The crows
    Transformed into
    Mocking Birds, and
    Caesar hurled javelin into
    The ultimate aureole, but
    No one fell into the
    Murky turquoise river.
    Yet, all are punished.
    All are dead.
    Time is
    The champion.

    1. Caesars belly river
      turned jazz
      in the mist of century vacuum.
      All punishment
      came from the shaved tongue –
      Babylon disguised
      in mockery –
      the age aureole;
      devoured the repeat
      bathed newsletters.
      We’ve all felt champion
      speaking like a crows reverse one eyed hands.
      transform the volcano’s toes
      into euphoric roars.

      I love what you’ve interpret, Resa. 🙂

      1. Interpretation is an ongoing translation of life. I need to read this again, and I am considering my response to your other poem. Words count, and I adore yours!

  4. Charlie,

    In South Florida, an Albino Crow is a white person
    trying to be black. A white person visiting nighttime
    establishments in Dark Town. Taylor Swift ?

    I enjoyed the fillers between the more solid words.
    You made it easy to cross the waters.
    Just like at an upscale Japanese garden.
    I felt like I was holding hands with Simon and Garfunkel.

    I sense that you constantly want to expose your inner self.
    “Hey World, it’s me Charlie and I’m more than a poet”
    The secret being “STAYING FRESH”

    No, No, No, you’re not alone.
    A dozen light kisses.
    A helping hand.

  5. You kiddin me , well , seriously this beats me how you come up with and thought of them albino crows
    Your dreams do us good lol , dream away some more while I read this more and gauge its depth. One read won’t help me , you know.

  6. you speak, the truth. back in bloggery after weeks of video-audio immersion — thanks for staying tuned! yr support inspires a feeble pilgrim to keep trudging (slouching?) toward whatever’s up the road yonder…

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