The deadline is 31st December. The subject is the crow, or crows…
Crows, notoriously random, one moment aerobatic, the next as untidy as a gale-blown paper bag. They stride purposefully across a road, but hop sideways when a car passes. They scatter, musical notation morphing, on a wet, stubbled field.
They are clerks, old priests, undertakers, schoolmasters, dusty disposal operatives.
They are not only crows, but ravens, choughs, jackdaws, magpies, rooks, jays, an entire race. They are metaphorical, or surreal, or deadly realistic. Some have a misplaced white feather here. Or here. Or even here. On a tree, and against the winter sky, they can appear as gaunt as the naked tree they perch on, or they can seem sleek and fat on God-knows-what in contrast with the tortured branches.
They are (perhaps) the National Bird of Scotland, their accent being a throatful of Buckfast after a takeaway kebab.
They are here for you to plunder, to rob, or to dignify your shoulder as you carry them into the room on a haiku, a senryu, a short burst of poetry.
Or you could ignore the crow totally, write about what’s there when a crow is not, write about the most un-crow thing that occurs to you. It’s entirely up to you. Go to the ‘Submission’ tab and use the email address there.
Just remember that the deadline is 31st December…