Welcome to Lothlorien Poetry Journal Volume 25 Ð Crows in Boots Walking. Lothlorien Poetry Journal is a contemporary literary journal featuring free verse/rhyming/experimental poetry, short stories and flash fiction. Journey with these 75 superb poets and fiction authors on the road, walking with crows and immerse yourself in poems and stories that linger and haunt. Discover sublime works of fantasy, fairy tale and folklore, dreams and dystopia, nature and magical realism with romance and anything hiding deep in-between the cracks.
ÒNot cry. Fly.
ÒI canÕt fly,Ó Bran said. ÒI canÕt, I canÕtÉÓ
How do you know? Have you ever tried?
The voice was high and thin. Bran looked around to see where it was coming from. A crow was spiraling down with him, just out of touch, following him as he fell. ÒHelp me,Ó he said.
IÕm trying, the crow repliedÉ
The crow took to the air and flapped around BranÕs hand.
ÒYou have wings,Ó Bran pointed out.
Maybe you do too.
Bran felt along his shoulders, groping for feathers.
There are different kinds of wings, the crow saidÉ
Bran was falling faster than ever. The grey mists howled around him as he plunged toward the earth below. ÒWhat are you doing to me?Ó he asked the crow, tearful.
Teaching you how to fly.
ÒI canÕt fly!Ó
YouÕre flying right now.
ÒIÕm falling!Ó
Every flight begins with a fall, the crow said. Look down.Ó
_ George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones
ÒOn a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn eveningÓ
_ Bash_
People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.
-James O'Barr
That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair;
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
William Shakespeare
Crows donÕt take from you,Ó Dean said. ÒThey give your soul wings.
Caitlin Kittredge
The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood And saved some part Of a day I had rued.
-Robert Frost