Chad Norman – No Longer

Chad Norman LE P&W March 2019

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No Longer, and other poems by Chad Norman

For the past 35 years Chad Norman has been writing, publishing, and reading poetry aloud to many audiences in Canada, U.S.A., Denmark, Sweden, Ireland, Wales, and Scotland. Over the years he has also given different workshops on writing and reading poetry aloud in all levels of educational venues. In July of each year he hosts what is known as RiverWords: Poetry & Music festival, held in Truro, Nova Scotia, Canada. Norman continues to be a member in The League of Canadian Poets and the Fed. of NS Writers. At the moment he is working on a new manuscript of poems, A Small Matter Of Inclusion, a works he says is being written to teach him how he feels and thinks about people having to leave their homelands and make a choice to move to Canada. His latest collection is Selected & New Poems, out from Mosaic Press, located in Oakville, Ontario, Canada.
Munyori Literary Journal:
Stand Magazine: www.stand-magazine/two-poems-by-chad-norman
Prachya Review:
The Galway Review:
The Nova Scotia Advocate:

No Longer

for Whitewing II

I have
held you,
white eyes
death brought
see this–
it is the cold
I know
has left you
but what of
the ground,
where I threw
what I fed you,
where you
trusted me,
the earth
stiffened too–
I cannot
provide a burial
other than
to cover you
with the leaves
I have saved.

The Crow Has Spoken

for the one I found dead today,
white feathers under each wing.

Nothing more
needs to be said–
it wasn’t ever
about words.
You sit in trees
on cold mornings
brilliant enough
to face the sun,
I stare up at you
with just the bread
I have broken,
in a way
we partake together,
but I hear you
loudly & clearly:
all the answers
to all your questions
can be found
in the sky.”

The Early Roost

During the thunder
and attractive sheet lightening
not a crow to be seen
or oddly, not even heard,
all of it witnessed
sitting with a coffee
out on the front deck
until the rain and wind
die down to return a calm,
a break in the storm
as many believe it to be
when I notice the last
of the early roost,
in some way like a
daring private message,
telling me something
between the over-head flashes.
Are they just stragglers?
No. I am alone with them,
the crows smart enough
to make a move
to where I am not sure,
all I seem to know is
they are part of some
momentary, mysterious

Three Dead Crows

Two died in the back-yard.
Do I bury
them together,
or when the earth thaws
dig separate graves?
As for the third discovery
I picked her
off the icy street,
and looked into the trees
down an embankment
and gently tossed
the frozen, wounded body
into the morning shadows,
where I knew the Wild
would allow the snow’s depth
to be a fitting reception.

After Speaking With The Crows

I have been taught often
by the crows’ silence…
today they teach
it is fine,
even necessary
to not want
to be with
my limited species,
so sometimes
I can feel
my aura enough
not to worry
what temporary colour
it is.

© Chad Norman