Above the clouds, a vulture soars,
the leader of a culture war.
The bird of prey is wide awake,
ready to punish grave mistakes.
A rooster crows with all his might,
and fast, the vulture drops in flight.
The cock enraged some hens in jest,
his crowing taken out of context.
The vulture thinks, “This matters not.
A deadly lesson must be taught.”
Although the cock apologized,
the vulture isn’t satisfied.
He lands, and vomiting his acid,
the cock is burned, his wattles branded.
Next day, at noon, the Sun is blackened,
a sign to birds of something destined.
Across the land, the thrushes tweet
the vulture’s secret: stolen meat.
The vulture flies, then squawks and squeals.
His greatest sin has been revealed.
A vulture volt condemns him now:
“Prepare to die; you stole our cow!”
The vulture pleads, “My brothers, stop!”,
as he is eaten by his flock.



Christopher Lindsay is the author of Letters from a Madman, and The Donkey King and Other Stories. Available on Amazon Kindle. His play, Vanna Helsing, was performed by the New Vintage Theatre in 2020. His website is: www.christopherjohnlindsay.com   

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7 Responses

  1. Joe Tessitore

    With steady hand, unblinking eye,
    I shot the buzzard from the sky.

    A chilling fable, if indeed we can call it that.

  2. C.B. Anderson

    You took some daring chances with many of your rhymes, Christopher, but they were all worth it. Vultures cannot survive on fresh meat; it must be rotten, for otherwise they can’t digest it. In a strange way, the vulture does good service by cleaning up the environment. The vulture is NOT a bird of prey, but a carrion feeder. Now you should see why the message of the poem might be unclear to many readers.

  3. Toby

    Interesting poem but I feel that it can be confused with the “vulture culture” hobby, a hobby for people who take interest in collecting and cleaning bones


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