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Amanda Hawk Jul 2020
hop, hop
two pigeons
exited the terminal
hopping up the stairs
step by step
we watch
from the escalators
as they make their way
to the downtown
without ruffling a feather
Dave Robertson Apr 2020
With fat-winged thrash and clatter
you endeavour to nest build
in the most precarious of places
cat prowled and mown by me
(if a little infrequently)

You’ll have my admiration,
and whatever feed I can find
as I keep in mind
it’s you who show us the
old normal
amidst the new
Dans le flot libre des mots
On voit parfois gazouiller
Entre les failles Corindon,
Hydre-Muse au sang impétueux
D'impur taureau
Mêlé à celui imparfait du pigeon,
Chanter les défauts, les venins
Et les vices de la gemme :
Les vicissitudes du poème de rubis.
Erin Esterberg Aug 2019
I brought a pigeon home today.
Maybe she can be friends with my dove,
If she ever meets him.
I think she wants something,
She's watching me right now.
I can't tell what she's thinking,
But with a spirit so free,
And wings to take her wherever,
I'm betting her thoughts are quite free too.
nsp Apr 2019
"Rock Dove"
what *******
you're a pigeon
a cloud rat
a winged flea circus
if cancer doesn't get you,
a car wheel will
you'll become a corpse to step over
an inconvenience
a meal for real rats
but fear not, pigeon
there is beauty in your death
a collective relief  
that you're no longer here.
Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
Do you know, the exact design
Of spikes and wires atop street-signs
And the sort, are to stop
Pigeons ******* on the top?

And yet, just the other day,
A mother pigeon - as if to say
"*******!" to the local street -
Had made her nest up, nice and neat,

Above the very spikes they laid
To stop the nest from being made.
And as I passed, I thought aloud,
"'At-a-girl! She should be proud!"
A poem about anarchy.
#17 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.

© Lewis Hyden, 2018
Vincent S Coster Jun 2018
How you always wake me up early in the morning

Standing on the roof of my house while the house sparrows

Chatter among themselves in their sweet frenzied way

Arguing over food, and space and all the other things that

Siblings squabble over

They flutter around and you pay no attention to them

But like Zarathustra on his hillside, you continue to call out

And demand answers with that strange rising intonation at the end

A rising arpeggio of riddles asking of me in the morning-

Who-who, who-who, who?
Inspired by a segment of the BBC program called Springwatch in which the hosts spoke about birds in poetry and the need to feature birds like house sparrows and wood pigeons in more poems. The poet writes about a wood pigeon that keeps waking him up early in the morning and how it always sounds like it is asking him a deep philosophical question.
Peter Balkus May 2018
I see you, pigeon,
landing on the tree, with grace.
I'm watching you,
in case He's not watching.
Just in case.
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