Dans le flot libre des mots
On voit parfois gazouiller
Entre les failles Corindon,
Hydre-Muse au sang impétueux
Mêlé à celui imparfait du pigeon,
Chanter les défauts, les venins
Et les vices de la gemme :
Les vicissitudes du poème de rubis.
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.
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
a meal for real rats
but fear not, pigeon
there is beauty in your death
a collective relief
that you're no longer here.
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
Psst! Hey do you want to join my faithful religion?
Great! All you need to do is be completely devoted to the mighty gray pigeon.
Admire its wings that have a color so bold.
They are mightier than iron, or so I’ve been told.
What should you do if you are ever scared?
Just remember that the pigeons have always cared.
Our faith in pigeons is one that’s marvously strong,
Because believing in anything else would definitely be wrong.
The only thing we need is to be one with this bird.
The pigeon is the only creature left that isn’t absurd.
Whenever i feel down i write weird nonsensical things i guess
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.
I see you, pigeon,
landing on the tree, with grace.
I'm watching you,
in case He's not watching.
Just in case.
Sitting in garden
Having an afternoon break
Pigeon coos in tree
It's a lovely summers day today x