En.Citatepedia^®.ro

My Pigeons

My pigeons.
these, who live
in the birdhouse,
(for
pets)
are not at all “my” pigeons.
I am not there during the day.
And I cannot recognize myself.
At night they talk to each other.
I understand that this is so,
when in the room with my pigeons
I am met by a big blue eye.

They shyly grow quiet.

Please,
Do not be concerned.
They get along just fine.

poem by Bozhidar Pangelov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Man with a Guitar

Men talk on the public square,
Pigeons eat on the sidewalk and fly,
Women flirt and feed the pigeons.

Men, envious of pigeons,
Desire more attention from the women
But women only notice birds who know how to sing.

There comes a nightingale that starts singing
And attention moves from pigeons to nightingales;
There comes a man with a guitar, and he starts playing

And singing like a nightingale.
A woman allured by these new sounds
Forgets the pigeons and nightingales;

She shyly starts to sing
And turns to a man with a guitar.

poem by Dejan Stojanovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Child

I HEARD in the night the pigeons
Stirring within their nest:
The wild pigeons' stir was tender,
Like a child's hand at the breast.

I cried 'O stir no more!
(My breast was touched with tears).
O pigeons, make no stir
A childless woman hears.'

poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Metaphor Of The Pigeons Cooing

pigeons live inside the ceiling
taking the entrance at the broken side of the gutter

i can hear them coo

some eggs hatch and some fledglings
are cooing

one day i have not heard of them anymore
and the rats are singing

like pigeons cooing
these rats wanting to get attention

tomorrow i will take away the gutter
so the pigeons will know that we are missing them

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A True Story of A True Pet.... My Grandmother's Pet

Pets are always very precious!
They feel and understand our feelings and sorrows!
My maternal grandma an humanist
She tame many pets like cats, pigeons etc
It is her hobby and fun!
She gives foods to her pets regularly and sufficiently
She feeds the pigeons and cats
She love her cat a lot!
She gives milk, meat, fish, bones, rice as his foods
Her pets love her a lot!
She takes care of them very lovingly
But those days were very strange and sad!
My grandpa had died that day!
After his death, that cat not used to eat anything and survive without food
He was behaving very strangely
Even that cat could understand feelings of grandma about her husband That cat was sad to see grandma in pain and couldn't tolerate the pain of the mournful death
At last, the cat had died because of not taking foods
Grandma found it under the bed
Grandma says that was her favorite pet!

poem by Z.I. Mahmud
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Pigeon Poem

The Pigeon is taking food away from her mate today,
or he is taking food away from his mate today.
She is taking food to put on fat for winter time,
or he is taking food from her to dine.
Pigeons are like people cause people are like that.
feeding Pigeons in the park is fine,
old people have the time, to dine with pigeons;
Time i have today:
the time i play away
thinking of (?)
the pigeons as I dine.
I am fine.
She is putting on her fat.
He is just out to dine.
People are like pigeons.
people are like that.

poem by Charles Hice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poisoning Pigeons In The Park

Planned it all out mate,
put these pigeons through sore straights.
Should teach them a lesson or two,
of where to dropp their doo.

Planned it all out mate,
put it in the bread crate,
took it to the park and fed,
all the pigeons till they were dead.

'Tis our favourite pass time,
my honey and I.
I'll not take it for such a crime,
they're pigeons after all, who'll cry?

Gave 'em a little bit of cyanide,
and threw some mercury in for good measure,
maybe people will think it suicide,
or view their deaths as a great pleasure.

poem by Soren Valentine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sallys Pigeons

When I was eight I had a friend
With a pirate smile
Make believe and play pretend
We were innocent and wild
Hopped a fence and slammed the gate
Running down my alleyway
In time to watch sallys pigeons fly
We loved to watch them dive and soar
Circle in the sky
Free as a bird from three to four
And never knowing why
Neighbors pulled their wash back in
Put away my barbie and ken
Look out overhead
While sallys pigeons fly
I had a fools confidence
That the world had no boundaries
But instincts and common sense
Come in different quantities
My heart began to
Skip to the beat
Of the boy next door
She had her eye across the street
On someone shy and tall
We lived our dreams
And challenged fate
In tears she told me she was late
And sally let his pigeons out to fly...
On the dresser sits a frame
With a photograph
Two little girls in ponytails
Some twenty one years back
She left one night with just a nod
Was lost from some back alley job
I close my eyes and sallys pigeons fly
She never saw those birds again
And me, I cant remember when
A pirate smile hasnt made me cry
I close my eyes
And sallys pigeons fly...

song performed by by Cyndi Lauper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fourth Floor, Dawn, Up All Night Writing Letters

Pigeons shake their wings on the copper church roof
out my window across the street, a bird perched on the cross
surveys the city's blue-grey clouds. Larry Rivers
'll come at 10 AM and take my picture. I'm taking
your picture, pigeons. I'm writing you down, Dawn.
I'm immortalizing your exhaust, Avenue A bus.
O Thought, now you'll have to think the same thing forever!

poem by Allen Ginsberg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pigeons Cooing When They Do

Pigeons cooing when they do,
A cooing begun.
As they strut after flying...
Or sit and stare with a sitting done.

They seem to fly around in packs,
To peck and pick in shifts.
Until someone begins to eat,
A delicious 'anything' pigeons seek...
With probing beaks.

Then other pigeons dropp in flocks,
From places suspicious.
While peacocking around,
Scouting out for something dished.

Like some popcorn or peanuts.
Or crumbs from crackers and/or bread.
To feed in a cooing...
As if a drooling done is did.

They seem to fly around in packs,
To peck and pick in shifts.
Until someone begins to eat,
A delicious 'anything' pigeons seek...
With probing beaks.

Pigeons cooing when they do,
A cooing begun.
As they strut after flying...
Or sit and stare with a sitting done.

Then other pigeons dropp in flocks,
From places suspicious.
While peacocking around,
Scouting out for something dished.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sally's Pigeons

When I was eight I had a friend
with a pirate smile
make believe and play pretend
we were innocent and wild
hopped a fence and slammed the gate
running down my alleyway
in time to watch Sally's pigeons fly

We loved to watch them dive and soar
circle in the sky
free as a bird from three to four
and never knowing why
neighbors pulled their wash back in
put away my Barbie and Ken
look out overhead
while Sally's pigeons fly

I had a fool's confidence
that the world had no boundaries
but instincts and common sense
come in different quantities

my heart began to
skip to the beat
of the boy next door
she had her eye across the street
on someone shy and tall
we lived our dreams
and challenged fate
in tears she told me she was late
and Sally let his pigeons out to fly...

On the dresser sits a frame
with a photograph
two little girls in ponytails
some twenty one years back
she left one night with just a nod
was lost from some back alley job
I close my eyes and Sally's pigeons fly
she never saw those birds again
and me

song performed by by Cyndi Lauper from Twelve Deadly Cyns ...and then some
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Birdhouse In Your Soul

Im your only friend
Im not your only friend
But Im a little glowing friend
But really Im not actually your friend
But I am
Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
Who watches over you
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say Im the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
I have a secret to tell
From my electrical well
Its a simple message and Im leaving out the whistles and bells
So the room must listen to me
Filibuster vigilantly
My name is blue canary one note* spelled l-i-t-e
My storys infinite
Like the longines symphonette it doesnt rest
Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
Who watches over you
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say Im the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Im your only friend
Im not your only friend
But Im a little glowing friend
But really Im not actually your friend
But I am
Theres a picture opposite me
Of my primitive ancestry
Which stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free
Though I respect that a lot
Id be fired if that were my job
After killing jason off and countless screaming argonauts
Bluebird of friendliness
Like guardian angels its always near
Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
Who watches over you
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say Im the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
(and while youre at it
Keep the nightlight on inside the
Birdhouse in your soul)
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say Im the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch (and while youre at it)
Who watches over you (keep the nightlight on inside the)
Make a little birdhouse in your soul (birdhouse in your soul)
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say Im the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch (and while youre at it)
Who watches over you (keep the nightlight on inside the)
Make a little birdhouse in your soul (birdhouse in your soul)
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say Im the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Notes
The dial-a-song version has the following significantly altered lyrics:
Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
He watches over you
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say Im the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
I have a secret to tell
Out when youre all by yourself
Theres a time when even you get up and leave your nothing to dwell
I dont want to talk about that
And no one listens to that
But for the one who does, and shes the one you worry about
Dont you say anything
If you have anything to do with it
Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
He watches over you
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say Im the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Id like to cover the earth
With a fresh-baked yummy dessert
People couldnt live in it, but I think its worth the money and hurt
cause I couldnt tolerate
All the empty places in the world
Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch
He watches over you
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Not to put too fine a point on it
Say Im the only bee in your bonnet
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
Make a little birdhouse in your soul
I dont feel thirty
Give me something to write on
I dont feel three hundred
Give me something to write on

song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From Four Saints in Three Acts

Pigeons on the grass alas.
Pigeons on the grass alas.
Short longer grass short longer longer shorter yellow grass. Pigeons
large pigeons on the shorter longer yellow grass alas pigeons on the
grass.
If they were not pigeons what were they.
If they were not pigeons on the grass alas what were they. He had
heard of a third and he asked about if it was a magpie in the sky.
If a magpie in the sky on the sky can not cry if the pigeon on the
grass alas can alas and to pass the pigeon on the grass alas and the
magpie in the sky on the sky and to try and to try alas on the
grass alas the pigeon on the grass the pigeon on the grass and alas.
They might be very well they might be very well very well they might
be.
Let Lucy Lily Lily Lucy Lucy let Lucy Lucy Lily Lily Lily Lily
Lily let Lily Lucy Lucy let Lily. Let Lucy Lily.

poem by Gertrude Stein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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City Pigeons

Around my boots where I am sitting crumbs of bread they happily eat
The cheeky and colourful City pigeons so at home on the city street
Their cousins the rock pigeons of the Northlands in Town would feel so out of place
They once were the very same species though now quite a different race.

Introduced by humans to cities all around the World in busy towns they feel at home
Beyond the borders of suburbia the city pigeons seldom do roam
They build their flimsy nests of sticks on building ledges their young they hatch out in the Spring
Like their ancestors on trees they do not roost or nest Nature is such a wonderful thing.

Some people they like and feed the city pigeons whilst others do not like them at all
Though Nature cares for all of her children from the very great to the small
And wild-born things can be so adaptable in noisy environments they they've learned to dwell
The city pigeons of this one example in cities they do very well.

By the street seat around my boots they eat bread crumbs like house sparrows they are almost tame
They were born and raised in the city to be good at surviving their one claim to fame
Liked by some and disliked by others but that they are good at surviving none can deny
They are born and raised in the noisy city and in the city they do die.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hiding With A Squab

'Have you run out of luck? '
Said the goose who left a flock of geese,
On an approach...
To what was thought,
To be a sitting duck plucked.

~No not at all.~
Replied a nearby pigeon,
Practicing ventriloquism...
And hiding with a squab,
Of witnessing young pigeons.

~My family and I,
Have grown tired of berries, popcorn and nuts.
And we decided to use a decoy,
To see what showed up.

But to my surprise,
A nosey goose has arrived.
Strutting with a pulchritude...
To annoy a duck...
My uncle disguised.
Telling me that I had talents,
The family thought could be put to better use.

And here you come strutting...
Believing a plucked duck has run out of luck,
When tonight a family of pigeons....
Are going to feast on cooked goose.
Something to feed the younger pigeons,
To lift them with an ego boost!

Get 'em boys! ~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In The Seven Woods

I HAVE heard the pigeons of the Seven Woods
Make their faint thunder, and the garden bees
Hum in the lime-tree flowers; and put away
The unavailing outcries and the old bitterness
That empty the heart. I have forgot awhile
Tara uprooted, and new commonness
Upon the throne and crying about the streets
And hanging its paper flowers from post to post,
Because it is alone of all things happy.
I am contented, for I know that Quiet
Wanders laughing and eating her wild heart
Among pigeons and bees, while that Great Archer,
Who but awaits His hour to shoot, still hangs
A cloudy quiver over Pairc-na-lee.

poem by William Butler Yeats
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From 'She Stoops to Conquer' A Song

Let school-masters puzzle their brain,
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;
Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
Gives 'genus' a better discerning.
Let them brag of their heathenish gods,
Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians:
Their Quis, and their Quaes, and their Quods,
They're all but a parcel of Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

When Methodist preachers come down
A-preaching that drinking is sinful,
I'll wager the rascals a crown
They always preach best with a skinful.
But when you come down with your pence,
For a slice of their scurvy religion,
I'll leave it to all men of sense,
But you, my good friend, are the pigeon.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

Then come, put the jorum about,
And let us be merry and clever;
Our hearts and our liquors are stout;
Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever.
Let some cry up woodcock or hare,
Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons;
But of all the birds in the air,
Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Owd To A Nightingale

It was quiet in the park,
after lunch, the crowds are few.
Here the statures live in terror
because of what we pigeons do..
We’re adept at carpet bombing.
pets and people feel our wrath.
Our bowels are like loose cannons-
Don’t dare venture in our path.

Now, below, I see a poet
with pen in hand composing.
Intent upon the songbird’s tune
or perchance he’s merely dozing

His senses lulled by cricket’s song,
He perspires in the heat.
My calling card left on his suit.
says chose a different seat.

poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I don't understand why people would want to get rid of pigeons. They don't bother no one.

quote by Mike Tyson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pigeons And Crumbs

Gotta get back
Gotta figure out a way
I'm losing - my senses to you
Where'd it go , the bluebird I should follow
Back home? But where is home?
Guess it won't amount to much
Won't be long before I crush
I'll stand in line
Don't believe a thing they say , today
Seems we all get lost amongst the pigeons and the crumbs
All alone
But I'm in a crowded room
I'm sinking , in quicksand tonight
You pick me up , and I shine across the sky till morning , then you
colour me in
Guess it wont amount
to much
Seems to me I've lost my touch
I'm back in line
Don't believe a thing they say today
Turn around and walk away
Everything will go your way , I pray
Seems we all get lost amongst the pigeons and the crumbs
from:[email protected]

song performed by by Natalie Imbruglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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sidewalk cafe
as we talk about liberty
the flapping of pigeons towards sky

haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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