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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Related quotes
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
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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
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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
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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
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A Peace They'd Find
I threw pennies out to the pigeons,
This morning.
They did not know what to do!
Had I flew the 'coop' with scorning?
I had always come to toss
To them popcorn or chips...
Something they ate I would leave them with!
They usually would peck and be on their way.
But this morning they sat as if to say:
'There's not a thing we can do with these!
Of that all of us pigeons have come to agree!
We expected at least a twig or stick thrown
A chicken bone or something sniffed and left alone!
Something to huddle around over...
To peck and pick!
Is this some kind of joke?
We protest this different shit!
Hey? Are you listening?
Do we have to fight over this? '
And as I began to leave this scene behind...
I pulled from my pocket a new minted dime.
I threw it and watched them trying to lift it together.
Believing the sparkling would bring them a peace,
They would find even better!
Bringing them with curiousity,
And touching each others' feathers!
It worked!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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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
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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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This is Delhi
A mega urban forest
abode of two billion
amused
mesmerised
restless
ru thless
insensitive, impatient people
a hapless metropolis
where everything is purchased
-air, water, relationship
a city -unintelligently expanding
where forcefully pasted
artificially prepared
green patches create awe
where no one hears
alhaa, birhaa, holee
or chirpy birds
music and dance are on rent in discos
where whispering
scheming
slowly moving necks
cooing pigeons
millions of pigeons
looking like animated corpse-zombies
holding chains
in bus
metro trains
- an endless caravan of zombies
living on credit cards
and the city thriving on loans
- heat wave from Rajasthan
cold wave from Himachal
and much more-
refugees from Pakistan
Labourers from Bihar and UP
standing crop of agents and brokers
this is the city
which is called Delhi
poem by by unknown author
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Fruits, Nuts, Vegetables and the Buzz of Bees
Does a grape know
That it is sweeter than the ones
Already picked from the vine?
And it is left to sit,
Knowing it?
Is it sour?
Does an apple know whether it's Delicious?
Granny or MacIntosh?
Suppose it thinks itself a peach?
What outreach programs would it seek,
To undo the confusion?
Especially with more varieties,
Moving in to further complex the issue.
And what about the pineapple?
Sitting in a palm tree.
Knowing bananas do palms too!
How would you feel...
If someone called you a coconut?
Would you be upset?
Why couldn't you have been the one,
To produce milk instead of nectar?
Watermelons and nuts come from the ground.
Well...
Peanuts anyway!
Can you imagine the conversations of pecans?
Growing in trees.
And having lemons, oranges and pomegranates too...
Giving them much attitude.
Because they have skins!
And not shells to live in!
Some squashes have seeds.
Peas are grown in pods.
Beans like lima and blackeyes,
Are considered vegetables.
Like collard geens, cabbage and lettuce!
And corn being stalked by crows.
Some are chosen to pop!
And thrown to pigeons...
Who dropp their 'doo' on street blocks.
Can you imagine?
If they ever decided to stir up conflict,
Amongst themselves.
Over the way they've been treated!
Not the pigeons!
They could care less.
However...
We would have no fruits, nuts or vegetables to eat.
Maybe this is something the bees already know?
Since they are just getting 'some' acknowlegement!
And they have been buzzing around and getting no respect.
For 'all' they do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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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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An Intruder 3
Let me say straightaway, pigeons don't do it for me.
Maybe I've lived in the city too long.
If men can be called opportunists in the world of nature
Pigeons might be called the same in the world of men-
Having no clear role but to propagate the species
Which they appear to do with gusto,
Day and night, all seasons of the year, unlike men.
Unless perhaps to serve as falcon-fodder.
They speak no intelligible language, don't sing, and mightily puffed,
Drag their lecharous tails through the dust of August
Bill-cooing and straddling each other in a lovey-dovey way.
Their nests scarcely masterpieces of avian architecture-
In fact, they seem the air-buses of the earthier bird world
Weak-footed, bottom-heavy:
But this pigeon seemed different-
It was clean, pearley gray and, though motionless, industrious,
And bore a mirror of irridescence at its throat;
Minded its own business,
Bent, it seemed, on following the dictates of instinct
And wanting no trouble.
'Shoo, ' I said, firmly. It watched me in red-eyed wonder.
What to do? I felt like an intruder in my own home.
So I called Bob for some New Jersey council,
Across the river, soon after the pigeon moved in.
We talked for an hour-his opinion was very clear
But I didn't like it-it just wasn't me.
I am not...
poem by Morgan Michaels
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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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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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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
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Pigeons & Crumbs
Gotta get back
Gotta figure out a way
Im losing - my senses to you
Whered it go , the bluebird I should follow
Back home? but where is home?
Guess it wont amount to much
Wont be long before I crush
Ill stand in line
Dont believe a thing they say , today
Seems we all get lost amongst the pigeons and the crumbs
All alone
But Im in a crowded room
Im 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 Ive lost my touch
Im back in line
Dont 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
song performed by by Natalie Imbruglia
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
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Thoughts Descend
Thoughts descend,
They come down
From the world unexplored;
In the forms of waves,
Purple, pink or black
Or winged birds:
Twittering sparrows,
Cooing doves or pigeons,
Or singing nightingales,
And sometimes they fall
Like stones hurling down.
Thoughts that soar near are captured
By the minds,
Some are spoken, some are penned
And become the record,
While the un-captured return behind
To the origin.
Innocent plain minds
Capture magnificent thoughts,
But the murky minds magnetize
Sable ones wherefrom sprout
The boughs of violence and odium
That transform the world
Into a place of turmoil.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Trapped Behind Doors
Such mischievious shifts,
Are keeping lights on in the empire.
Burdens of devotion begins to show
No loyalty in flight!
Pigeons who sat
Near the doves with patience,
Stir with disturbance...
And heard squawking at night!
Such panic from antics,
Curses the mission.
None still with wings,
Prefer to lead their flocks!
And the clock tick tocks loudly,
But smother the cries of shouts...?
Their actions do not!
The crystal ball shows shock!
And the warriors are demanded,
To make all the fires burning stop!
While the soul of their leader...
Feels trapped behind doors locked!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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