An Intruder, cont, cont
The first thing I did next (actually rather fine)
Morning was to open the door and check on Pigeon.
I admire determination in man or bird
Even determination ventured for its own sake
There being no other course to choose;
That, notwithstanding, in all faith,
I expected to see Pigeon fled, the flower pot empty,
Her shambles of a nest gone, gone, gone,
Blown, stick over piddling stick under paltrey stick, to the four corners-
Swept away, like Giancarlo Giannini
In the so-named movie popular a few years back.
But (surprise) , weatherwise all was fine and morning-bright
Whereas the heavens were low and kvetchy, overnight,
Now they were high, preternaturally blue and cloud free;
Whereas, last night the rain made credible the flood-myth
Now the leaves were pliant, crisp and green,
Like the skin of youth, restored,
As though to show, despite the furor of the storm
They pulled through pretty good, anyhow.
Only some water stood placid in the bowls
To evidence the deluge of the night-
The bees already grazing in the buds
As though it never happened, the storm,
Nature being so resilient, usually,
Recovery, for her, just another part of the game-
Foregone, for granted taken, no big deal.
The stone was bathed in squares of yellow light
And barely any shade. But Pigeon? Prepared for the worst
And peeping between two parted fingers, hand
Otherwise shielding my eyes, I forced myself to look:
Ausgezeichnet! (or whatever the word is) there she was!
Quite unflapped and looking in fine feather
Sitting roundly on the flower-pot nest, half-sunk,
In that peculiar red-eyed trance
I called determination-if it wasn't just instinct working
Looking, if anything, cleaner than before,
Looking as if nothing happened,
As, indeed, nothing really had,
Storms unfraught with memories, correlations, remembered horrors
To those living in Nature. They simply are.
'Hi, Pigeon, ' I cried, quickly forgetting my fears, ....
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Related quotes
Japanese lullaby
Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,--
Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;
Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging--
Swinging the nest where her little one lies.
Away out yonder I see a star,--
Silvery star with a tinkling song;
To the soft dew falling I hear it calling--
Calling and tinkling the night along.
In through the window a moonbeam comes,--
Little gold moonbeam with misty wings;
All silently creeping, it asks, "Is he sleeping--
Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?"
Up from the sea there floats the sob
Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore,
As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning--
Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more.
But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,--
Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes;
Am I not singing?--see, I am swinging--
Swinging the nest where my darling lies.
poem by Eugene Field
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That Pigeon
Tony just brought
a pigeon
in his house
put it in a cage and
feed it
some grains
beside a bowl of
water
Every night since then
i cannot sleep
hearing always the sound
of a sobbing woman
grieving
i keep telling myself
that it is just
a pigeon temporarily
adopting to a momentary loss
of her freedom
Horrible nights
lots of horrible nights
the sounds of groaning griefs
are penetrating the walls of my mind
until one day
the pigeon died and Tony buried it
beside his house
now the pebbles are giving me
the silence of the dead
the air is so quiet
looking at an empty cage
somehow i feel guilty
not about the pigeon but about Tony
well, the story is quite long
what business do i have there?
last night i was thinking
what if it was Tony who died
and the pigeon went out of that cage
and buried him there
beside that lonely house?
shall i not hear the grieving sounds of
that pigeon again?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fine As Fine Can Be
Youre as soft as the rose
Youre as sweet as the honey
Youre as warm as the bright morning sun
Youre as cool as the breeze on the last days of april
Youre as fine as fine can be
Youre like time is to space
Youre like faith is to trustin
Youre like blue is to feelin unkind
Youre like joy is for love,
Youre like dreams are for chasin
Youre as fine as fine can be
And when I am gone my thoughts are all with you
Youre my little angel you see
Youre as bright as the moon
Youre as light as a feather
Youre as fine as fine can be
Like the rain is for the crops
Youre like food for my thoughts
Youre like true is for knowin whats not
Youre like leaves are for trees
Youre like bees are for buzzin
Youre as fine as fine can be
Youre as bright as the moon
Youre as light as a feather
Youre as fine as fine can be
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pedlar
FLY, fly, my pretty pigeon, fly!
And see if you can find him;
He has blue eyes--you'll know him by,--
He wears a pack behind him.
He's gone away--ah! many a mile
Because he could not please me,
And, oh! 'twill be a weary while
Ere next he comes to tease me.
He carries wares of every kind,
Fine ribbons, silks, and laces,
Bargains to rhyme with every mind,
And hues to suit all faces.
He has gold rings and pretty things
That other maids will throng for,
Ah, pigeon! spread your pretty wings,
And fly to him I long for.
Tell him to turn and come again,
For once I sent him packing;
He offered me a bargain then,
But wit and price were lacking.
I have the price he asked of me,
The wit that will not weigh it;
Ah! bid him come again and see
How gladly I will pay it.
A heart of gold he offered me
As 'twere a penny fairing,
And only asked a worthless fee,
This heavy heart I'm wearing.
I would not then--now long and drear
The white way winds behind him;
Ah! seek him, seek him, Pigeon dear,
But you will never find him!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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After The Great Flood
after the great flood
it was the black crow which was first
allowed to fly,
Moses had confidence on its
aggression,
it did not come back you know that well,
it puked on dead flesh and
flew away
deciding on its own now
charting its own
destiny,
then it was the pigeon's turn to serve
coy and shy and yet obedient
it came back with a twig and a leaf
whether this is all symbolism or not
an interplay and contrast between black and white
crow and pigeon, good or evil
disobedience or impunity, i don't
go into a hairsplitting
or argument with you
but i have to admit, i like to be that black crow.
i never want to be the pigeon that you believe i am.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Intruder 5 cont.
That night there was a terrible storm.
The winds whistled like bombs afalling,
Seeking but not finding their intended
Targets, then exploding anyway,
sowing fluid ruin. It was neverever still;
Rain pelted the windowpane
With individual drops that coalesced
Into shifty-eyed gremlins, flattening their
Noses against the glass, emitting their tongues,
Rapping and demanding entry.
Lightning ripped the sky from the Bridge
Of Brooklyn to the Heights of Inwood
And made the room momently bright
With flickering, livid pseudo-daylight. Profundo
Thunder banged a kettle, now and then
Or rattled heaven's bowl, or
Sang jagged basso in the unholy choir of elements.
Great, sturgeon-like winds swam north to south
Nosing around shreds of red-underlit cloud (presumably)
And slipping about the tops of skyscrapers.
Something urn-like, made of pressed plastic
Rolled around hollowly in my dreams
Troubling them like a letter from a lawyer.
I imagined Pigeon in her flowerpot
The pot slowly filling up with rainwater,
The pale eggs submerged (mostly) and Pigeon
Protective wings outspread, trying desperately
But futily to shield them from the rain.
The first thing I did, next (actually rather nice)
Morning was to open the porch door and...
poem by Morgan Michaels
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The Confused Birds
Sometimes things happen the way you don't want them to,
There was a Pigeon and a Dove to guide the life through,
Together they ate, Together they flew,
The pigeon was ready to wait a life long,
But the Dove had a rough stance that you move on,
The Dove always wanted the Pigeon to be comfortable,
But always thrash think that she didn't deserve such awesome individual,
The matter was closely watched by a gardener,
He called them...
The Confused Birds.
poem by Vikrant Jog
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A Canticle
Like darkness descends an old raven
A fog obscures both banks
of the girl's eyes
Ah what a prolonged sleep
A red-eyed pigeon on the cornice sits
September nineteenth a flimsy telegram
Ah what a prolonged sleep
The storm dies down
on the tired mast
The storm uncoils
its eight tentacles
And a huge dance-hall looms into sight
And a red-eyed pigeon on the cornice sits
what’s the news now
Ah what a prolonged sleep
The storm dies down
on the dream book of Jung
The storm drops dead
from anaemia
But who will make that girl understand but this
There’s little profit in searching for the one
That is by now wood-dead from fasting an Adam’s lifetime
Ah what a prolonged sleep
Ah what a prolonged sleep
(Translated from Bangla by the poet)
poem by Subrata Augustine Gomes
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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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0046 Jewel of Blood
A fine morning and the side-streets empty
then turning the corner,
in the middle of the road
a pigeon - grey-mauve, plump and feather-perfect,
one wing half-spread in flight,
sprawled sideways,
dead
and at that moment the sun shone
cruelly
on the blood that shone on the dusty road by its head,
a jewel, redder than any red,
that shone like a message
as if it were the blood of the world itself
so rich, so rich...
and I felt guilty
that I saw it so beautiful,
that jewel from the heart of a dead dove
of peace,
and thought I should suppress the thought...
and, now, that further thought which hovered in its train
that this whole world in such a jewel of blood,
more precious than a ruby, or than gold, or much fine gold,
a jewel beyond price
is what a devotee at communion or at Mass...
while cool reason
(what has reason to do with this?)
countered
well you value your own blood above most things
don't you? Why not a pigeon's?
but all words spent and poets silent and associations dropped
and thoughts at rest,
that pool of blood
in the winter sunlight that shone on the dusty street
was just so beautiful.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Dilettante And The Critic
A BOY a pigeon once possess'd,
In gay and brilliant plumage dress'd;
He loved it well, and in boyish sport
Its food to take from his mouth he taught,
And in his pigeon he took such pride,
That his joy to others he needs must confide.
An aged fox near the place chanc'd to dwell,
Talkative, clever, and learned as well;
The boy his society used to prize,
Hearing with pleasure his wonders and lies.
"My friend the fox my pigeon must see
He ran, and stretch'd 'mongst the bushes lay he
"Look, fox, at my pigeon, my pigeon so fair!
His equal I'm sure thou hast look'd upon ne'er!"
"Let's see!"--The boy gave it.--"'Tis really not bad;
And yet, it is far from complete, I must add.
The feathers, for, instance, how short! 'Tis absurd!"
So he set to work straightway to pluck the poor bird.
The boy screamed.--"Thou must now stronger pinions supply,
Or else 'twill be ugly, unable to fly."--
Soon 'twas stripp'd--oh, the villain!--and torn all to pieces.
The boy was heart-broken,--and so my tale ceases.
He who sees in the boy shadow'd forth his own case,
Should be on his guard 'gainst the fox's whole race.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The only difference between a pigeon and the American farmer today is that a pigeon can still make a deposit on a John Deere.
quote by Jim Hightower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As I ventured to the Wood
As I ventured to the wood,
I stopped to draw on dewy air; let
Droplets shimmer in my hair, that
Rested on my tranquil head – as
In a sense of cosy bed.
As I ventured to the wood,
A gesturing cuckoo perched above,
And then in song with cooing dove,
‘You're welcome’, bade he, ’Enter please
To roam our land with gentle breeze.’
As I ventured to the wood,
A fallow deer of limpid eye
Gave care to glance at lucky I.
The heavenly aura 'bout her glow had
Charmed me, like a fine Bordeaux.
As I ventured to the wood,
A dazzling flower waved her face
In blazing show of dance and chase, and
Reddened bright in shade of dawn, she
Flirted like a prancing fawn.
As I ventured to the wood,
A butterfly had graced my arm,
And knowing I bid him no harm, he
Splayed for me hypnotic wing in
Colours for to urge me sing!
As I ventured to the wood,
The radiant sun shone down on me.
He flushed and beamed ‘I say to thee,
You bless your land; be filled with pride, and
Cherish e’er yon countryside! ’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved
Nature, nature, Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
Nature, nature, Nature, nature, Nature, nature,
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Pigeon
The dreams are not merely dreams,
Though they are often considered the fantasies,
And futile vain imaginings of the mind;
Yet they portend the stuff for the future.
I dreamt once, I was on the route shingled long,
All alone with grimness I walked,
No one accompanied to share my pang,
It was almost dark, the time of sunset;
All of sudden I heard a voice, urging me to stop,
I stopped and turned behind;
And saw a damsel simply clad,
Though she was bare feet, yet from head to toe,
An incarnation of simplicity and elegance.
She stopped beside me and had a pause,
And in silence stared at me,
Then she brought out a white pigeon,
That she had kept covered under her shawl,
And handing it to me went back,
With out a word spoken.
Many years later I happened to meet the same elegance,
And she became my life partner;
In her company I journeyed the remaining part,
Of the route shingled long but with the soft pigeon of love.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The boy who was so innocent and kind
Once upon a time there was a little boy
He had a mind so pure, innocent and kind
He lived in a village so quiet and secluded
Nothing but trees from the village were protruded
One day, the boy took a stroll in the wood
And found a rabbit which in a trap stood
The boy having a kind heart, set it free
The rabbit ran away and the boy felt pleased
On another occasion during his leisurely walk
The boy found a pigeon which was got caught
Feeling sorry, he also released it from the trap
The pigeon fluttered its wings and flied towards its nest
Not long after that the boy found himself in the wood again
This time he discovered a tiger which was being contained
Again feeling pitiful for the captive animal, he set it free
The tiger jumped out of the cage and made the boy its meal.
poem by Henry Chen
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She cries like a dove on the modern stainless steel bridge!
Pigeons and doves constitute the bird family Columbidae within the order Columbiformes, which include some 300 species of near passerines. In general terms 'dove' and 'pigeon' are used somewhat interchangeably. In ornithological practice, there is a tendency for 'dove' to be used for smaller species and 'pigeon' for larger ones, but this is in no way consistently applied, and historically the common names for these birds involve a great deal of variation between the terms 'dove' and 'pigeon.' This family occurs worldwide, but the greatest variety is in the Indomalaya and Australasia ecozones. Young doves and pigeons are called 'squabs.'
Have you seen my boyfriend?
Painful the kiss of his wisdom tooth
Stingy and uses my perfume,
Curly hair
Green eyes
Dimples on both cheeks
When he smiles
And he holds a guitar all the time.
If not the drawn mascara pencil mustache
He looks like a girl.
Swing walk and everybody likes him.
When I saw him last night at the theater
He wore a black T Shirt
And a Red Trouser.
O somebody must have eloped with him?
Swing walk and everybody likes
And I missed him
My boyfriend!
* for the boisterous Irene to reduce her speed!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Disappointed.
AN old man planted and dug and tended,
Toiling in joy from dew to dew;
The sun was kind, and the rain befriended;
Fine grew his orchard and fair to view.
Then he said: 'I will quiet my thrifty fears,
For here is fruit for my failing years.'
But even then the storm-clouds gathered,
Swallowing up the azure sky;
The sweeping winds into white foam lathered
The placid breast of the bay, hard by;
Then the spirits that raged in the darkened air
Swept o'er his orchard and left it bare.
The old man stood in the rain, uncaring,
Viewing the place the storm had swept;
And then with a cry from his soul despairing,
He bowed him down to the earth and wept.
But a voice cried aloud from the driving rain;
'Arise, old man, and plant again!'
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Determination
Girl the last time I saw you, you were crying my name
When I put you on the spot,
Will you still feel the same
Show me some determination
Show me the measure of your dedication
I need to see just a reflection of your inspiration
Dont you break down on me
Im looking for someone,
Someone strong enough to believe in
Everybodys looking for someone
Strong enough to stand on his feet
And never break down
Ill put my life on the line and believe what you say
Ill go out on a limb if you meet me halfway
Im looking for someone
To show me what they mean by devotion
Everybodys looking for someone
Prepared to put aside his emotion
And never break down
Youre a new wave raver and you like to talk tough
But can you still cut the mustard
When the going gets rough
I need a demonstration of your determination
Give me an indication of your determination
Three days in the rain and I aint had no sleep
But I wont break down now, I got a promise to keep
Showing my determination
cause thats the way I am
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Orange Cat With One Eye
a one-eyed orange cat
(not really a kitten anymore)
likes me so much
that every morning the moment
i open my door
leading to a stone garden
it always comes to me
singing like a bird
as though saying
good morning master
it rubs his orange body
beside my leg and it feels
so smooth
like fine silk to my
hard skin
i feel the guilt of humanity
who the hell
removed its right eye
where did this one-eyed orange
cat come from?
God-given
must be.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stick Around
Youve been smiling lately baby
Youve been singing in the bath
Youve been acting like a lady
Not a dirty photograph
Then tonight you came home early
Packed a bag or two
Its been worrying me honey
Just what youre gonna do
Stick around, yeah, stick around
Stick around, babe, stick around
Well you came on like a hurricane
About a month ago
Blowing like a stiff breeze
Always on the go
All the good times that we had
All stayed in the past
All the good lays that I get
Never seem to last
Stick around, yeah, stick around
Stick around, babe, stick around
(come on baby, sit on this)
What have I been doing lately
To make you wanna go
I take you out dancing
Honey we can go out to a show
Spend a night romancing
Nights out on the town
Listen to me baby
Youll be glad you stopped around
Stick around, yeah, stick around
Stick around, babe, stick around
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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