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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Related quotes
Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain, With grammar, and nonsense, and learning, Good liquor, I stoutly maintain, Gives genius a better discerning.
quote by Oliver Goldsmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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
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Let there be food in the pigeon-house, and the pigeons will come to it.
Let there be no lack of food in the pigeon-house, and the pigeons will come to it.
Cat Among The Pigeons
An alley cat with scruffy hair
got into the old pigeon house.
And all it wanted was its share
of pigeon meat, because a mouse
was such a bore and pretty small
variety, the spice of life
would play, exceedingly, a role
for this gray cat and for his wife.
The pigeons flew in all directions
some crashed like Kamakazi fliers
the cat cleaned up the closest section
and then returned to the home fires.
Revenge was planned by all the birds
as word got 'round about the raid
it was decided that with words
one could not sway a cat who made
these trips to be a connoisseur.
So they enlisted Mr. Eagle
who was so strong that they were sure,
that with some luck they could sweneagle
a devastating end for cats
so fifteen small birds were procured
from within ranks of ugly bats
whose parents had been well assured
that their excursion would be fun,
of course they were the Eagle's fee
when he would fly in with the sun
to maim and kill and set them free.
That's how it went, the eagle came
swooped down from lofty heights at speed
and knocked not only out his frame
but heart and lungs which cat did need
.
The end of cat was rather swift
he never did another raid
the eagle got his batty gift
and pigeons were no more afraid.
But on the Monday of that week
there was a storm, it seems, severe,
the cat's own spouse, just like a freak
killed all of them, oh dear oh dear.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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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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So
So, its alright now
Its alright now
So settle down
I will be around
God only knows why Im so mild
But Im the one wholl be around
When the cats among the pigeons and the word is getting round
I say its alright now, its alright now
Its alright
So, is it alright now?
Its alright now
So settle down
I wont share that frown
When the cats among the pigeons
And the word is getting round
When the promises are broken
And the premise is unsound
Ill say its alright now
When the secrets somehow spoken
And theyre trying to steal the crown
Ill say its alright now
Its alright now
Its alright
God only knows just where Im bound
But Im the one wholl stay around
When the clowns are tryin to steal your crown
Ill just say its alright now
song performed by by Gomez
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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Jolly Jack
When fierce political debate
Throughout the isle was storming,
And Rads attacked the throne and state,
And Tories the reforming,
To calm the furious rage of each,
And right the land demented,
Heaven sent us Jolly Jack, to teach
The way to be contented.
Jack's bed was straw, 'twas warm and soft,
His chair, a three-legged stool;
His broken jug was emptied oft,
Yet, somehow, always full.
His mistress' portrait decked the wall,
His mirror had a crack;
Yet, gay and glad, though this was all
His wealth, lived Jolly Jack.
To give advice to avarice,
Teach pride its mean condition,
And preach good sense to dull pretence,
Was honest Jack's high mission.
Our simple statesman found his rule
Of moral in the flagon,
And held his philosophic school
Beneath the 'George and Dragon.'
When village Solons cursed the Lords,
And called the malt-tax sinful,
Jack heeded not their angry words,
But smiled and drank his skinful.
And when men wasted health and life,
In search of rank and riches,
Jack marked aloof the paltry strife,
And wore his threadbare breeches.
'I enter not the church,' he said,
But I'll not seek to rob it;'
So worthy Jack Joe Miller read,
While others studied Cobbett.
His talk it was of feast and fun;
His guide the Almanack;
From youth to age thus gayly run
The life of Jolly Jack.
And when Jack prayed, as oft he would,
He humbly thanked his Maker;
'I am,' said he, 'O Father good!
Nor Catholic nor Quaker:
Give each his creed, let each proclaim
His catalogue of curses;
I trust in Thee, and not in them,
In Thee, and in Thy mercies!
'Forgive me if, midst all Thy works,
No hint I see of damning;
And think there's faith among the Turks,
And hope for e'en the Brahmin.
Harmless my mind is, and my mirth,
And kindly is my laughter:
I cannot see the smiling earth,
And think there's hell hereafter.'
Jack died; he left no legacy,
Save that his story teaches:—
Content to peevish poverty;
Humility to riches.
Ye scornful great, ye envious small,
Come follow in his track;
We all were happier, if we all
Would copy JOLLY JACK.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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