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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Related quotes
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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To a Dead Mate
There's many a man who rides today
In the lonely, far out-back;
There's many a man who makes his way
On a dusty bushland track;
There's many a man in bush and town
Who mourns for a good mate gone;
There are eyes grown sad and heads cast down
Since Henry has passed on.
A mate he was, and a mate to love,
For mateship was his creed:
With a strong, true heart and a soul above
This sad world's sordid greed.
He lived as a mate, and wrote as a mate
Of the things which he believed.
Now many a good man mourns his fate,
And he leaves a nation grieved.
True champion he of the lame and halt:
True knight of the poor was he,
Who could e'er excuse a brother's fault
With a ready sympathy.
He suffered much, and much he toiled,
With his hand e'er for the right:
And he dreamed and planned while the billy boiled
In the bushland camp at night.
Joe Wilson and his mates are sad,
And the tears of bushwives fall,
For the kindly heart that Henry had
Had made him loved of all.
There's many a man who rides today,
Cast down and sore oppressed;
And thro' the land I hear them say:
'Pass, Henry, to your rest.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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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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Thats The Way God Planned It
Why cant we be humble
Like the good lord said?
He promised to exault us
[...]
How man be so greedy
When theres so much land?
All things are God give
And they all have been blessed
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
Let not your heart beat trotta
[...] sees
Learn how to help each one another
And live in perfect peace
If wed all just be humbler
Like the good lord said
He promised to exault us
But [..] in the way
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way he wants it to be
Youve got to believe me
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
I hope you get this message
When you [...]
You may not understand me
But [...]
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
Come on, come on, come on now
Youve got to believe me
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
Come on, yeah, yeah, come on now
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
Yeah yeah yeah
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
Yeah yeah yeah
Thats the way God planned it
Thats the way God wants it to be
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Parklife
confidence isa preference for the habitual voyeur for what is known as
(parklife)
and morning soupcan be avoided if you take a root straight through what is known as
(parlife)john's got brewers droop he gets intimidated by the dirty pigeons they love a bit of it
(parklife)
who's that gut lord marchin
you should cut down on your parklife mate
get some exercise
all the people
so many people
they all go hand in hand
hand in hand through their parklife
know what i mean
i get upwhen i want except on wednesdays
when i get rudely awaken by the dustmen
(parklife)
i put on my trousers on
song performed by by Blur from Parklife
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Quinn The Eskimo
Ev'rybody's building the big ships and the boats,
Some are building monuments,
Others, jotting down notes,
Ev'rybody's in despair,
Ev'ry girl and boy
But when quinn the eskimo gets here,
Ev'rybody's gonna jump for joy.
Come all without, come all within,
You'll not see nothing like the mighty quinn.
I like to do just like the rest, i like my sugar sweet,
But guarding fumes and making haste,
It ain't my cup of meat.
Ev'rybody's 'neath the trees,
Feeding pigeons on a limb
But when quinn the eskimo gets here,
All the pigeons gonna run to him.
Come all without, come all within,
You'll not see nothing like the mighty quinn.
A cat's meow and a cow's moo, i can recite 'em all,
Just tell me where it hurts yuh, honey,
And i'll tell you who to call.
Nobody can get no sleep,
There's someone on ev'ryone's toes
But when quinn the eskimo gets here,
Ev'rybody's gonna wanna doze.
Come all without, come all within,
You'll not see nothing like the mighty quinn.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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