Long Pigeon Poems
Long Pigeon Poems. Below are the most popular long Pigeon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pigeon poems by poem length and keyword.
The wood pigeon awoke on her roosting perch,
fluttered with a nervous jerk;
warilysearching for sustenance,
above the peregrine made a fateful entrance.
The winter harsh and icy cold,
driven far from its familiar fold,
seeking food further afield
to an urban garden that might increase its yield.
Under a biting wintry sky
the short tailed falcon hovered high,
an efficient killer from above,more than a
match for pigeon or dove.
Taking its chosen meal in flight,
swooping sudden from a great height,
the momentum imprinting our window pane,
her throat slashed she soon was slain.
Talons sunk deep into the pigeons chest
this finicky eater pecked at head and breast.
The lawn strewn leavings of a ravenous raptor,
as nature's journal leafs another chapter.
George O'l boy, what DO you say?
Great day for an old game today?
Washings done and the chores are too,
So shall we have a play, for what's true?
"I like your shiny clean apron..."
"I like your shiny red car..."
"Shall I drive the rug dear, to a star"?
"Take the short road, the Long one's far..."
"It's technically a pigeon not a hen"
"It's technically a now knot then"
"Know, it's technically a girl at bat, with a Pen."
"And that's technically, players, 10."
"Gentlemen."
So let me ask you... how many types of
people ARE there in this world...?
It doesn't matter, we all know binary...
Write?
Know? Well, then in decimal we'll go.
It's all the same on stage and in show,
One actor there in many sets of clothes.
"...and swhich one are two..."
Form:
I didn’t know that it exists until I see an ant crawling out of a disc, I didn’t know that it exists until I see a beetle from the order of Coleoptera coming out of a hole, and a thousand of them join a procession and marched around a mound that leads towards the heavens.
The early morning warmth races through the back door leaving a multitude of beetle crawling about the floor. There were hundreds of them moving in line heading towards the shores and the metamorphosis begins. Skins piling upon skin and the transformation from nymph to an adult begin and new bugs start moving in.
I didn’t know that it exists until it started to fly at a significant altitude in the sky; I didn’t know that it exists until I saw hundreds of them gallivanting in different directions. They hunkered on the ground and flew around and around; they dilly and dally from corner to corner and mock the beetles on the ground and disappeared in thin air.
I didn’t know that it exists until I stood behind the tree and listened carefully to the hammers and nails, the saws and drills, and the sound of the wood pecker boring a hole in the middle of the tree to hide its friends and family.
The whooper swans with beaks shows up in hundreds and marched towards the fortified walls, I wondered what that was all about and then the tanga bean goose starts to shout, looking for a passage to move across the valley but the woodpecker would not allow them to move one inch further but the bar-headed goose came along singing a happy song and stood in the midst and greet them with a smile.
The wood pecker open the gate and whooper swan, the bar-headed goose and the tanga bean goose and everyone could pass through.
I didn’t know that it exists until the ground dove came out of the hole and the caterpillars start moving underground, the tunnels run in four directions and you could get to four different countries in a jiffy.
There was no land mark for you to start, just a pigeon hole in the ground to lead you where destiny is bound, you across the river and you will find a track across the street when you walk through the pigeon hole.
I didn’t know that it exists until they breached the fortified hill.
March's dreariness looms
when no pigeon coons,
it grieves at spring's doorsteps
not willing to pass the baton,
resisting to give in until its frown
vanishes into the brightness of sun rays!
March is wilder than storms,
it can retain its brutality,
even being mean to Nature
which knows how badly it behaves,
letting lose its frightening madness
that viciously destroys wilderness;
how vile is it to withdraw from mindfulness,
continuing the brief journey
into time swifter than a hunted creature!
March has no time for debates,
it wrecks everything in its path...
scattering branches on faded meadows
that await stillness, not chaos;
when icy winds blow hard, it's a threat:
stay inside, grab a pen and write poems!
March is fierce and increases fears,
its awareness of limitations is indisputable;
it chooses viciousness and pretends to be invincible;
March snatches your umbrellas, chuckles, and sneers!
March's dreariness looms for very long,
it can be broken with a cheerful song!
We have been walking together long
Our spaces don’t resonate in unison
The message I get is not the message you give
The face I see is not the face you show
You wonder how do I know.
In the wild world you survive
Speak many languages to thrive
You are like a forest where the trees talk
On your flat face chameleons stalk
And on the cactus thorn roses grow.
A pigeon carries the beats of the heart far
All the carved words your lips don’t share
The desert storm in your wasteland wanton
Blows sands to exhume your skeleton
from beneath your skin you don’t show.
The voice I hear is not the voice you have
The smile I see is not the smile you own
You wonder how do I know
In your hive I am a bee
That’s how I would know.
I try to drive, but I know I’m not fit.
The road is bumpy, who’ll take me through?
I try to move forward, but I end up in a ditch.
The weather is foggy, who else will lead me but you?
I need you forever in my life,
Who else guides me all the way, till I’m through?
You are always there for me because of your love.
Forever I desire nothing else, but only you.
Just as the driver controls the wheels of his car,
Take my life as such and guide me on the path which Thou has chosen for me.
And just as the pigeon feed her babies with food from her mouth,
Feed me with the word of Thy mouth for in Thy Word is life.
A co-pilot? No! I don’t need a co-pilot,
I need You to come and live in my heart,
I do not want my ways to be of just a lot,
Just direct my path to the place where Thou art.
Just as I am, I come to Thee,
I accept that I have sinned,
Please cleanse and set me free,
So that to the ground, I’ll not be pinned.
I never wanna leave Your presence,
Keep me in your light,
Free me from ill conscience,
Guide me to follow Your path.
Just as the followers of a shepherd are the sheep,
So are the followers of Jesus Christ Christians.
If I call myself a Christian indeed,
Let Jesus Christ be the only One I need.
Arise o my soul,
Be strong and march forward.
Or else life would be a woe,
So always remember the direction to move, ‘forward’.
What kind of God is this?
That what ‘ere that I do is filthy in His eyes?
Being destined to destruction like a fish,
All I need is Your mercy to make me cold new as Ice.
Upon all my crimes You still came to die for me,
And has made me as valuable as Yourself,
You’ve made me know that You even love me more than I do love myself,
I now pray that to Your sanctuary, You bring me.
Because He lives, I can face tomorrow,
Jesus being my provider,
I need not to be in sorrow,
He’ll take care of me forever.
Born in white, I am asked to journey in mud,
How am I supposed to walk in mud without soiling myself?
I saw a Man, who said He’ll make me even better than just a lad,
He said “all you’ve got to do is to repent and ask for it yourself”.
There’s power in His voice!
He commandeth the storm to be quiet,
It is not with mere noise,
But with grace from where He abideth.
AFTER FIFTEEN DAYS
After fifteen days, we voted
And all of us, like fools, so happy
We dreamed that another government
Will bring us back our stolen or lost wallets
Or the keyring that the locksmith
In the neighborhood made for us again
And that there will be no more rapes or robberies.
How foolish we humans are
To think that we will be rid
Of the psychopathic serial killers
Just because we voted
For the criminal bandit of the moment
Supported by the protected banker
And the hypocritical and obscene Church.
How many kingdoms, provinces, or countries
Are hanging by a thread
At the whims of two serial killers
Very skilled with weapons and crime
Who have us all terrified.
Very skilled, having learned
In carnival booths shooting at straws
Or in clay pigeon shooting competitions.
These serial killer criminals
They feel like kings
They wave like popes
Dancing like donkeys
Farting like the Roman or Evangelical papacy
Saying unanimously:
-You can eat them with your own bread, people.
The bad thing is that all these murderers
Are followed by a horde of youth
Who couldn't care less about history
And they offer themselves here and there
To the evil deeds of this or that crook
To their lies or schemes
Delighting in insults and outbursts
Ignoring that, by calling someone
"Son of a "
They are offending their own whore of a mother
Without giving any importance
To the illustrious feats and wonders
That their fathers and grandfathers performed
To achieve a nation
Without crimes or duels.
Now, I remember what my friend
Virgilio Cardenal told me
Upon leaving the Segovia Seminary:
-Santiago Caballo Blanco
When he was greeted as a saint
In his triumphal entry
In Santiago de Compostela
He said to the canons and cardinals
Gathered there:
-You have sanctified a donkey.
Juana de Caleruega
In the province of Burgos
Historic municipality for being the birthplace
Of Saint Dominic of Guzmán
Founder of the Dominicans
And his most sinister inquisitors
She told her son before going to vote:
-Be careful, son, who you vote for.
Look, on every ballot
There's Ali Baba disguised
With his forty thieves.
-Aren't you voting, Mother?
-I'm not voting, son. I dance like Trump.
Look!
-Ha, ha, ha. Mother, I'm going to vote
The fifteen days have already passed.
That, at worst, they'll hire me
And deduct my salary.
There lived a peasant girl, I do recall,
Of cheerful and charming disposition;
And a servant boy who lived in her halls,
Unwavering in loyal submission.
They fell in love, a tender transition,
But the whims of fate pulled him from her side;
Deployed to war on the king’s commission,
He vowed to return, and make her his bride.
On good fortune, the enemy did fall,
But she knew not of her love’s position;
He was missing from the returning haul,
So she succumbed to dark intuitions.
By happenstance, the king’s premonitions
Led him to the plains where she resides;
When he gazed upon this lovely pigeon,
He promised to make her his princess bride.
A masked man in black climbed the castle walls
While the future queen was in dormition;
She stirred awake upon hearing his call,
Hoping to find her love’s apparition.
He shed his mask and his inhibitions,
Assuring his love that he had not died;
They embraced, a lovely exhibition,
And she resolved to be his princess bride.
The story says, a timeless tradition,
That they voyaged where sun and sea collide;
Through any fate that came to fruition,
She forever remained his princess bride.
Her eagerness to be successful
bought her to him to be alone
Her need and. desire to copulate
Made loving her less a chore
The wines and bread to began
The evenings scored in song
Might this night start our togetherness
A perfection of you and I
Nothing to sort through
Alone just you and I
Months later he spoke the names of Kong Oru
Kung Fu-tzu Siddhartha Gautama Yosef Ben Yaakov
and Yeshua Hamashlach Batjoachim in Prayer
AS he worked up his nerves to marry him as she
Was pregnant.
He had this as there supper.
Apis Mellifere Mare Crisium
Pigeon and Gamehen
With Mushrooms and Rice
Marinade, Olive Oil, Pomegranate molasses, grated ginger, crushed garlic,red current sauce,soy sauce, lime juice,fish stock,
Liquid smoke, marinade for three to four hours.
Veggies
Green peppers,red peppers,onion,garlic, yellow squash, mushrooms, bacon, sunflower seeds,sesame seed oil,slithered almonds, raisins.
In my imagination,
My vision encapsulates
Dusk’s parting darkness,
and silver clouds appearing between,
dull twinkling stars.
As night melts to early February morn,
the moon lies half hidden in the dormant skies.
As the morning moon shines,
A murder of lies
And a swarm of fleas,
Shadow box with their own reflections
A dark fog looms around,
Smoke and dark clouds fill up the skies.
As morn melts and noon sets in,
The mango tree on my lawn,
Deepens its shadow,
In the slushy red soil ,
the night rains has sapped out.
The black mirrored Goan roads,
sans pot holes,
Lie gleaming, as the sun chases the skies,
and drags out the shadows without bigotry.
There is no immobility in the air,
but the green ponds reflect,
the blue skies…..
the sea gulls pick up,
spilled refuse,
and the sun is nowhere to be seen.
birds and bees,
trees and leaves,
the skies and the waters,
the winds and the vibrant uneven mounds of earths,
they play pantomime ,
with each other.
The melancholies of my life,
and the songs they sing,
flow out of me,
to shed away my shadows.
as emerges from within the lies and the fleas,
one final time for fleeing……………
Joys descend upon me,
and so noiselessly subtle I feel.
like the dried mango leaf that floats,
on the languid wings of the moist air.
As the sun sets,
Large portions of the tangerine
and the orange,
the skies have soaked and absorbed
The blueness still reigns supreme in the winter skies,
as I look beyond my room,
a pigeon settles on my window sill,
Your peck on my cheeks,
and warm whiffs of brewed coffee,
cast aside from my dreamy eyes,
dismantling dream time
and slumber land rhymes.
another day in the drama of my life unfolds,
and I exit from that time……
with time in my enduring and timeless pursuit
of a happy life…………
another day I begin………..