In the height
and solitude of the mountains,
in the cold and hard wind,
the Eagle
with his eyes
looking on the valleys and rivers
for a new prey,
saw birds flying
and children to play
and a lot of joy…
In his prayers,
as a single Eagle
he asked the God
to make him a Pigeon too…
and the prayer was granted
He came down
from the frozen mountain
in the valley
among the birds.
He found a Pigeon girl
and with she
had many children
that played
every day
under the blue sky…
One day,
an Eagle
came down from the cold mountain
and hunted him…
In his prayer
with his last breaths,
he thanked the God
for giving him the HAPPINESS
to be… as much as it was meant to be…
a Pigeon…
the pigeon mating dance
is an elaborate courtship display
preformed by the males
to impress females
it involves puffing up the chest
to show off his iridescent neck feathers
bowing and cooing
strutting in circles around the female
fanning his tail feathers
and dragging his wings
and lots of cooing
hopefully . . .
ending in a kiss
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Earl struts the sidewalk like a duke,
one eye on crumbs, one on the sky.
His empire: awnings, fire escapes,
the scattered largesse of mankind.
He dodges bikes with practiced grace,
a feathered diplomat of haste.
No coop could hold him—Earl’s too wise.
He knows the cost of open skies.
The city’s his. You’re just a guest.
Watch your fries. I do not jest.
Pigeon
The pigeon is thinking
Oh, where shall I fly
I’ve had a good drink
From the birdbath outside.
I can go where I want to
A yard or ten miles
No limits, no hold ups
No terminals ever
God gave me the right
To fly where I want to
He'll always provide
I don’t have to worry
Whatever the scene.
I could say one moment
One day at a time
That’s all I’ve been given
So fly, pigeon fly.
Help me learn from a birdie
Like Jesus once said
Don’t worry, don't fret
Tomorrow will worry
Its own things about.
Read Matthew chapter 6, verse 34!
Can my words
Your brain needs labels
To help you
In coping
With facts drowning in fiction
So lies cannot cut
The elephant packed his trunk
ere leaving home with a load
and looked down his nose before crossing
to see what's on the other side of the road
as the tumbler pigeon
be it ever-so humble
when airborne
was compelled to tumble
and the spinner dolphin
without a care
continued to spin
while in the air
yet not one of them did such antics
to amaze amuse or impress man
but only and simply...
because they can
Dangling in the dungeon,
Rigid as a rod;
Hovering above are pigeons,
To feast before I rot.
A wail rises from the dead —
Yet from the dead, I wake,
To walk once more among the living,
And ponder what the graves forsake.
The controversy is ended,
The chase for praise is done;
For excellence, though defended,
Is but a shadow of the sun.
Oh, a punctured life —
Drained of all its light,
Defeated in the fight,
Swinging between day and night.
What vanity is this —
To perish in proud deceit?
For excellence is vanity,
And dust shall be my seat.
Trapped pigeons see sky.
Fly past the dark into light.
Pass the hunter's sight.
Appears a pigeon at leisure
nonchalantly walking hopping from table to table
~ looking for attention and treats
AP: 1st place 2025
As I was walking on the street,
Along stores there was a little pigeon.
It immediately attracted my attention its cuddly way of Walking!
Seeing its little legs crossing one at a time,
Was like seeing the little hips of the baby.
As it tries to walk.
It was a cute aesthetic shower.
The moralists, twenty and two,
Know not what is like to ensue,
When, grasping but smidgeons,
They act as if pigeons;
They’ll probably hate me when through.
By the way a rock pigeon cooed
Deliberately out of sight
And moved me to rise from bed
With my own jingle in heart
And July's breath stills the pond
In its disarming manner
And robs the chimes of their song
And warms the oleander
And the way a cottontail
Sits and stirs among the grass
And a quail stands atop the wall
And doesn't mind my presence
And the storm clouds had splintered
To let a golden haze form dawn -
I can tell that something good
And blessed is about to happen.
Seven pigeons
Counting coup
“you take the red ones”
“We’ll take the blue”
Smaller in stature, yet they are pigeons,
Not as colorful, but still gray, white, brown.
While pigeons thrive in cities, doves love woods,
Though both belong within the same bird line.
The symbol of peace, love, and purity,
Never regarded as pests like the pigeons.
They never dwell near filth nor in clutter,
So doves are welcomed more in human hands.
Timid, reserved, and forming smaller flocks,
Their cooing softer, sweetly resonant.
They show elaborate courtship in dance,
With flight more agile, graceful, and refined.
Unlike the pigeons, bold and unafraid,
A dove will flee before it stands its ground.
Yet still, it finds its way through storm and sky,
A creature born for silence, peace, and grace.
The pigeons of Trafalgar Square
Are feathered, yet lacking in hair.
They'd look erudite,
With wigs powdered white,
But wouldn't get up in the air.
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