for pigeons lovers,
the pigeons have endless kinds
have you had pigeons?
The Pigeons of Thoughts
The pigeons of thoughts fly in joy
only to settle on the ground.
My heart beats with joy like a child
to scare the pigeons,
to see I am in control.
The sun watches my childish play.
It is a witness to my rise and fall,
very much like the pigeons.
I capture the scene
and imprison them in my mobile.
So do my thoughts,
which fly high
and come back within me.
Written by
Suresh M Iyer
Pigeons are often overlooked,
Shooed away,
Chased by kids like it’s some game,
People tend to see them as garbage,
As an inconvenience,
They often forget they’re also just birds,
People wouldn’t do that to a parrot,
A peacock,
Or a flamingo,
Sometimes I can relate to them,
They never seem to fit in anywhere,
Never welcome,
Never at peace.
pretty Danish birds
a (hot tea and milk) color
the tumbler pigeons
Tonight, it's madness to see myself
Deep in your brown and soft eyes
It's like diving into a modest mirror
Where a special joy awaits me like a tiger.
My face dances at the bottom of this strange pond
Where two average fish swim like two pigeons
Shutting back and forth like two lovers under the bridge
It's captivating to look at you with a happy heart.
In the sparkle of your sweet and loving eyes
I see myself beaconed and drowning in a well of humor
Where two young turtles try to escape in vain
Forgetting that they are damned for an uncertain time.
Copyright © October 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
September sunday break of dawn
A pious flock of pigeons circle gracefully
They’re gathered for high mass
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
That
is not known
cannot be known
but pigeons may
appear and may seem
in the evening
as dancing and
not separate from that
which is not known~
And, in the isolation of the sky,
At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
~Wallace Stevens, Sunday Morning
Summer dazed in — it's dancing time!
Fred buffed his boots to dazzle-shine.
With a leap and a spin,
He clicked heels with a bin,
Rattling pigeons rapping in line.
when symbols are fraught
peace is a dirty bird~
once upon a dove
***
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.
Today the air is brisk and clear
With a whisp of winter in the air.
As pigeons coo, sweet morning doves,
Pitching woo like young love does.
And speckled dew upon the leaves
Uplifting every part of me
From tip of toes to top of head
Enthralled by all in this flowerbed.
Ashes to ashes, dust to rise
Transforming
Me,
When pigeons fly.
© Terrell Martin, 12/12/2024
Every tourist shares a trait;
they're walking, talking, f*cking bait
Who fog up our Earth's finest places
With fat wallets and fat f*cking faces
If you live in a City or by the sea
I'm sure you'll likely, mostly agree;
These scavengers of our landscape may pay cash
but leave in their wake a disgraceful dash
I admire their carelessness;
why should I have any?
The crimes of the few are the crimes of the many
I think I'll be a tourist
And maybe we'll see…
I'll be ‘that c*nt from another country’
Central Park pigeons were concerned about Walter M. Leed.
He usually brought them seed, nuts, and other wonderful feed.
They conversed among themselves and formed a delegation.
Flew to his house, to see if it was a funeral or weird celebration.
It’s my anniversary, he said, do you want to stay for the party?
They served all kinds of snacks and desserts hale and hearty.
Those pigeons had such a fantastic time, they decided to move in.
His wife moved out the next week; so let the party begin!
I’ve never seen a baby pigeon
And I’d be impressed
If anyone could show me one,
All cozy in its nest.
Their homes are likely hidden
In locations out of sight,
Perhaps unreachable to all
Who cannot manage flight.
The same applies to squirrels.
When we see them, they’re full-grown
And scampering from tree to tree
Without a chaperon.
When visiting a farm or zoo
Or pet store we might see
A creature in its youngest days,
But it occurs to me…
That in the city, we do not
Have access, like we should,
To the fauna we’re familiar with
In youth or babyhood.
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