Poems on the topic: pigeon

Poems on the topic “pigeon” on Poets.by.

AnxiousDave Bonta

Desperate

Time to draw heads and hands on pigeons, to kill somebody for a fan or join with me in my patent to improve the night?
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 65

I lie still… game breeze combs my hair I’m a poor host– some of my books can’t stand up straight Rain…? Or just wind clacking the leaves? Slow July… water pauses in the sink Downtown Jesus… spiderweb, cheek to shoulder Lying flat…
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 41

He didn’t shoot me for looking at him funny so here I am now I’ll file my report the whiskey ran off with my night leaving splintered sun That pecking pigeon could it wander through the doors of the southbound train? A flagger, shrouded in bright orange; excavator waits for the whistle And I’m lumped in with this whole busload, young to old watching the fall storm Hoodied, with gnarled hands
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 15

The ambulance man he sees me, my northbound bus, then runs to the west. Gasoline can, spilled then righted, five yards away sunny-hot pavement. Yes, Lloyd Building, Yes, Int’nl Teriyaki, Stay, feeble sunshine! Five pigeons, rooftop one does a dance while the rest perch, vigilant. Does anybody think, of this old bench, and its conversation husks? “I can’t stand the rain”–
SadBalachandran V

Blue Rock Pigeons

Dear reader, if perchance you happen upon here now, Move on, with a casual click to somewhere else - I have nothing to offer, other than a word, On a pair of dead pigeons. Move on then, but with a briefest thought Of the beauty of life that linger even in death Of the parting of ways that you and I will, one day Remind yourself that this is how it all ends, Not with a bang, but with a whimper. Pigeons that you fed Pigeons that cooed, cozy beneath your roof, Pigeons that rose with a flutter To the sky as blue as their wings. That's all, my dear reader, move on, as I did - But before you do, step aside as I did Gently picking the memories up and laying them
DreamyMargaret Randall

Ballad

these thoughts compound the brain those lost beginnings taunting from obscurity: wail wail of the cold blue note coating the rough-edge balance sun laughing on your face and the pidgeon who sits all day all day the pidgeon who sits all day going barefoot forward through manic eyes on the totem pole slicing images the hand and the feet that walk all day all day the feet that walk all day hungry head in a maze of light floating away from the hump
ContemplativeElizabeth Madox Roberts

The People

The ants are walking under the ground, And the pigeons are flying over the steeple, And in between are the people.
ContemplativeCarl Sandburg

My People

My people are gray, pigeon gray, dawn gray, storm gray. I call them beautiful, and I wonder where they are going.
ContemplativeCarl Sandburg

Timber Wings

There was a wild pigeon came often to Hinkley's timber. Gray wings that wrote their loops and triangles on the walnuts and the hazel. There was a wild pigeon. There was a summer came year by year to Hinkley's timber. Rainy months and sunny and pigeons calling and one pigeon best of all who came. There was a summer. It is so long ago I saw this wild pigeon and listened. It is so long ago I heard the summer song of the pigeon who told me why night comes, why death and stars come, why the whippoorwill remembers three notes only and always. It is so long ago; it is like now and today; the gray
DreamyCarl Sandburg

Pigeon

The flutter of blue pigeon's wings Under a river bridge Hunting a clean dry arch, A corner for a sleep — This flutters here in a woman's hand. A singing sleep cry, A drunken poignant two lines of song, Somebody looking clean into yesterday And remembering, or looking clean into To-morrow, and reading, — This sings here as a woman's sleep cry sings. Pigeon friend of mine, Fly on, sing on.

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