the pigeons of london
Feb. 24th, 2006 12:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
winterbadgerthe pigeons of london
like grey feathered crowds
respecters of no one
travelling busily
on their own errands
around the rain-spattered streets
on the surface they appear social
but each is concerned
with nothing more than his own business
what to eat
where to sleep
how soon to crap
how to get through the day
without being crushed or eaten
and how to land just that split second ahead
of the other pigeons
in Tube stations they bustle and murmur
waiting in droves
never entirely still
waiting for trains
never at ease
(who might be watching? a cat? a hawk?)
but never wishing to seem in the least ruffled
it's all part of the daily grind
a train!
now time to rush about
they flock to Trafalgar Square
not for the museums or the churches or the history
but just because it's there
a huge open space
an opportunity for... something
gathering in crowds
moved by a strong voice or a loud noise
crying out and rushing suddenly
with a great fluttering
then shame-faced, embarrassed
that what startled them, what motivated them
was so meaningless on further inspection
maybe some other pigeons were taken in
but not us
are the pigeons in the parks at rest?
not-beggars happy to receive
their daily handouts from unknowable others
quietly burbling as they wander
a quiet English afternoon among the green trees
or on the green grass, billing and cooing
a fountain plays a silver melody of water
high into the placid air
then down into a ringing pool
chattering amidst old stones
traffic and the city noise are muted
but the dirty alleys and spilling dustbins
are comfortably nearby
they can be away from nature
and up among the offices and restaurants and theatres
in no time at all
the pigeons of london
like grey feathered crowds
respecters of no one
travelling busily
on their own errands
around the rain-spattered streets
like grey feathered crowds
respecters of no one
travelling busily
on their own errands
around the rain-spattered streets
on the surface they appear social
but each is concerned
with nothing more than his own business
what to eat
where to sleep
how soon to crap
how to get through the day
without being crushed or eaten
and how to land just that split second ahead
of the other pigeons
in Tube stations they bustle and murmur
waiting in droves
never entirely still
waiting for trains
never at ease
(who might be watching? a cat? a hawk?)
but never wishing to seem in the least ruffled
it's all part of the daily grind
a train!
now time to rush about
they flock to Trafalgar Square
not for the museums or the churches or the history
but just because it's there
a huge open space
an opportunity for... something
gathering in crowds
moved by a strong voice or a loud noise
crying out and rushing suddenly
with a great fluttering
then shame-faced, embarrassed
that what startled them, what motivated them
was so meaningless on further inspection
maybe some other pigeons were taken in
but not us
are the pigeons in the parks at rest?
not-beggars happy to receive
their daily handouts from unknowable others
quietly burbling as they wander
a quiet English afternoon among the green trees
or on the green grass, billing and cooing
a fountain plays a silver melody of water
high into the placid air
then down into a ringing pool
chattering amidst old stones
traffic and the city noise are muted
but the dirty alleys and spilling dustbins
are comfortably nearby
they can be away from nature
and up among the offices and restaurants and theatres
in no time at all
the pigeons of london
like grey feathered crowds
respecters of no one
travelling busily
on their own errands
around the rain-spattered streets
