Pigeon Post

You were more colourful than my usual pigeon visitor.

At first I thought-magpie rump?

but with your oil- slicked throat and chest 

and your plummage of black, white and brown contending

I reached for my Canon Powershot and google icon.

You turn out to be a feral pigeon-descendant of  rock dove

once native of rock cliff and mountain only

domesticated by monk and liege alike for your fine meat

cliff face becoming dove cote, 

but your tireless, fearless compulsion to reach home

even through war zones, trenches, and no man's land

carrying missives of great import, made you

a name for yourself, making history, making peace.

Today you straddle city street and just occasionally,

if lost or tired, suburban garden.

Copyright Cathy Leonard 2024

For an interesting video clip on feral pigeon gallantry during the two world wars follow the link below.

How does a pigeon know where to go?

Wintertime

 

A wood pigeon is doing a solo

performance in the bird table

its head nodding to the beat of its beak

pecking like a maestro on the keys of a piano

up one scale and down the other

while robin sits hopeful in the wings

and blue tit sways to the rhythm

of a wind strummed branch

and Mama pigeon on the table roof

sways and orchestrates the pit

and despite the allure of such temptation

the cat has taken, permanently it seems,

to the chair beside the stove

preferring the hiss, spit and roar

of fire and air complying

and the kettle whistling on the range

signalling another pot of tea.

Copyright Cathy Leonard 2024