Loopy Luna shines
Combing sky
Lighting her own face
sky
Feathered Misfortune
What came first, the bird, or the egg?
Well, I spotted the dead pigeon on Monday night
As I was walking down the embankment
Trying not to breathe too many fumes
Still shivering from an over-chilled office
And shocked at the sight of mangled grey feathers,
A broken neck and damaged wings
I wondered if it had been hit by a vehicle
Or disorientated, had flown beak-first
Into a mirrored tower block
Before plummeting to the pavement below.
I had no answers. Nor did anyone seem
Too interested in the fate
Of an earthbound, flying sky-rat.
I walked home, pondering
The funeral rites of a feathered pest.
The next day, passing the other way
I saw it was still there.
Must have been missed by the road sweepers
Or deliberately ignored as someone else’s problem.
That evening, Tuesday after work
I felt sure someone would have mentioned it
And had the bird disposed of
But no.
Nudged off the pavement into the gutter
At the side of the road
Still a crumpled heap. Grey feathers dirty
From the road dust and oil residue.
I walked on.
By Wednesday evening, the bird was gone.
This morning, I took a different route to work
Staying on the bus to the museum
Then walking the few blocks North to the river.
As I passed under a bridge, I saw an egg
Shell cracked, yolk scattered on the ground
Dirty down feathers floating
While trains rattled above, shaking the shadows
A lone pigeon fluttered overhead
As if mourning their loss.
A Little Number
Before I was born
Just a twinkle
In the universe
Of possibilities
Reflected in eyes
Both bluest grey
And olive green
Did you know me?
Or was the I of me
And mine all one to you?
My seedling promised,
But unplanned
Was a meeting of
Hearts and minds
Foretold in song
To bardic strains
Or merely Cast
Upon the plain and
Simple lines
That sprang and pranced
This two-fold dance
Of fire and ice
Your foreign couplings
Kept apart
By Mother Earth
Who did not dream
Of feelings torn
From the widening
Womb-like walls
And shallow shores
Of an underground
Kingdom
Nuts and Colonels
Carried away
With crowns of pine,
From slender hopes
To careful, caring
Tender traps in
Wadded cotton
Whose snoring sheets
Wedded Pluto’s
Darker dreams to
Persephone’s Oblivion
Before there was me
Katherine Shirley 