Thursday, April 21, 2016

When Doves Cry

In Hollywood, pigeons eek out hard-scrabble lives in the shade.
They fling their wings, well-worn where movies are made.
Privileged doves are let go at the occasional funeral parade.
Otherwise they stay cooped up in roosts while other plans are laid.

“Where shall we go next?” they cry.  “Where shall we sleep tonight?”
“Will we have some bread today?” and, “Why is he so white?”
These are the pure ones, which seem so elusive, so high.
Symbols of the Holy Spirit with the power to soar the sky above
And conquer gravity with a prayer for joy, and peace, and love.

So, when you see a dove, remember that a pigeon is not so far above it that it is not also near it.
All things must pass and we are all going to let go one day,
So why all the rush to fear it?

Of course, the owl is always wise; he’ll remind us to close our eyes
To foul weather, bones and feathers; shell accounts and tax-free havens.
Cardinals trump the cranes and loons; hawks mind the crows and ravens.
But double eagles are twice the fun as banded roadrunners on the run.

Life is for the birds. Swallows and swifts, finches and twits.
Every egret regrets every day it sits; every albatross carries the weight of its cross.
Every sparrow is beholden to the golden sun, and each eye of the peacock has seen loss.
The blue jay, the robin, the night-jar; the thrush; the hummingbird and the starling,
Who would have thought that this bird of paradise would be gone so soon,  my darling.

All the pointed guns stood out like old words, oiled by the anointed ones now flush with fool’s gold.
Is it a stool pigeon that feigns a broken flight?  Or a homing pigeon that always returns at night?
Should we pigeon-hole an institution as infallible or gullible?  Or shall we stand, flamingo-like, bold
On one leg , or bury our heads in the sand  in the end with our ostrich egg friends?

Wrtten on 4-20-2016