Susan Moore: ‘Headless Pigeon’
Headless Pigeon
There’s a headless pigeon outside our house
Fluffed-up feathers round a tiny claw
And although this is a poem
It is not a metaphor.
But my God life can be cruel
It can fill my soul with dread
As I bury that poor pigeon
And wonder “where’s its head?”
Free as a bird, they say
But a bird’s life’s overrated
Look at this one in my garden
It’s been decapitated.
One thing about the birdies though
Of which they can give thanks
Unlike us messed-up humans
There’s no existential angst.
There’s a headless pigeon in my yard
A bird’s life must be awfully hard
He can’t afford to drop his guard
Or this will happen.
Some critter lurking near the decking
Just as our bird was idly pecking
Grabbed and crushed his little neck in
Jaws a-snapping.
No more will he bill and coo
No more making pigeon poo
There’s a lesson there for me and you:
Don’t get caught napping.
Susan Moore
Many will disagree, but World War III is too great a risk to run by involving ourselves in a distant border conflict
Sep 25 2024
5 mins
To claim Aborigines have the world's oldest continuous culture is to misunderstand the meaning of culture, which continuously changes over time and location. For a culture not to change over time would be a reproach and certainly not a cause for celebration, for it would indicate that there had been no capacity to adapt. Clearly this has not been the case
Aug 20 2024
23 mins
A friend and longtime supporter of Quadrant, Clive James sent us a poem in 2010, which we published in our December issue. Like the Taronga Park Aquarium he recalls in its 'mocked-up sandstone cave' it's not to be forgotten
Aug 16 2024
2 mins