Three of a Kind. The Seagull, the Pigeon and the Poet.

On my chimney top, the seagull meditates with curiosity

It dwells beyond the dance of dawn and meandering clouds.

A wood pigeon, another meditator, sits on a nearby extended branch

Who, like the Buddha, loves trees as a companion to solitude.


I stand in my loft just below the gull

dwelling on the same infinite expanse

revealing far more than we think

Through the blue sky, I can see as far as

Stuttgart, Brighton and Welwyn Garden City.


The gull, pigeon and titmouse feel grateful for such breathless gifts.

In the small back garden, the pigeon drops in for breakfast,

A handful of seeds from Poundwise sprinkled on the lawn.

Seagull rarely swoops down into fenced garden for breakfast,

We never interrupt each other at mealtimes.

Respectful of each other’s space,

Respectful of the solitary tradition of each other.


Mindful of our release from similar birds of a feather

The three of us rest in our precious aloneness

With our abiding of an uninterrupted view


At times, I fly away to houses and trees elsewhere

They stay to savour the fragrance of the day.

The gull has long since tamed the turbulent sea

While the pigeon knows its winged majesty in the woods.

The birds know where I am

As they write the story of my life.


I have no need to live forever

I have outlived eternal life

That’s what the wood pigeon told me this morning

On another day, the seagull told me of the stillness of the wild

From its rooftop perch,

As it slowly moved its head from side to side

So as not to disturb 10,000 things.


What do the birds whisper or call to you today?

Only the wild deserves to seize our attention.





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