painting pigeons at the tate

a found poem

it’s elephant time
for our cherry tree
a flock of starlings

black, glossy, speckled

land and scramble
among the leaves

a pair of wood pigeons
soft grey backs
pink-pug breasts
white collars

land and cling unsteadily

they reach for cherries
which they swallow whole

it is late one a warm afternoon
we watch the birds

strong green and black
patterned with splodges of cherry red

pigeon-breast pink
pigeon-wing grey
speckled slab of starling-wing black
small, pigeon-collar comma of white

the pleasure
which is considerable
in flowers
feathers
lichens
minerals
sunsets

the brilliant green of a pool of stagnant water
a stain left by rust
the grey veil of distant rain

and in fabrics
and works of art


The rules of the game remain the same: No resequencing, only deletions, and an occasional [insertion] (but none here today).

Thanks and apologies to Peter Campbell who wrote the original piece, a highly enjoyable review of Howard Hodgkin’s show «At Tate Britain» in the 6 July edition of the London Review of Books.