Day 87 of 100 Poems/100 Days

Their Wings

The black pigeons,
in flock, like a fog,
swarming, moving,
in unison, then separating,
back and forth, beating strong,
like a boy’s heart.

I imagined each was a thought,
a photograph, the pages of a picture book,
folding together,
then drifting apart.

I watch them above my head,
pointing my little finger,
tracing their motion,
as they fly close to me,
only to run away.

If I could catch them,
I would lock them in cages,
split them each down the sternum,
hang them upside down from my ceiling,
so they could sing back to me my memories.


4 thoughts on “Day 87 of 100 Poems/100 Days

  1. Hi Kasem,

    Good to see you getting on. I like this, the images are really strong and each verse has its theme and rhythm, held together well. the only jar was the word “run” in the second to last verse. turn or wheel maybe? Like it alot though.


    • hey Jim, thanks a lot for the continued support – I like your suggestion, I’ll revise the poem again when I get to 100 and maybe collect my favorites together in one place –

      • It must be hard to keep this going, not much time for reflection and selection I bet. But I think you have a good core of work here. It will be interesting to see it when you look back at how things have changed, star to finish.


        • yes, i’m definitely starting to tire, but on the days i’m the most reluctant to sit down and write something i actually end up with something very unexpected and exciting.

          i imagine when i get to 100 it’ll be fun to go through and edit them, maybe ‘borrow’ verses and restitch a poem in a stronger way – i do see some patterns of themes/subjects here –

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