This poem came to mind from watching a news story a few nights ago on TV - another story about Palestine in which the screen showed smoke from an explosion when all of a sudden a flock of birds appeared on the left hand side, soared up and then flew away. It was incredible. The strangest thing. Metaphor in action.
Later while googling the collective terms for birds (aren't they just fabulous some of them?) this poem came together.
Later while googling the collective terms for birds (aren't they just fabulous some of them?) this poem came together.
A Pitying of Doves
Today in news from Palestine
charcoal smoke
of no unusual explosion
plumes on screen
but is for a few seconds
interrupted -
imperceptibly -
surreptitiously
by
a
flock
of
birds (!)
soaring
into shot
left of centre,
then up, up,
a veer off
to the side,
and -
away
like a magic trick.
A vision?
Or sudden flash
of symbolic
perambulation?
Disturbance of innocence.
Mirage moment
that is hardly there,
hard to believe, and bear.
Are they doves?
They looked white-winged.
Maybe the most miraculous thing
I've ever seen.
Incredulous
heady
juxtaposition.
The newscaster continues
to drone solemn facts
to silent bombs.
Did it happen?
Over the charred city
the smoke
chuggs on,
relentless.
A pitying of doves; peace
long gone.
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