Nature doesn’t stop at the city limits. Sometimes it arrives on a balcony, asks for seed, and introduces itself as Malcolm.
O Fine Feral Dove
An ode
I rest my gaze upon thee,
my love,
you sit upon your concrete rock,
O fine feral rock dove.
Daily,
in the tower block,
I listen to your coo
and I hear you.
Your amber eyes capture my soul.
I share my lunch with you,
a few crumbs
of my stale sausage roll.
You preen your dove-grey feathers
beside your life-long mate;
your amber eyes capture my soul,
beauty incarnate.
“Do you have any seed?”
You plainly plead.
“I beg your pardon?
What did you say?”
“Do you have any seed
for a hungry bird?”
I look at the talking pigeon
and gasp,
“This is absurd.”
Malcolm is perched on his rock,
watching me like a hawk.
“You didn't think I could talk,
did you?”
“Well, to be honest,” I say,
“I didn't have a clue.
I thought you could only
coo.”
Traffic noise reaches the balcony;
Car tyres sound like the sea
(with a vivid imagination).
Tiny people walk
a long way below.
Malcolm fans his tail
and turns to his Mrs.
“Let's go.”
They fly off together,
soaring as high as they can.
They have a ledge somewhere
on the estate.
Malcolm and his mate
swoop away at high speed.
“Come back tomorrow,
and I'll give you seed.”
—Lesley Scoble, September 2026
Audio – Narration 🎵
An ode
NOTES
O Fine Feral Rock Dove
My ode is based on a true story (apart from Malcolm speaking English, that is). He and his missus visit us regularly. They fly through the open balcony door and into our sitting room, where there is a tub full of bird seed just for them.
Feral pigeons were once useful to humankind, their intelligence and loyalty often utilised as messengers. A fair number even received medals for gallantry during the First World War.
Today, our pigeons have to put up with unfairly poor PR. Certain politicians have not helped in this regard. To quote Ken Livingstone, who was the first Mayor of London from 2000 to 2008: ‘They are flying rats.’
To Ken Livingstone Malcolm insists on his right to reply:
“Flying rat, am I?
I’ve got a lifelong mate,
medals in the family history,
and I’m punctual every morning,
never late.
What have you done to atone,
Mr. Livingstone?
—Malcolm Rock-Dove
When I was a young child, we would make special trips to Trafalgar Square and buy seed from vendors to feed the pigeons. Where are the Trafalgar Square pigeons today?
Someone recently said to me, ‘There are too many of them.’ Flabbergasted, I glanced around the city street we were walking along and looked at the millions of humans dashing about.
The feral rock dove is one of the fastest birds in the world, and is renowned for its loyalty, often mating for life.
W3 Poetry Prompt #230
I wrote O Fine Feral Rock Dove in response to Heather’s brilliant challenge to write an irregular ode in conversation with nature. Please click on Heather’s prompt below for full details.
Heather’s prompt: A conversation with nature
This week, I invite you to have a conversation with nature! This prompt is borrowed from Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge’s book poem crazy: freeing your life with words.
Choose something from the natural world: an animal, insect, plant, rock, or whatever catches your attention. Address it directly and look at it with fresh eyes. Ask it questions, perhaps beginning with “What do you know of…?” Be open to its point of view; it may surprise you.
Write an irregular ode to your chosen subject. There is no prescribed rhyme scheme or metre to follow. Instead, focus on your emotions and your praise for this part of nature.
You may use either “thou” or “you.” My intention is to invite you to shift your thinking and view your subject with a more sacred eye, approaching it as a presence you can speak with.
I look forward to discovering where your conversations take you!
Thanks
Enormous thanks to Heather for inspiring me with her incredible prompt.
My thanks as always, to David, The Skeptics Kaddish, for everything he does.
And my thanks to you, the reader, for popping by.
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