SAN FRANCISCO POETS
Bleak Morning on Jones Street
This pigeon was scruffy.
Tail feathers ragged at the edges. Old. Companionless.
Reminded me of my room
at the Elk Hotel.
Untidy. The carpet by the door worn to the burlap.
Then, through a cold San Francisco morning fog
~ the glorious sun appears.
The pigeon picks up his step,
and, head back, chest out,
tiptoes quickly into the sunlight. Suddenly I remember
once I beachcombed for months
on the golden beaches
of the Canary Islands.
© Leonard Irving
darts from flower to flower
covers great distance
on wings too tiny
to make life easy.
or tiny dirigible,
simply staying afloat
demands huge amounts of energy.
In Golden Gate Park once
I discovered a den of hummingbirds.
A strange outdoor apiary of magic
where I too seemed to puff on manna.
I pulled white rabbits
from my pockets.
Blew streams of butterflies
as children blow bubbles.
A lariat of dragonflies
circled my neck. Then,
to further my folic,
I ran as a bird in take-off flight
to almost soar skyward
and clear the railings
in the high weightless bounds
of an Aftrican antelope.
@ Leonard Irving
These two bird poems @ Leonard Irving
from POETRY OF lEONARD IRVING,
Living Treasures/Meridien Press Works
publisher Jeanne Powell (Jeanne-Powell.com)
editor Stephen Kopel
@2005 Leonard Irving
San Francisco ~ Vermont
Leonard Irving is a wonderful poet with deep scottish roots and a warm rich voice.
The ancient bards are truly present in his work and we were blessed to have his
seasoned wisdom with us as well as his tender humor during the times he came to
live in San Francisco for awhile before returning to his farm in Vermont.
You will find more about Leonard Irving and some of his poems
For about Lenoard Irving and more of his poems, visit
Tae a Haggis Poetry by Leonard George Irving.
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