People on Erdington High Street contributed a line or two to make this string of little poems, like birds on a telegraph wire. With special thanks to Patricia McCashin.
Erdington, birdington, birds over Erdington,
sky-swooping over roofs, above our heads,
perching, singing in the trees.
The air flows easy along Erdington’s High Street.
Pigeons glide over the paving, seeking discarded chips.
sometimes I hear the seagulls.
They come to Erdington when the sea is rough.
Birds don’t sleep when we go to bed.
I hear them whistling all night.
bully-boy magpies scare the robins;
even the woodpigeons stay out of reach.
I was trying to trap a rat,
caught a blackbird instead. So sad.
And a dead pigeon by the lights at Six Ways roundabout.
Swallows fly from Africa to Erdington,
Erdington to Africa.
In Pakistan the crows are black.
We have suffered only one journey,
Our parents suffered three: Pakistan to India, India to East Africa,
Africa to England.
two lovebirds in my conservatory,
big white swans, pigeons and brown geese in the park,
collar doves, blue tits, coal tits, great tits in my garden,blackbirds, robins and mustn’t forget my little sparrows,
and a dove, who flies for peace.
Little sparrow! Little sparrow!
Tell me, little sparrow, why is life so hard?
Project Pigeon joined us on High Street, Erdington. These pigeons caused quite a flutter! We wrote about flying home, on pigeon feathers cut from the local newspaper.