Prince Meets Pink Floyd Through Pigeon Cooing


I travelled down Latham Road for miles and miles, sometimes enjoying the journey through peaceful nothingness, and sometimes trying to work out everything about Latham, and my experiences there.

Pigeons Line the Coorow Road

As I approached Coorow on the Coorow Latham Road, there were pigeons of all sorts cooing a poem that rang a bell somewhere between my lugs, so that my mind was kind of going: ding, dong, coo, coo, ding, dong, coo, coo…

Talk about disturbing the peace! I wasn’t too amused at first, but then it began to sound sweeter and more melodic the more I heard it, and by the time I had passed through Coorow and out of earshot, I had remembered that the poem was an old one of Marc Latham’s, and is available in his now published in paperback book: Bipolarity and ADHD to Folding Mirrors.

Musical Poetry

From what I recollect, it kind of mixed Prince with Pink Floyd, and went something like this:

Pigeons on the Wing

When doves cry,
we fly, fly, fly,
high, high, high,
up into the sky.
Where we can’t hear
ourselves, called rats
with wings.
Do they look up,
to see us,
pigeons on the wing.
Do rats shine,
as when we turn,
having fun,
in the sun.
With light glinting off,
our outstretched
slanted soaring devices;
as we’re carried by the wind,
lifted on air, riding the thermals.
Through blue skies to green trees,
where we coo in peace.

I kind of wanted to return to hear more of the cooing after remembering what it was, but I’d already lost enough time in Latham, and it was about time I reached Perth.


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