Poems about birds and animals

Better than Saturn

Ibises

at the Cascades near Leura
my girlfriend and I
were looking over the valley
at sunset and all the birds
started singing and calling
and whistling to each other
they switched on like a radio

they do it at sunrise too
of course and we thought
there must be a ring of it
up through China and Russia
and down the other side
all around the world
even over the oceans
the wide winged birds
and the flightless birds
on the sprinkled islands

Earth spins through
a bracelet of bird song
it's better than Saturn

Duck work

a serious looking mother duck
of a drab brown sparrow colour
with ten creamy white ducklings
each about the size of two thumbs
is skimming past the end of a jetty
the seven people there rise and look
Oh yes  Down there  I can see  Lovely
then resettle to wait for the ferry
the ducklings buoyant and obedient
push their little thumbnail feet
exhaustingly through the water
they're packed tight to the mother
on the side of her away from the jetty
and away from the clucky bored people

strict mother duck leads her brood
to a new nest or a mud flat lunch
and swims just fast enough that they
creamy and fluffy and breathing hard
learn water sense and duck striving
she's wise and calm and as they grow
and darken she'll tell them of
preening and feeding and safety
and all the subtleties of duck work

Sulphur crested cockatoos

in the tree near my deck
three white cockatoos
wait Hitchcock quiet
for me to feed them

then one unfurls
its sulphur crest
as an Opera House
of bananas

after the sun had
stroked their heads
it left itself behind
in freehand plumes

what did
the cockatoo
say to Leunig
drorr  drorr

is the one who is
the largest today
the same one who was
the largest yesterday

they wait
therefore they think

Rare bird

a small bird
like a pardalote
a chat a robin
flies past and lands
in the lemon tree

how curious it is
its little head
swivels constantly
its chest is
greenish black
like an avocado
with a similar
curve and taper
though smaller

my heart grows
to a planet
I offer total love
swear I will
do anything for it
but though I beg quietly
please stay longer
it hits the wing

later when I check
I find the adored
in the heaviest
of my bird books

shy  reclusive
very little known
occasional visitor
to rural backyards
one spherical brown egg
sometimes called
Avocado Bird

Magpies

. . .  they are born pink, naked and blind
       with large feet, a short broad beak
       and a bright red throat 

gymnorhina tibicen tibicen
(bare-nosed flute-player flute-player)
the 'nominate' form
so musical it had to be named twice
gymnorhina tibicen tyrannica
(bare-nosed flute-player bully)
a large white backed sub-species found in Victoria
(though according to locals
not lately in Euroa)
seven others at last count

while it is slowly stalking
across the nearby table
(weathered rough grey)
at the outdoor restaurant
it is also classifying you
wardle wardle kookoo
(sitting bulky curious)
many unable to forage for themselves
gather in small numbers to be fed
by the more active members of the tribe

short femur (above knee)
and relatively long lower leg
restrict its ability to hop
(c/f e.g. the blue/brown wren)
hence the constant walking
with brief bursts of running

up North they have learned
to flip cane-toads onto their backs
and rip into their bellies
the cane-toads weep at this point
(who cares) go magpies

before they learn about
getting-out-of-the-way
many littlies/new-borns
become country road-kill
Greg Hughes of Euroa
calls October-November
the season of young dead magpies

mighty Collingwood AFL
might Euroa (Vic) VFL
mighty Hawkes Bay (NZ) Union
mighty Newcastle United (UK) Soccer
mighty Souths Logan (Qld) League
mighty Western Suburbs (NSW) League
                                        (formerly)
mighty Glenorchy (Tas) AFL (controversial)
Go 'Pies  Go 'Pies  Go 'Pies

the selfish beak
prods the cornucopic dirt
for beetles grubs worms
grasshoppers spiders
any bug in a garden
magpie beaks are easy-pleasey-beaks
small frogs lizards snakes
cockroaches and centipedes
larvae waiting preconsciously
and any handout from
the sitting bulky curious

given they'll eat almost anything
and tolerate us
they've a pretty good chance

. . . complex melodious warbles
      pitched at 2-4 KHz
      do not carry long distances
      up to 70 minutes
      calls recorded for the approach
                 of eagles and monitor lizards

we've all seen a young one
strutting back and forth
cuddling its aural teddy bear
we've all been grateful
for the Christmas present
of endless magpie dawns
and wondered at the enigma
of a black and white bird
with a rainbow song
that blasts the murk of human
self-pity from the air
and how their sound-bites
are far too long bright
and relevant for tv news grabs

they are fleet of flute

they ripple Monet through the air

Met the chicken

crossing the main road
for my fish and chips the other day
I met a chicken on the refuge island
the traffic was treacherous
we stood there together
looking left and right and left again
she was a good looking bird
soap powder white
you wouldn't say plump
but her feathers had
a healthy suede like glow

we started talking
she was magnanimous
about the outlooks from the houses
on the North East side of the street
but disappointed in their backyards
all wheelie bins red brick pavers
Hills Hoists everywhere
and really bad scratching
went on to say she'd heard
encouraging comments about
over-the-road    I didn't want to raise
any false hope sin her
but mentioned that a few places
on the South West strip
where I lived had soft lawns
lily ponds veggie gardens
some even had compost heaps
in addition the back rooms
soaked up the heat all day
and made the living    well    easy

Cool she clucked can't wait
the traffic thinned
we promised to keep in touch
before skipping off dodgem quick
to our respective other sides
I paused outside the fish shop
and turned around to see
that she'd made it safely over
and was already pecking
at one of the better looking doors

Bird happy

down the back of the yard
a small bird grey wings black stripes
a patch of yellow on its back
and a long honeyeater's beak
was having a ricochet panic
inside the netting
tied around a plum tree

I wondered how to set it free
without slashing the net
there was a bit of an opening
towards the base of the tree
where the net wasn't too tight
and I started to think about how
to shoo it down there
when another one came by
and hovered around like visiting time
each was calling to the other

I can't know if it saw the hole
or was told by the second bird
or just random luck
but before I could do anything
the trapped bird worked its way out
and the two of them scrammed off
as if they were late for something

sonic booms of bird-happy
tore the air to shreds

two Ibises land in the backyard
white horizontal teardrops
on red legs like short stilts
on top of all that
there's a grey head
with an unnecessarily elongated beak
in the curve of a quill
also grey and . . .

(what do they find to eat in mud
and do they ever get stuck in a wormhole
and snap the beak trying to pull it out)

. . .  or if perhaps a carver had shaped it
he would run his hand along the curve
eye it in all directions
declare it finished
and perfect enough to make music

my little black and white cat
is optimistically stalking them

their heads are jigging back and forth
as if sniffing out what lies ahead
snatching a breath of what's to come
and then pulling back
for a lungful of the certainties of now

they are rock and rolling in and out of soon
mesmerising themselves and me and the cat
who on reassessment is content to watch
these feathered metronomes
conducting the future
through their long improbable beaks

King parrot

you couldn't blame a King parrot
picking through its velvety
red green and blue-purple feathers
if it thought the bush was drab
the fungi that glow scarlet
and yellow are mostly small
and out of the way
the best flowers have short seasons
the honeycomb brightness
of freshly cracked sandstone
soon fades into the background
of blurred dirty pastels

of dusty greens greys and browns

there's one now
it flaps off a skinny branch
and colour bombs the bush
the outspread wings reveal
a light green zigzag bar
distinctly King parrot
a thick line of unique blue-purple
divides the main red and green
and that red is not the red
of fire engines embers or carnations
nor is that green the green
of apples bottles or Ireland
it strafes the McCubbin coloured bush
with an iridescent blur
of King parrot red
and King parrot green
and you couldn't blame it

Visitors

to me fifteen
red-green firecrackers
exploding across
the long flat verandah rail

to the fifteen happy
King parrots a pit stop
on a pub crawl

handfuls of grey
sunflower seed
taken on tab
one bird jumps
to each hand
and to keep stable
they sink their claws
so fine as not to pierce the skin
I tense into stillness
my hands heavy

do they think I'm something
like a free moving tree
or do they say to each other
that I too am warm
and pulse like they do

all at once and altogether
an urgent flapping of wings
and lots of squawking
and they're gone

where

an orchard
grass heads on a roadside
the picnic ground

I don't think they'll
tremble like I did in afterglow
to them I was just
another Mine Host
a lower order seed-god

Gang-gangs

two Gang-gangs
are creaking their hinges
and gutsing red berries
on a front yard tree
they let me stand very close
and ignore me
don't even bother to look at me

I'm interested because
I haven't seen Gang-gangs
here before and as Madonna said
rejection's a great aphrodisiac

I ask the male
Why the hot pink helmet?
either he hasn't heard me
or doesn't want to . . .

. . . but SHE stops mid squeeze
of a bright red berry
turns into the sun
which ignites the salmon sub-plot
of her pale grey pine-cone body
dips he head down my way
and asks  Where's your tail?
All the other wallabies have one

Grubs and things

most of the world's small islands
are in the South Pacific
and on those islands
where there are few predators
many of the land-based birds
have shrunk their wings
and don't bother to fly any more
it's too strenuous and anyway
far easier to pick grubs and things
out of the ground and leaf-rot
than catch mosquitos flies
and grasshoppers mid-air

a lot of them have developed
the response of standing stock still
trying not breath or blink
if they feel threatened
so they probably have something
like a race memory
of being the hunted ones

when they think
the threat has passed
they'll move once more
resume their life
looking for food
building a nest
seeking a mate

after a while
it all starts again

Chicken shed

the five fat chooks run out
three brown ones two white ones
and Bonzer the little golden bantam
they all start raking up the dirt
one looks at me while it's scratching
like a child showing off
I clean out the shed
scrape the concrete floor
and hose away the old hay
with their shit stuck through it
then spread out the new hay
and pack some into their nest boxes

meanwhile they've scratched holes
in the soft damp dirt nearby
they sit down in their holes
and rub dirt into their feathers
then stay still with their feathers
and wings at odd angles
as if their wings might be broken
or they look as if they might be sick
or even dying but they get up
and wander off together
Bonzer always following behind
they mutter to themselves
in repetitious chook talk
something about the sky and
a big catastrophe
I don't believe them

I do a few odd jobs elsewhere
paint a door weed a garden
they wander all over the place
my midweek casual day flies past
and soon enough it's time to collect
bread and lettuce and cabbage
and call them back into Cackleberry House
I start calling Here chooky  Here chooky
and find myself talking to them
as they follow me into the shed
though by now they must know
I'll lock the door and leave them in
perhaps they don't mind
realising they're safer that way

little Bonzer is always the last
she runs in with a few crackly screeks
and a fluff and flourish
of her clipped wings

Yellow tailed black cockatoos

we heard the noise first
a drummy rapid thumping
like a helicopter
then looked up in time
to see the invasion
six black cockatoos
with yellow barred tails
and yellow around their eyes
swooped down from nowhere
and took over the trees in front of us

high in a fork one by itself
further along the same branch
more exposed and easier to see
another by itself
close by in a second tree
at the end of a dead branch
two together kissing and
frolicking like lovers
in a third tree a youngster
squawked and squawked
hounding a larger one

we'd left the track and picked
our way to the shoulder
of a thickly wooded Blackheath valley
the ground was steep and rough
mossy sandstone and hollows
of leaf mould broken twigs and so on
we didn't dare move in case
we frightened them and our legs
began to ache as we strained
to keep still on the awkward ground
we held hands supporting each other
craning our upper bodies
to get a better look at them

we wished we could suddenly
become gentle aliens   lift   float
extend ourselves silently
onto the branches where
the big black cockatoos were
they would amble towards us
left claw right claw left claw
tilt their yellow patched heads
side to side and greet us with a quiet
. . . crarck . . . crarck-crarck
our minds would flow into one
and share the story of
our different ways of being

but no we can't talk to birds yet
they sit loud and peaceful
in the leafy branches and we stand
quiet and awkward on the ground

we watched and listened
as they talked to each other
the lovers circled beak to beak
and chattered in soft scratchy
cockatoo language
the kid squawked on and on
all the time they
seemed to call and answer
and interrupt each other
until one of them made
 . . . a directive . . . an order
and the others went quiet
then it sprung off its branch
and thumped away
through the blue air
along the side of the valley

less than a minute later the lovers
took off in the same direction
and soon afterwards
the remaining three flew out
we saw the whole group
briefly on the other side of the valley
and could hear the youngster
carrying on for a long time

we found a large flat rock
close by and stood there
hugging each other before
heading up to the track again

as we picked our way
through the rotting leaves
and mossy rocks we kept a lookout
for snakes and talked about
everything and nothing
in the soft massaging voice
of wingless human lovers