Corellas at Dunkeld
From our distance we saw the Corellashanging like a hospital's washingin the tenements of a large Redgum,and heard them crooning the scandals of the dayeach blushing mildly,cronies of the nudge and the wink,until,one watchful bird rose on a whimdrawing with him a thousand companions,and they swung boisterously up,then broke into raucous quorumsin a vast drunken carousel,bringing and taking tidings,gathering and breaking apart,seeding the skies with gossip.
And the elect among themrose on their high sabbaticalsuntil they all disappearedbeyond the sneak of their horizons,but still haunting the eveningas a migraine staggers lightat the corners of the eyes.
Then,with all the spanish majesty of a living Caravel,coursed by the momentum of their thinking wings,they soared as one in their din above uslavish with the imperium of flight,a great hush in the thunder of their passing.
Starlings
Half-heard before the dawnA stirring in the eaves_____As they dither out of darkness into light:_____A chorus of brooding thespians_____Full of domestic threatsAnd feathered remonstrations.
But now, mid-morning,At the pitch of the roofBoisterous vaudevillians muttering their patter,Before the curtain rises,A royal audition of starlings.Or, perhaps, more likely,A police line up of criminal types,Flashy suits with beaked fedorasWhistling up wolves,Clearing the static from their throats,Tuning to the frequencies of Sing Sing —Where they all have known associates.Occasionally, a Caruso among themWill rise in a moment of song,Sweet melodic;Stolen of course.
IbisThe wetlands at Laverton
See the wetlands where the ibis roost-___Adjacent to the railway track —Each rookery is a LilliputWhere a single upright bird might standAs tall as any GulliverIn the quiet parishes of reeds.
When ibis moveThey do so in rosters of fastidious stepsEach bird as polite as a grandadWho is looking for the salt.Their beaks are like locksmiths' tools,And, it is rumoured, they are keepers of great secrets.Stooped in twos or threes like patient skittles,They whisper quiet inventoriesOf silvered figments and storied frogs.It is said that they have abdicated all temporal powerTo a parliament of owls,And in this they may be wise.
As I pass them in the train I fancy thatI might almost connect them with a series of clicksTo form a feathered pagodaOr a hieroglyph that stands for 'sshhhh ...'But, despite their show of gravitas,I have seen them rise as oneFrom a distant fieldAs clean as a plague liftingFrom the shires of ancient Egypt,To take to the airAnd cruise the highest altitudes,To break and wander on their whims,But always to returnAnd swoon in languid