Birds Poems

This is a tale of two birds
Sitting on the wall;
One was not named Peter,
Even if the other was Paul.
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The currawongs sing in the wood over there
They cannot be mistook for their familiar air
They call karrawang flying from tree to tree
You know them by their song before them you do see.
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Fields of birds are gone, fumes of exhaust surround me.
I cannot see your window, the young are around me.
My door is left open, the sun grows cooler.
No wine to comfort me, I go to bed earlier.
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Without any doubt, cleanliness is holiness
showers bring forth purity and Godliness.

I'll shout it aloud, washing-down pleases me
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Even birds fell silent
As soldiers’ coffins passed bye
The young and the old wiped a tear from their eye
Soldiers returning from a world they would save
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He strikes many poses
In his ecstatic attempts
Pumps up his chest
And stretches his neck
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Birds are god's creation,
Various of them have no combination,

They sing every morning,
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A bird and one little, bee.


And you are scolded black..
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Far north as the birds fly from here far away
It is cold and raining in Ireland today
And often noisy jackdaw in head feathers of gray
On the leafless birch tree has nothing to say
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The funeral birds known to some as whilst others do call them weerloo
But the name they are known to by many is the yellow tail black cockatoo
They live mostly on the dark seeds of the pine cones that they shred with their strong thick bills
Their familiar wee yu calls unmistakeable as they fly above the wooded hills
...