Each bird to its own
the cockatoos wheeling and complaining about the violent hand claps that have warned them off the fruit
I swear they’ll go hungry or find someone else’s trees to plunder

the blackbird dashing here and there
tossing up mulch and leaf litter from the garden beds every which way
then singing for their supper 
who could begrudge them with such sweet voice

the tiny silver eyes scouring the Japanese maples for tiny insects
darting from one bough to another twittering to each other as if conversation was never allowed a gap

the wild ducks patrolling the grass
mama papa and nine waddling ducklings 
who alternate between a confident swagger and animated scurry to parental shelter when too far astray

the chiming grey shrike thrushes sending their musical calls to each other 
gladdening the hearts of everyone in acoustic range 
adding their friendly company to garden diggers and verandah sitters with books in hand

the magpie family units patrolling the grounds for prey
maturing juveniles wrestling on granite pavements  practicing nesting with twigs and twine stolen from the vege patch
constantly whining and dining at mums beak

the multi coloured rosellas in flocks of crimson, green and metal blue
nipping seed heads from the grass flashing colour into the sky
making the landscape a vivid tapestry
bell chiming to each other from tree to tree

the twitching turning ever restless honeyeaters constantly on the wing
eastern spine bills diving into blossoms with curved needle beaks
new hollands darting and diving with gusto at every intruder
wattle birds holding all at bay or aggressively chasing them away

the hopping bower birds establishing their flock
with growing numbers and inquisitiveness staking their ground
atop water bowls and into every ripening fruit they can steal their strong stubby beaks ready to stab and peel

the soaring raptors spiralling aloft on the wind
keen eyes of the hunter for anything that moves
diving like a deadly missile from heaven above 
to capture a rodent, a rabbit or unaware dove

Poetry days #09.

All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.