Currawongs Coming In

 

  Here is a Currawong Song.

Currawongs Coming In

Currawongs, coming in

from the cold country.

How is it that

they feel to us

like denizens of death,

of darkness and drear?

Filling with fear,

the smaller birds,

and their younglings.

A caucus of calls:

Currawong-wong-wong,

Come to linger long-long-long,

With their mournful,

Song-song-song.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 4 May 2017

Had enough drear and want some cheer!

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Bird Things

Bird Things

Bird things

on this cool morn.

Fragrant with

eucalypt scent,

even after dawn.

Bird song

here,

and there.

Near at times,

and everywhere.

These things,

borne

on bird wings.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 16 January 2017

Another Time

Another Time

 

In the head

Ideas buzzing, flitting, zipping

Around and around

Up

And

D

o

w

n

Then

Reverie interrupted:

A birdsong

Strong and insistent

Calls

Us to the present.

The ideas stop

The buzzing ceases

And

Aware we become

To another time

Another rhythm

Before our calendars

After our clocks.

The refreshing sounds

Of natural rhythms

Call us back

To who we are.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 25 March 2016

 

 

 

Cool Morning

Cool Morning

 Cool morning,

seedbed of the day,

coming through the shadows

of the ebbing night.

Falling on the follicles

of our skin

with a crisp embrace.

Quiet morning,

sounds are still,

birds have faces folded

in the feathers of their breast,

their song a sunrise away.

Still morning,

barely a stirring,

so little traffic around the streets,

shuffling footfalls of other walkers,

the occasional car whirring,

its lights a brief blink of light

in the deep, dark pre-dawn.

Gentle morning,

A moment of peace

Before the pace of life quickens.

 

Simon C.J Falk                        20 March 2014