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Old

On Hearing And Seeing An Olive Whistler

Posted Wednesday 24th June 2009 at 03:54 by Francis Duggan
In the backyard upon a wattle tree
A brown bird with gray under throat I see
An Olive Whistler whistling loud and clear
His distinctive song so beautiful to hear.

The olive whistlers are considered to be rare
And not seen often and not everywhere
But there is such beauty in their flute like song
And I could listen to them all day long.

They search for insects on trees and on ground
And to uncover their food they scatter...
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Old

San Remo On An April Evening

Posted Wednesday 24th June 2009 at 03:50 by Francis Duggan
The coastal breeze is so refreshing and beauty is all around me
And the silver gulls rest in the sunshine in a park overlooking the sea
The wind driven waves of saltwater are lapping on the sandy shore
And above the bridge to Phillip Island the black backed Pacific gulls soar.

The tourists walk out on the jetty enjoying their southern holiday
They come here from the Asian cities and make the most of their brief stay
Their next bus stop most likely...
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Old

Red Browed Firetails

Posted Wednesday 24th June 2009 at 03:39 by Francis Duggan
One can't mistake them for their scratchy song
To small seed eating family of birds they belong
Some call them red browed finches others the red browed firetails
And the females hard to distinguish from the males.

With red bill and brows and neck and unders gray
And red rump, dark tail and greenish wings I see them every day
They perch on fence wire near where paddocks are
And to get their food they don't have to fly far.

They...
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Old

The Migrant Thinks Of The Old Fields

Posted Tuesday 23rd June 2009 at 02:37 by Francis Duggan
From the fields and woods and hedgerows the thrushes known as redwing
Have come home to their breeding places in the far northern Spring
And countless wild flowers blooming where grass is lush and green
And the newly returned swallows chasing insects can be seen.

As old March fades into April the nesting songbirds sing
And high above the bracken the skylark carolling
And higher ever higher he carols as he fly
His familiar notes are ringing...
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Old

At Late March In Old Kongwak

Posted Tuesday 23rd June 2009 at 02:33 by Francis Duggan
The sunlit hills of Kongwak I see them in my dreams
Just one stop down from heaven's gate or so to me it seems
Down through the old brown paddock the creek is trickling slow
And the farm dam holds little water it has never been so low.

At late March in old Kongwak the hills look brown and dry
And there is not one rain cloud in the bright and sunny sky
There's not one drop of water in the dry roadside drain
This countryside could well do with...
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