Kookaburras start every morning with laughter.
Magpies are innately comic,
strutting about in waistcoats
like squires inspecting the estate.
Twenty-eights are flying surprises,
exploding from the trees like abstract art.
Willy wagtails cavort to unheard rhythms.
Up on the wire, a party of galahs
mock stony-faced people in serious cars.
Butcherbirds soft-shoe shuffle
for an unappreciative audience
of trouble-tranced commuters.
Wattlebirds limber up their throats
with unholy imitations of industrial noise.
Robins interpret the sun in miniature.
As I walk down to the dam,
lemon and peppermint fragrances
carry their aspirations on the rising dew.
Herons go lazily aloft like paper kites
while frogs taunt the swamp hens
with marshland gossip.
Surrounded by this joie de vivre
I wonder why our desires are many
when our needs are few.
Have we lost our invitation
to the celebration of the world?
For more information about the poet, Andrew M. Bell, see: