Songs and Verse
I have written lyrics for songs about endangered species, and have included verse with some paintings in the gallery. Please find these below for your enjoyment.
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- Kent
Ballet of the Brolga
Pirouette, tango, rumba and waltz,
Courting makes dancing as parts become whole,
Crimson crowns dip before lithe bodies vault,
Leaping in unison, ballet of souls.
Mating dance bonding pairs loyal for life,
Guarding and raising their young with sweet care,
Protecting small creatures from danger and strife,
New lives that one day may dance in plein air.
Once brolgas would gather in numberless flocks,
Marshland and swamp under warm summer suns
Would ring with their hooting and trumpets and cries,
Fall silent and still now from fence, plow and guns.
Ungainly or stately is not the main point,
Brolga and human both finding a chance
To leap and to curtsy in simple pure joy,
Joining with others in soul-thrilling dance.
Gliders
Chainsaw and clearfell, ringbark and dozer,
Harsh words stir fears and passion and hate,
Sounding a warning of dead barren landscape,
Watching proud forest become real estate.
Some other words slip with ease from the heart,
Word-painting scenes of gliding and grace,
Mahogany, feather-tail, squirrel and sugar,
Acrobats clinging to time and to place.
Language is sly when used to convince
That absence and loss is the sure price to pay,
For progress and ease and throwaway things,
And owning the earth is leading the way.
Gliders will go and may never return,
If comes a sad time when all forests perish,
And yet still some small secret spaces persist,
In rare sylvan remnants to guard and to cherish.
Flamboyance
Flamboyant, flashing, dazzling bright,
Gaudy, sequinned, colours loud,
Preening, strutting, draws the eye,
As birds showcase their plumage proud.
Fey young boys to colour thrill,
Until they hurt from cruel darts,
Forego the ballet of the birds,
As monochrome bleeds dry their hearts.
Why cannot boys too dance and preen,
In glorious shouting rainbow hues,
With sparkling iridescent sheen,
For joy and heart and staying true?
May men all find a chance to revel,
Taking wing to fly with those
Who soar above the beige plain level,
The tender soul with colour grows.
Bat Wings
When reassuring daylight fades to grey,
With shadows drifting deeper into gloaming,
A stirring comes from darkness tucked away,
As beating batwings herald nighttime’s roaming.
False myths and folklore stoke our ancient fears,
Of vampire, monster, evil prowling night,
And bloodlust, greedy fangs that rip and tear,
From bat-filled nightmares wake in quaking fright.
Why do we fear a flying, furry bat
That lives a life predictable and true,
When what we really need to fear is that
Grim monster that resides in me and you?
Bum-breathing Turtle
This turtle is a marvel and delight
To little boys who giggle as they speak
Such naughty words as poo and fart and bum,
What fun is had with grownups out of sight.
Chorus:
Bum-breathing turtle, bum-breathing turtle,
Let’s all say it out loud - Bum-breathing turtle!
Now bum-breathing is such a cheeky phrase,
When nature gives a creature that is so
Adept at breathing through its fundament,
Unique and cool in very many ways,
So let us now rejoice in words that stray,
Into the realms of vulgar, coarse and crass,
For being nice can sometimes be so dull,
And naughty words are part of fun and play.
Every Wounded Bird
From summer in Van Dieman’s Land,
To winter in Port Phillip Bay,
Across the howling gale-tossed strait,
Swift Parrots make their ancient way.
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Migrating follows dreaming paths,
Seeking shelter, food and peace,
Moving to a distant shore,
As welcome morning warms the day.
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When forest fall and fences march,
When rivers die steep mountains mourn,
When no bird finds a sheltered valley,
Colour fades and weeps the sky.
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Home is not an angry word,
Deep hearth easing stranger’s fears,
Embracing weary pains and tears,
There’s room for every wounded bird.
In Harmony Sweet
(Purple-headed Fairy Wren)
The purple headed fairy wren,
Though small and shy and hard to see,
Clings on in patches of pandanus green,
Families living in sweet harmony.
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Loving and faithful pairing for life,
Their offspring stay loyal and help with the care,
Of nestlings too young to face this world’s strife,
Their lives bound together in families rare.
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Violet flashes sparkle and weave,
With piping trills that hint at much more,
Than flight of feathers and woven nests,
Glimpses of all that existed before.
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In hearts now yearning for charity rare,
With kindred strong and kindness king,
For fairy wrens and children we care,
Our voices united in love notes to sing.
Seduction
(Regent Bower Bird)
With baubles blue by bower waits,
Much hard travail this male endures,
To court and lure a bride to mate,
And then another, then a third,
It’s all the chase for this bold bird.
And once his courting ends its games,
As passion fades to palest hue,
This male moves on to mate anew,
While patient hen lays eggs and claims,
Her role as caring parent too.
In his new boudoir crafted fine,
Admire the regent bower bird,
His iridescent plumage thrills,
But know that all his gloss and shine,
Conceals a searching, lonely world.
A man may flirt with honeyed tongue,
He courts and conquers then moves on,
And does not now how deep his loss
Of home and hearth and love hard won,
A stone that rolls forms no soft moss.
Scarlet Honeyeater
With flushing cheek and painted wing,
As ruby breast betrays sly hints
Of fervour, lust and passion’s sting,
Concealing hot magenta tints.
Yet scarlet birds display with pride,
Their nature knows no shameful hue,
Why would we seek to dull or hide
A colour that is bold and true?
How drear would be a world that’s wed
To humdrum beige, drab fawn and grey,
Small shards of ruby and blood red,
Give urgent ardour to each day.