I am the lyrebird, known as such
              for the shape my tail feathers make in courtship.
Yet I know nothing of the lyre.

I am the mimic, the impersonator.
              In my throat lives the call of the kookaburra.
Yet I know nothing of the kookaburra.

I am the joker, the imitator.
              I can echo perfectly the sound of the chainsaw.
Yet I know nothing of the chainsaw.


About Dick Jones

I'm a post-retirement Drama teacher, currently working part-time. I have a grown-up son and daughter, three grandchildren and three young children from my second marriage. I write - principally poetry but prose too, both fitfully published. My poetry collection Ancient Lights is published by Phoenicia Publishing ( and my translation of Blaise Cendrars' 'Trans-Siberian Prosody and Little Jeanne from France' (illustrated by my friend, the artist, writer and long-time blogger Natalie d'Arbeloff) is published by Old Stile Press ( I play bass guitar & bouzouki in the song-based acoustic/electric trio Moorby Jones, playing entirely original material. spotify:artist:07MDD5MK9MnRGSEZwbsas9 I have a dormant blog with posts going back to 2004 at Dick Jones' Patteran Pages - - and I'm a radio ham. My callsign is G0EUV
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2 Responses to THE LYREBIRD

  1. sackerson says:

    I like the philosophical twist: it begs the question, I might have a bigger brain but what do *I* know about these things?

    I can stick my hand up when it comes to the chainsaw, though. I’ve got a chainsaw certificate somewhere.

  2. Dick Jones says:

    Thanks, Dom. I’ve always fancied wielding a chainsaw, but the desire has diminished with age alongside riding a Harley-Davidson across the States.

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