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Portents

 

Selected poems

 

from Strictly Built

 

[Jesus Complex]  

 

Dad is up above somewhere, and

Mum’s pure as sixteenth century

air. I feel redemption in my brain,

perhaps an effect of unending pain,

so strong. But then I hear a miracle

blend: of kangaroo, and lion, song.

 

.

 

[Winner]  

 

A.I. could detect the difference

between a god and their mundane

moves, but not a naked eye.

Waltzes are not games, dice is

safest when loss is, perforce,

minimal – a split with an ex-spouse.

 

.

 

[Sympathy]  

 

Naturally, for a mosquito.

Whether insect or human, we are

not pleased to meet one. Pacifists

make them an exception. They form

a devilish, crucified blot: their ink

spilt in a final red initial.

 

 

 

 

[One Thing]  

 

Knowing you’ve been finding it 

hard to concentrate lately, I wanted

to keep it simple. To say just one

thing. But irony creeps in, doubling

meaning. Have revenge on its mind-

bending by understanding only one.

 

.

 

[Art]  

 

If art cannot come out of the tunnel,

or abyss, or mass mind, or even

the court at which it is arraigned,

then perhaps it can beckon, can

bring us to itself, while noticing,

[who?] that our shoes are living.

 

.

 

[Pastoral]   

 

Your yard’s all standing up with

alive things; my yard is all lying

down with dead. You spread your

largesse with all and sundry. I keep

binoculars at the ready: to detect

unwanted guests / see off their pets.

 

.

[Hitch-]

 

Hiking with a blood nose, holding

up a sign saying ‘Hanky?’ I was

at war with the 1970s, trying to

remake myself as a Motel Me.

I was not born in Cootamundra:

polite apologies to those who were.

 

.

 

[Portents]  

 

Portents, auguries, challenge

my faith. A star shines over

a publishing house. They have

produced a book by a poet who has

never written a word. Poetry bends,

pretends, protects, its grand scope.

 

.

 

[Proverb]  

 

If a warm basket of clothing is left

unattended, and you should find

that a hen has laid an egg in it: if it

is whole than that is a blessing. If it

is cracked or broken, these are two

other, annoying, kinds of blessing.

 

 

 


Michael Farrell is a Melbourne poet, whose most recent book is Googlecholia (Giramondo). His work has been shortlisted for Prime Minister's awards for cocky's joy, and he won the Queensland Poetry Award for 'i love poetry' and the Peter Porter Poetry Prize (ABR) in 2012.

Main image: (Getty).

 

 

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Existing comments

Brilliant. And i love the name "Googlecholia".


Pam | 13 March 2025  

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