Monthly Archives: February 2013






in my melancholy baggage
there’s a dead dog   a dead dad

a dead friend or two
a first love gone to fat

too many feuds a la cab sav
silver dance shoes

with a broken buckle
a black velvet dress for a boy

who danced a sore throat away
mum with a tongue           sharp as a paper cut

a cream plastic lamb on a xmas tree
one stillborn burning at my uncle’s farm

the dead tabby on the way home from school
ringed with stones and cringing petals

and the walking fish outside the Bio Lab
speared by Cousins with his compass

stopped in its placid tracks
minding its own business

Finalist in Goodreads poem of the month January 2013

First appeared in Windmills, 2011



expresh v colonial landscape

He’s too hot to touch in bed after midnight
batteries chokked from the charge of the day
He’s painted his years in the way of von Guerard
crag-man with scalpel on the lookout for the next big commish
Monster canvas, little leaves, shady detail in a felt-funny hat
Big wheels spitting, rev rev revving
Smack in the foreground of a Baroquish frame

She’s broad-brushed her days in the gloom
of a Rothko (wall papery, covering cracks)
The worry of a Tucker Fug of a Turner
Thwacking hangover, too may cigarettes

Too often Pollock melancholia Anaemic
black and white self portraits Blood spurts over her
gun metal carpet turning it black
They say she has a wide aorta Impatiens petals splatter
white tiles (Think American Beauty, Don’t think Pro Hart)
Rose Madder Red straight from her head
she squeezes the tubes

Yet hand in hand side by side
at the end of each day
they say ‘Had a good one?’
and watch Deal or no Deal
before the Six o’clock News


Poem first appeared in Shearsman UK, 2012

farina farina

Stone ruins on the Ghan
kindle a dream of being the Kidman
or Cusack scanning the flat
for a castle, some green
We fossick for nails
find a bean tin rusted through

Gibber stone to fit a young man’s
hand a thousand years ago    Silica smooth,
tricky shimmers in the sand scape
big enough to shock a skink into the next life

In the cemetery cameleers face east
next to the oasis for new nomads
where polished Jayco caravans
boast hot and cold running water

Facing west    the shell of a Holden
nudges the corrugated lean of a water tank
Pale weeds hide and seek where wheels
once turned to Lake Eyre in the rain
for a picnic or a stolen kiss

We snap the blue through a window
with no glass, frame of a shifting
canvas     In a wide sharp sky there’s
the melancholy hush   Light breeze blows
spinifex through the bones of this town

First published in The Australian Poetry Journal 2012

140 Farina