Feral is the weed that walks hops or swims
that we seeded here first of all.
Like weapons in Afghanistan to fight Russians,
they shoot back against the giver, given time.
The irony in the soil, the punch-line
that keeps moving.
They are the spoonful of toad that never
helped the sugar.

The feral is the new devil;
we burn them, use their live bodies for cricket,
run them over.
They are our scapegoats, scapetoads, scapecarp,
whipping boys for our royal, stupid selves.

Varmint, pest, pets gone wild, rejigged —
dancing to their own tune.

PS Cottier


Continuing thoughts about what is a weed from my last post, this week I touch on feral pests, with which Australia is now teeming, after 200 years of colonisation/invasion.

Cane toads are probably amongst the most famous, although even cats multiply like mice (ew!) here, and feed on parrots and lizards and all the tiny marsupials that most Australians in cities have never seen.

I am working on a sequence based on this; though trying to organise my thoughts is like teaching cane toads manners.  (And that’s not a cane toad above, but it is a cool illustration, courtesy of the wonderful resource Old Book Illustrations.)  The guy peeping at the main figure is 100% Gandalf, and I’m sure he has Powers over toads.

Either that or he uses them for their interesting secretions.

My selfie on Calvary

I had to squat,
haul up his head
but I like the way
the thorns look like an effect —
‘trembling halo’ —
and the crimson
just nailed it lol

P.S. Cottier


I was shocked, the other day, to hear of people taking selfies in front of car accidents, and the idea that people would take a selfie as Jesus carried the cross came to me. The poem attempts to capture this spirit, in appropriate flat-pack language.

Let’s face it, some people would climb up over someone on the cross to get the right photo. Not that that ability to ignore suffering is new; remember the soldiers gambling under the cross as Christ died. But the need to capture our images all the time, and the idea that sensation of viewing the images overcomes compunction is a new manifestation of this way of thinking, it seems to me. An unlovely mix of vanity and cruelty, which is to art (see Raphael above) what Twitter is to literature.

Pornography and self perception are becoming more and more linked, and the production of images through any means is approved.

Now I promise to be new light hearted next time.

Light as this feather. Tap it and read more poetry:

Tuesday Poem

That image is sometimes not appearing properly, but please, click anyway.

Told by an idiot

There will always be one; thick glasses

squinting into unfriendly sun of the lovely,

ginger hair sprouting like the devil’s alfalfa

or yellow snakes of teeth dancing from mouth

to a crooked unheard tune. The sporty ones

will always tease, with their effortless jumps,

and flicks of grace, the laurel of the popular

a crown to their cruel, unearned joys.

And at the edge, noticing or feeling,

there’ll still be the quiet, lonely ones,

slipping under the radar with their

secret books and scuba words.

P.S. Cottier