BRENDAN FAITHFULL - POEMS

Brendan Faithfull is an emerging, traditional form poet in Melbourne. Brendan grew up in the village of Malmsbury, where he first discovered Shakespeare’s Sonnets and Byron’s poetical works.
Brendan studied Politics, Economics and Literature at La Trobe and Melbourne Universities. At UoM Brendan also studied Poetry under Emeritus Professor Kevin Brophy.
Brendan has featured in Melbourne Writers Group’s Heroes & Villains, Creativity Webzine, The Creative Issue, Miller’s Pond Poetry and Grand Little Things. Brendan is also slated to appear in The Creative Issues upcoming COVID special.
Brendan continues to write poetry between modelling, political campaigning and managing his LARP, Exodus.

Markets and Hawking
​

​There is the hope sustained by us all
that we shall get the furnishings and fruit,
got at a price which is affordable
the thing for which the desired purpose suits;
feeding hunger by food, chills wamred by cloth,
all that which might keep earthly pains at bay
promised by hawkers with goods held aloft
sold on behalf of Marketeers, who do not bray.
When the item is polished and shining
(to draw the parakeets who would buy it)
summoned then the Hawker who is pining
to place the piece in any hands it fits.
The birds down in the street who all preenéd
pass quickly seeking the latest dressing,
for Marketeers long ago had gleaned
the Parakeets buy with little pressing
So the Hawkers came then into their own
learning that false troth of puffed birds splendor
to sell Parakeets but a polished stone
And while this true havoc on their grandeur
is wrought by Marketeers, now unseen,
the Parakeets buy tickets to stages
showing plays of birds beautifully preened,
so birds buy stones and Marketeers buy them cages.

 

*

​In this life there are but little glories
few honours, fewer battles and less truths
of the kind many seek for their stories
when past the fulsome vigour of their youth.
And little more in their life than before
bounties, victories and revelations
few for the mild efforts that many bore
on their march toward their desolation.

*

​At this time there runs a course coming short
and will diverge down one of two new paths,
I think of how quiet are the distraught
when the rudder, now steering them to harms,
is in the hand of those who are immune
to each paths harms and dangers manifold
while the rudder wake silently consumes
and makes that which is poor more terrible.
Where is the end then of the rudders wake,
when is the shifting turbulence reprieved?
The vain expect the helm, the course to make
but often these fail the waves to relieve.
The course runs short, they demanding now the helm
and the wake of the rudder grows and grows
as the demanding immune from wake’s harm
are now demanding steering toward woes.