𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝐓𝐡𝐞  𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞  𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

But this is not a game, it is real war.

Those bodies, blown apart, were living men;

Farewelled so fine, sent home as flesh and gore.

But this is not a game, it is real war —

A war with echoes of those fought before:

The wars of cruel attrition, fought again.

But this is not a game, it is real war.

Those bodies, blown apart, were living men.

— D.N. O’Brien

False Flag

Tags

Australian poet, False Flags, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐞  𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐠

Very soon a false flag will be flying.

On a high mast a red rag will flutter.

Yes, the ones who are practised at lying,

Very soon a false flag will be flying.

And these liars will be busy denying,

While the ghouls in the White House will mutter:

“Very soon a false flag will be flying.

On a high mast a red rag will flutter.”

— D.N. O’Brien

Beware of false flags of desperation in Ukraine; particularly nuclear ones.

𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭

Tags

Australian poet, limerick, poem, poetry

𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬  𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞  𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧  𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭

Who tied up the Nazis in knots?

Who fired, and who took the most shots?

Who smashed the most tanks?

(It wasn’t the Yanks)

No, it was the Russians you clots!

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐓𝐚𝐧𝐤

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, limerick, poem, poetry

𝐓𝐡𝐞  𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝  𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲  𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤  𝐓𝐚𝐧𝐤

Our tank, it did not have a flaw,

But we don’t have to think any more,

About whom we will fight,

What is wrong, what is right;

We just follow the Yanks into war.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭

Tags

AUKUS alliance, Australian poet, Formal poetry, Neutral Australia, poem, poetry

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭

Forget them all — they’ve gone to Hell.

Old cherished friends? They’ve gone as well.

Forget alliances with fools

Who’ve broken all the golden rules.

Forget old comrades, they are dead.

Forget the past, and all they said.

Cut off the chains — lest pull us down

These pirates when their galleys drown.

Yes, free us from the deathly grip

Of foreign armour, plane, and ship.

We’ve paid the price for their mistakes;

Cast off these phonies — they are fakes!

They are not what they were before:

They talk of peace, but whisper: “war”.

Trust not in liars — trust our sea;

Prepare for our neutrality.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐛

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐛

Over silent sons blows the desert dust.
Over guns long stilled — over rifles’ rust.
To a sacred God the Sirocco moans
Of the sacrifice — of the shared bleached bones,
Where the Roman raised a defiant hand,
And is buried deep, neath a shroud of sand.

Was a victory — a first glimpse of Hell,
As a battle won — as a fortress fell
By an emerald grove and a sapphire jewel
In the great Sahara — a precious pool.

And the ones who fought and the ones who died
They have met perhaps on the other side —
The Australian boys from across the sea;
The reluctant soldiers of Italy.

— D.N. O’Brien

(Photo is of the Australians of 18th Brigade 7th Div 2nd AIF raising their colours over the fortress of Giarabub March 1941.)

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Tags

Australian poet, First Nations, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭  𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

First Nations? So how were these states defined?

By boundaries, by government, by laws?

By hordes and bands and tribes all intertwined?

First Nations? So how were these states defined?

By armies forcefully? By treaties signed?

By victories hard-won in bloody wars?

 First Nations? So how were these states defined?

By boundaries, by government, by laws?

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐒𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐬

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Soviet Union

𝐒𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐬

The Soviets destroyed nobility.

The savages rose up to take control —

Harnessed the rest to serve futility;

And twenty million was the final toll.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫

Tags

Australian poet, Dalai Lama, Formal poetry, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞  𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫

Some Lama is now in the news.

It seems that he has some loose screws.

He did what? I see!

Well sonny if he

Says “Suck on my tongue!” Just refuse.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝗟𝗼𝗰𝗸-𝗗𝗼𝘄𝗻! 𝗢𝗿?

Tags

Australian poet, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝗟𝗼𝗰𝗸-𝗗𝗼𝘄𝗻! 𝗢𝗿?

Lock-down! Raise up the drawbridge, bolt the doors!

A tiny army marches from the East!

We’re in for the most virulent of wars —

A million billion casualties at least!

This microscopic foe expects to feast

Upon the huddled masses of the West.

But we will stay locked-down till he has ceased

His dirty depredations — till this pest

Has gone back to the oriental nest

Whence he did spring. Behind our walls we’ll hide,

A great and noble sacrifice! A test!

A dreadful siege, an enemy defied!

Alternatively, live — ignore distortions;

Remembering to take all due precautions.

— D.N. O’Brien