𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 “𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲!”

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Australian poet, Formal poetry, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Rise of China

𝐓𝐡𝐞  𝐆𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭  𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 “𝐇𝐨𝐰  𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐞  𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲!”

How dare the Chinese grow so strong!

Fe fi fo! Fe fi fo! Fe fong!

Diminutive race!

They should know their place!

China number one? That’s so wrong!

— D.N. O’Brien

700Z

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700Z, Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝟕𝟎𝟎𝐙

We heard the story of his sad demise.

Concocted, we all thought, but never said.

Out on parade beneath the warm blue skies,

We heard the story of his sad demise.

Was best to just pretend, most thought it wise,

And after all, an officer was dead.

We heard the story of his sad demise.

Concocted, we all thought, but never said.

Now fifty years have passed and memories fade,

And those who still remember, they are few.

No flowers upon a tropic grave are laid,

Now fifty years have passed and memories fade.

The past is gone, what’s done can’t be unmade,

But words can still be written, and be true.

Now fifty years have passed and memories fade,

And those who still remember, they are few.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐏𝐮𝐛 𝐒𝐮𝐛 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬

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AUKUS, Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, U.S. and U.K. sell subs to Australia

𝐏𝐮𝐛  𝐒𝐮𝐛  𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬

An incontinent man with a second hand sub,

And a dwarf and a drongo, walked into a pub.

There three stools did they take, sat and breasted the bar,

And the man flashed the sub, said:”I’ve more in the car.”

Then the midget piped up:”I have new ones to sell!”

Said the drongo:”I’m sold! Wrap the old ones as well!”

Now the drongo we know is an Australian clown,

And the midget resembles a prune with a frown.

And then last but not least, the incontinent man

Having sold off some subs looks in vain for the can.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐌𝐨𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞

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Australian poet, Formal poetry, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, Moby Dick, Nord Stream Pipeline, poem, poetry

𝐌𝐨𝐛𝐲  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞

The latest theory has been hatched,

Of how the pipeline was despatched:

That to keep the Krauts cold

Those damned Russians, we’re told,

Sent a whale with explosives attached.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐨𝐫…….?

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Albo - Anthony Abanese Australian PM, Australian poet, Drag Queens in schools, Formal poetry, National Disability Insurance Scheme, poem, poetry

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡  𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐅𝐨𝐫…….?

We’re fighting for the bastards bound for Hell.

We’re fighting for the drones who cannot spell.

We’re fighting for the men who’ll never work.

We’ll fight as hard as we once fought the Turk.

The N.D.I.S.? Yes we’ll fight for that!

We’ll fight for every filthy scheming rat!

We’ll fight for gay parades in Sydney Town!

(Where Albo should have worn a pretty gown…)

We’ll fight so that our kids can hug drag queens,

And so they can watch pornographic scenes.

We’ll fight for those who rewrite history,

But fight against religious mystery.

We’ll fight with enemies, against our friends.

We’ll fight against what’s right — until it ends.

We’ll heed the call, and off to war we’ll go,

To fight for all the things that bring us low.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

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Australian poet, Formal poetry, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, Nord Stream Pipeline, Occam's Razor, poem, poetry

𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

Confused by the spin and the lies?

You’ll find Occam’s Razor applies:

Look at motive and means.

Look at who spilled the beans.

Then it’s simple: the Yanks did it guys.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐏𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧’𝐬 𝐎𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞

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Acts of War, Australian poet, Formal poetry, limerick, Limerick poem, Nord Stream Pipeline, poem, poetry, U.S. blows up Nord Stream2

𝐏𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧’𝐬  𝐎𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞

“I can turn off those valves” Putin said,

“So no gas to the Germans is fed.

It’s the simplest of jobs —

Just a twist of some knobs;

But I’ll blow up our pipeline instead.”

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐡𝐦𝐮𝐭

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Australian poet, Bakhmut, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Russo / Ukraine war, Stalingrad

𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐡𝐦𝐮𝐭

Bakhmut is rubble — blasted streets

Like Stalingrad. Of all defeats

These two portray what comes of schemes

Of madmen — slaves to wicked dreams.

Bakhmut stumbles and then falls.

Dead bodies by the tumbled walls,

Their helmets wrapped in emerald bands,

Their rifles clutched in frozen hands.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐖𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐝

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Australian poet, Eastern Front WW2, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Russian Bear, Syrian Campaign ww2, WW2

𝐖𝐞  𝐁𝐞𝐝  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐑𝐞𝐝  𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐝

(At an Australian Field Hospital in the Lebanon, June ’41)

The wounded soldier on his bed

(He came quite close to being dead)

Lights with a flaring match a fag,

Then reads the headlines of the rag:

‘Of Russia We Must All Beware!’

‘We Cannot Trust the Russian Bear!’

Next morn the paper’s passed around,

And laughter is a frequent sound.

It seems the Reds have joined the war,

And on our side; the rag therefore

Now prints the headlines staid and wise:

‘Behold Our Glorious Allies!’

‘Great Holy Russia Joins Our Cause!’

So goes the course of paper wars.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐔𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞’𝐬 𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬

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Australian poet, AZOV, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Russo / Ukraine war, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Zelensky

𝐔𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞’𝐬  𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬

Pariah of the past, but now transformed

Into the sweetest state that one could find.

The neo-Nazi nation is reformed,

Unrecognizable, one of a kind;

AZOV atrocities left far behind.

Yes it’s a miracle, this new Ukraine —

It’s now by those who loathed it wined and dined!

It is a mystery, one racks one’s brain

To come up with a theory to explain

How such a lump of shit became a jewel.

A noble Abel where was once a Cain!

What’s more, its leader who once played the fool,

The idiot, the joker, and the queer,

Is now the shining knight who knows no fear.

— D.N. O’Brien