The Selfish Shellfish

Tags

Australian traditional poetry, monkfish, poem, poetry, shellfish

Deep in the briny sea
Was a monk fish monastery,
A prayerful variety
Of contemplative piety
From gentle soles to trout,
All swimmingly devout,
Where once a pious oyster
Went strolling round the cloister,
And he was quietly grumbling;
His tummy it was rumbling.
He spied a tasty morsel,
A fellow shark monk’s dorsal.
He lopped it with his chopper,
And hid it good and proper.
He’d eat it some time later
With peas and beans and ‘tater.
There’s no way he would share it,
His stomach wouldn’t bear it.
Meanwhile the poor old shark monk
Swims round and round like he’s quite drunk.
To swim quite straight he needs all fins,
He twists and swerves, he dives and spins
Into a crazy cork screw loop;
His fin must be saved from the soup.
The other monks are looking,
At what the oyster’s cooking.
They see he has the shark fin;
They can’t allow this shell fish sin
And since he is a sinner,
They confiscate his dinner,
And sew in back on shark monk’s back
So he can get himself on track.
The oyster now is pleading;
Forgiveness he is needing.
He’s being quite rambunctious,
He’s big and plump and scrumptious,
And so the monks decide his fate
Is to be served up on a plate.
So now they all are wine-ing,
They’re dancing and they’re dining,
In their monastic cellar
On oyster Rockefeller.

© D.N. O’Brien, 2012

Moderation

Tags

Australian traditional poetry, FaceBook, poem, poetry

Facebook’s handy
But like candy,
(And other depravities)
From excess use, I must refrain,
For one will give me cavities,
The other rots my brain.

© D.N. O’Brien, 2012

Waterfall Creek

Tags

Australian traditional poetry, Barramundi, bush poet, daly river, Dennis N. O'Brien, Formal poetry, Northern Territory, poem, poetry, waterfall creek

Clear creek water meets the muddy Daly River – Northern Territory,
Tropical far northern Australia has only two seasons – “the Wet” and “the Dry”.

The grass on the withered and burning hot plains
It sighs with the wind from the storms,
And dances and bows to the warm driving rains,
Drinks deep – as the Monsoon it forms.

And great spreading waters they cover the plains;
The cycle of life quickly turns,
Come vast flocks of pelicans, geese, ducks and cranes;
The season of plenty returns.

The creek has been sleeping, its lifeblood ebbs low
But now the creek’s heart skips and leaps,
As here at its source, from the plains waters flow,
From deluge a harvest it reaps.

There at its beginning a pool clear and deep,
Etched out from the plain over time,
And into this pool little waterfalls leap,
With sparkling beauty sublime.

So foaming and burbling the waters they flow,
As small fish that go with the tide
Are taken by giant barramundi below
Who close by the waterfalls glide.

Go rolling the waters with shimmering light,
Caressing the banks of the creek;
A fish chasing prey turns – its side flashes bright;
The river these waters now seek.

First rushing so madly then slowing at last,
The great muddy river they reach,
With rolling brown waters all churning and vast,
Its borders the clear waters breach.

So water once clean and bright muddies to dark
And lost is its beauty so soon,
The creek to the river a contrast so stark,
One pure, and one debris bestrewn.

The river a chaos of eddy and foam,
And floating thereon logs and boughs,
All furrowed and flowing like watery loam
Where fins break the surface like ploughs.

And so to the sea will the waters be drawn
And thence to the clouds by the Sun.
As rain to the land as the rolling clouds spawn,
As all through The Wet, rivers run.

And so for a time will the creek pay its dues
To its master the river below,
And late in The Dry will its sustenance lose,
Then wait for Monsoon winds to blow.

Copyright © Dennis N. O’Brien, 2012

Image by Fitzy

Free Speech

Tags

Australian traditional poetry, Australian traditional verse, Dennis N. O'Brien, Free Speech, poem, poetry

How sensitive now people are,
‘Tis easy to offend;
Free speech has gone a mite too far,
Those on the left contend.
They say no longer speak your mind,
(‘Less it agrees with theirs)
Make papers only print what’s kind,
Stop anyone who dares
To put contentious points of view
That question what’s accepted;
These sacred cows one can’t review,
All such critiques rejected.
The aim I think is crystal clear
As these fanatics preach,
Their goal a State that all should fear:
A State that bans free speech.

Copyright © Dennis N. O’Brien, 2012