Molly

Tags

Australian bush poetry, australian formal poetry, Australian traditional poetry, bush poet, Bush Poetry, Formal poetry, poem, poetry

Poor Molly met her death today,
‘Twas murder so the whispers say.
I knew her well, for her I grieve,
May paradise, her soul receive.

The evidence was quickly found:
Ripped garments on the bloody ground.
The last place where this girl had been,
But Molly’s body nowhere seen.

Was it a dingo passing by?
Perhaps an eagle from the sky?
Who done it? Now the question begs.
Some scattered feathers – no more eggs.

© Dennis N. O’Brien, 2013

photo © Donna Griffin (used with permission)

Kabbarli 1940

Tags

Australian bush poetry, Australian traditional poetry, Daisy Bates, Kabbarli, poem, poetry, sonnet

In hardship and privation her life spent,
But now respite in these much greener lands.
Far from the treeless plains and desert sands,
Down by the Murray, pitched, a humble tent,
And by it her slight figure proud – unbent.
A vision from a bygone time she stands
With full length skirt, high collar and gloved hands.
So lives the aged comforter content.

Kabbarli – grandmother, that was the name
The people from the distant deserts gave
To her: a friend, a confidant, a slave.
She nursed the sick, the infirm, and the lame.
Perhaps no saint, though selfless, strong and brave.
Her life’s work – remnants of a race to save.

Poetry and Wine

Tags

Australian traditional poetry, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Wine and Poetry

Why poets wax so lyrical
Of nectar from the spherical
Fruits of the vine declared divine
(In other words: plonk, vino, wine)
Is something of a mystery,
Perhaps a fluke of history.
It’s just a product squashed by feet
Or when a slip, an ample seat,
Then left alone to foam and stew
And form in time a fruity brew
With bubbles as the yeast ferments
To make the stuff the brain dements.
It’s an IQ reversing drink –
The more you quaff the less you think.