Admiral ScoMo

Tags

Australian border security, Australian poet, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, Operation Sovereign Borders, poem, poetry, ScoMo, Scott Morrison

Admiral ScoMo

ScoMo is feeling his oats!
ScoMo will get lots of votes!
He’ll strengthen the borders!
His navy has orders –
ScoMo says: “Sink all the boats!”

{We have a new Prime Minister – Scott Morrison (“affectionately” known as ScoMo).
He was the architect of “Operation Sovereign Borders” when the “refugee” boats were stopped.}

A Bum Rap?

Tags

Archbishop Carlo Maria Vigano, Australian poet, Cardinal Theodore McCarrick, Catholic Church sexual abuse allegations, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Pope Francis

A Bum Rap?

Is Francis in trouble? – a bit.
He’s getting all splattered with shit
While covering asses.
The huddling masses
Must get to the bottom of it.

Leaning Lady

Tags

Australian poet, Cate Blanchette, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, Myanmar, poem, poetry, Rohingya Muslims, UNHCR Goodwill Ambassador.

Leaning Lady

For the Muslims, our Cate sheds a tear,
As she tells all the world of their fear.
But when Christians are killed,
Then her tongue it is stilled –
To their screams she will turn a deaf ear.

Cate Blanchette flaps gums

Nietzscheisms 2

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, Friedrich Nietzsche, Nietzsche's criticism of Christianity, poem, poetry, Pontius Pilate, Rhyming couplets, The Antichrist by Nietzsche

Nietzscheisms 2

By syphilis his brain would soon be diced.
With girded loins he wrote “The Antichrist”.

“What think you of us Christians?” they asked Nietzsche.
He said: “One I admired – he was your teacher.”

He said the gospels died upon the cross.
He thought the man who died – the greater loss.

You don’t agree, he thought the clergy crooks?
Then it is clear – you haven’t read his books.

He doubted Paul had had a revelation –
Just that he had a wild imagination.

Now Pilate he admired, he would confess –
To Pilate, what was one Jew more or less?

Jew Division

Tags

Ashkenazi Jew, Ashkenazi Jew IQ, Australian poet, Division, Jew IQ, Jews, poem, poetry, satire

Jew Division

An Ashkenazi Jew with a two hundred IQ,
Was clearly much too smart to be left in just one part,
So people half as wise thought to cut him down to size.
This genius, this Jew – they did cleave him quite in two.
Each half now was quite dumb, and the total IQ sum
Was now nought – you ask me why? – divided, Jews just die.

Quest

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bird with no feet sleeps on the wind, Days of being wild movie, Formal poetry, Orpheus Descending, poem, poetry, Song lyrics, Tennessee Williams, The bird with no feet

Quest

There’s a bird with no feet – only wings,
And it sleeps on the wind, and it sings
All day long as it travels the skies,
And it lands only once – when it dies.

{I first came across “The bird with no feet” theme
in an obscure Chinese movie “Days of Being Wild”.
I believe it comes from the Tennessee Williams play “Orpheus Descending”,
but I think its origin may be much older.
I wrote this little poem after watching the Chinese movie.}

Botany Bay 1770

Tags

australia, Australian Aboriginals, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Botany Bay, Captain James Cook, Discovery of Australia, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, The British Empire

Botany Bay 1770

Well it was bound to happen – with your undefended borders.
If it hadn’t been the British, following their monarch’s orders,
Then it would have been the Frenchies or the Dutch or Portuguese,
Or the Maoris, or the maniacal murderous Japanese.
When you haven’t any fences and no army – no defences,
Then it’s clear to any sane man that there will be consequences.
When you’re hunters and you’re gatherers in small nomadic bands,
Standing on the bay’s grey beaches with but spears in your hands,
Don’t expect that stronger peoples with their empires all expanding
Will just say: “Hello”, and sail away without making a landing,
Planting flags, and claiming sovereignty to land on which you’re standing.
It’s the way it was back then, and there’s no sense in you demanding
That we change the past – you lost, but look upon the brighter side man –
Had it been the Asian hordes instead, they would have tanned your hide man.

Holodomor

Tags

Communism, Deaths due to Communism, Holodomor, Joseph Stalin, poem, poetry, Radical socialism, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, The Kulaks, The Ukraine, Totalitarianism, Ukrainian famine, Ukrainian genocide, Ukriane, USSR

Holodomor

In the Ukraine the Kulaks tilled the soil
To grow the grain to make the daily bread.
Was by their enterprise and by their toil,
That all who lived in the Ukraine were fed.
But now their neighbour Russia burned bright red,
And Stalin said: “The Kulaks all must die!
For by their class our enemies are led –
And our collectivism they defy.
Without them there will be no wheat or rye.
The fields where grain once grew will then be bare,
And in their millions will the dead there lie.”
So for the vanished Kulaks say a prayer.
Think for a moment of their pain and fear;
And don’t think it could never happen here.

Holodomor documentary

Lost at Sea – 1971

Tags

Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Drownings at sea, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Prawn trawlers, Scarborough Queensland Trawlers

The sea is still, these cold and starry nights.
No breakers pound upon the jagged reef.
The trawlers scan the sea with searching lights.
No nets – but grappling hooks, they drag beneath.

For somewhere in these depths there lies a boat,
And two men in this watery graveyard sleep;
And hence all day and night – this fleet afloat,
To find, and raise their coffin from the deep.

Two brothers, fishermen, the boys who drowned.
Big happy fellows – we knew them quite well.
The throb of diesels – I still hear that sound,
And too, when it hooked up – the trawler’s bell.

{In memory of “The Kids”}

Frank Slide

Tags

Alberta, Australian poet, Canada, Canadian Rockies, Crowsnest Pass, Formal poetry, Frank Slide, Frank Slide poem, poem, poetry, Spenserian sonnet, Turtle Mountain

Don’t make your camp beneath its towering peaks.
So said the ancient ones – the mountain moans.
Sometimes it moves, sometimes it loudly speaks
Of grinding pain within its brittle bones.
And when it shivers it shakes loose the stones,
And down its furrowed flanks they swiftly roll.
Yet brave men turned a deaf ear to its groans,
And rushed to mine its gleaming seams of coal.
But Nature’s force no mortal men control,
And deep within – the mountain’s rocky heart
It broke, and terrible would be the toll;
For with a roar the east face fell apart.
And many who on that grey morning died,
Still sleep beneath the rubble of Frank Slide.

Frank Slide