1893

Tags

1893 Brisbane flood, 1893 flood, Crohamhurst Observatory, Flood mitigation dams, poem, poetry, Somerset Dam, Stanley River Queensland, Triolet

{On the 6th of February 1893 a cyclone brought torrential rains and destructive winds to South East Queensland. A second cyclone arrived on the 11th of February and a third on the 19th. In one 3 day period Crohamhurst Observatory near the head of the Stanley River, a major tributary of the Brisbane River, recorded 72 inches, or 6 feet of rain (a world record at that time). A huge amount of flood water came down the Stanley and poured into the already flooded Brisbane River causing a disastrous flood at the city of Brisbane. A third of Brisbane residents were left homeless and 35 people died. Following the flood it was decided that a dam was needed on the Stanley River for flood mitigation and water supply for Brisbane, but it was not until 1935 that construction began, and due to the war, the dam was not completed until 1954. In 1956 the Somerset Dam was officially named and opened. In January 1974 cyclone Wanda struck, and Brisbane suffered another devastating flood. In 1984 the Wivenhoe Dam on the Brisbane River was officially opened.}

1893

In 1893 down came the rains,
And there was quite a flood in Brisbane town.
Most fled to higher ground – for most had brains.
In 1893 down came the rains,
But year by year that memory it wanes.
Should all forget then one day more may drown.
In 1893 down came the rains,
And there was quite a flood in Brisbane town.

– D.N. O’Brien

{Photo shows children in the centre of Brisbane as the flood was subsiding}

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Trees

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, Planting trees, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Trees

Trees

He planted trees at every place he owned,
But never stayed the years to watch them grow.
It was, he hoped, a pleasure but postponed –
Kept for the future. Many years ago,
He planted the first tree – he didn’t know
That it would be a gypsy life he’d lead;
He’d put down roots, but then up stakes and go.
A planted seedling, or sometimes a seed,
He’d leave with one last water, one last feed,
And hope that with some luck it would survive;
Be not mistaken for a struggling weed.
Some of those trees by a clear pool now thrive.
They cast their shadows on a verdant glade,
Where rest the weary, thankful for the shade.

– D.N. O’Brien

{Photo – D.N. O’Brien}

Monkey Business

Tags

Australian poet, Chimpanzees wage war, Innate instincts, Jane Goodall, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Postmodernists say humans are the cause
Of all the problems of old Mother Earth.
They claim invasions, battles, bloody wars,
Weren’t present prior to our primal birth.
But such a theory is of little worth,
For so behave the monkeys – chimpanzees.
Of facts to back this up there is no dearth.
(Conclusions that most certainly won’t please
Those worshipers of Nature, birds, and bees.)
They prove that just like us these murderous apes
Will conquer, kill, and territory seize.
Our primate cousin also raids and rapes;
It’s not just us who have this fatal flaw,
For like us humans, chimpanzees wage war.

Chimps wage war

Shivering in Summer?

Tags

AGW, Australian poet, Climate Change Alarmism, Corrupt climate change scientists, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, Media alarmism, poem, poetry

Shivering in Summer?

Now listen up! – I am so old,
I remember when summers were cold –
Before global warming;
Before mass-conforming;
Before such untruths could be told.

Before scientists were bankrolled;
Before foolish minds were controlled.
No! – we had heat-waves,
Now boffins are slaves –
They’ve traded their ethics for gold.

– D.N. O’Brien

North Western Pub

Tags

Australian bush poetry, Australian pubs, Australian traditional poetry, poem, poetry, Queensland cattle towns, Queensland drovers, Sid Kidman, Sir Sidney Kidman, The cattle king, Western Queensland hotels, Western Queensland pubs

North Western Pub

Where pallid ghosts of stockmen sit upon the empty chairs –
Elusive wraiths of memory and smoke,
While hopeless mortal men find solace from their earthly cares,
As at the bar in solitude they soak.

Just as it was one hundred years ago, perhaps some paint
Applied, but now is peeling off the walls,
And in the air and from the dusty floor the yellowed taint
Of ancient sweat upon the senses falls.

The dust haze hangs in tiny specks suspended in the light,
Where sunlight streams through windows seldom clean,
And as the sun goes down the shades of fast-approaching night
Lend dreariness and pallor to the scene.

Here time stood still as elsewhere changed for better or for worse,
Each day a play, as weary plots repeat.
A theatre’s stage not altered, as the drinkers sit and curse
The drought, the flood, the fires, the burning heat.

Here Kidman’s men, come overland with cattle, sat abreast,
A brief respite – for soon the track to face,
And could a summons call them from the bush graves where they rest,
They’d notice not a difference in the place.

In the North West, you may one day chance on a battered shack;
A leaning wreck beside a rutted street.
Survivor of the roaring days that swept the great outback;
A refuge from the searing summer’s heat.

Push through the batwing doors into the old Australia past,
Where of our modern times is not a trace,
And try to there imagine all the dead departed cast,
The ones long gone, whose spirits haunt this place.

The stockmen, and the miners in their ceaseless golden quest,
The bullock drivers with their plodding slaves,
The men and women pioneers who opened up the west,
Now on the rolling plains rest in their graves.

So have a beer, and toast those sturdy battlers long dead:
The folk who drank here at this ancient bar;
For though, like us, they had their faults, in truth it must be said –
Their steely grit exceeded ours by far.

– D.N. O’Brien

{I wrote this some years ago – don’t think I have posted it before}

Cemetery Road

Tags

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

Cemetery Road

It formed our northern boundary –
A rough dirt track that wound up to
Some toppled tombstones on the top
Of a bare hill. Occasionally
We’d see a motor car or two
Drive slowly up the road and stop,

And out would get some people who
Would walk amongst the scattered stones
And by a grave then stop, and stand,
And bow their heads. They were the few
Who stood above the mouldering bones
Deep down – embracing soil and sand.

I guess they were the ones who’d known
The dead who’d long been buried there.
It seemed that way, for they were old –
The ones who walked that overgrown
Old graveyard, hats in hand, heads bare,
In summer’s heat or winter’s cold.

But that was long ago, now those
Who visited back then have flown;
And who they were we’ll never know,
Nor why they came, and I suppose
They’ve gone the way of flesh and bone.
But some are not forgotten, so –

Now Cemetery Road is black
With tar, and tourists come to see
Where lie those ancient pioneers.
Each stone repaired, no chip or crack
To mar a curiosity –
That long ago was wet with tears.

Building Balls

Tags

Australian poet, Border walls, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Walls

Building Balls

Over time a weak nation it falls,
So it’s best that your borders have walls,
For they work! – loudly praise them –
But who then to raise them? –
A man with extremely large balls.

– D.N. O’Brien

To the Breakers

Tags

Abortion on demand, Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

To the Breakers

The end of a long voyage is now reached.
Seaworthy she once was, and too, well-found.
But soon her rotted timbers will be breached.
For though wise sailors with their lead-lines sound
And cry: “Reverse or we will run aground!”
There is no slowing, it’s full steam ahead,
The course is set – they are disaster bound.
Her crew will pay a price for all the dead –
Each tiny body with its cruel crushed head
And splattered brain – each murdered little child –
A human being, ruined, wrecked, and red
With sacrificial blood – God’s gift defiled.
The ship ploughs on towards the breaking waves;
In its foul wake the slain sink to their graves.

Abortion up to 22 weeks to be decriminalized in Queensland

Concrete Canvas

Tags

Australian grain silos, Australian poet, Painted silos, poem, poetry, Silo art trail Australia

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬

These stores of gathered golden grains,
Once sombre, dull, and grey,
That rise above the spreading plains,
Now on their walls display
In colours bright, all Nature’s gifts –
Fruits of the wide-tilled earth.
These towering works, the spirit lifts,
As lifted is their worth.

– D.N. O’Brien

A Tiny Minority

Tags

Australian poet, Man-eating sharks, poem, poetry, Tiny minorities, Triolet

A Tiny Minority

Leave sharks alone! They mostly don’t eat men!
The few that do we must re-educate.
I feel I have to make that point again –
Leave sharks alone! They mostly don’t eat men!
Out of a thousand sharks no more than ten
Eat people, so stop spreading your shark-hate!
Leave sharks alone! They mostly don’t eat men!
The few that do we must re-educate.

– D.N. O’Brien