Their ABC

Tags

ABC, ABC left wing bias, Aunty ABC, Australian Broadcasting Corporation, Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Their ABC

Their ABC

This nest of vipers, it must be destroyed.
This troublesome corrupted lair of liars,
Where only leftist journos are employed.
Of their concocted tales the nation tires.
They are in truth the doubters and deniers
Of science — they swallow snake oil like it’s wine.
They act as though our droughts and floods and fires
Are something new. Don’t try to start a mine!
They’ll trash your plans, and you they will malign.
They’ll have you stopped before you even start.
They and their followers will weep and whine
About, you guessed it, “Climate Change” — don’t fart!
The Earth is dying just because of you!
These friends of aunty just don’t have a clue.

— D.N. O’Brien

Is the Pope a Catholic?

Tags

Australian poet, epigram, Jorge Mario Bergoglio, poem, poetry, Pope Francis, the Pope

𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜?

Is the Pope a Catholic? It’s in doubt, it seems to me;
I sometimes wonder what he knows of Christianity.

— D.N. O’Brien

Zeus the Climate Changer

Tags

Ancient Greek Gods, Ancient Greek Mythology, Anthropogenic Climate Change scam, Australian poet, climate change, Palaeocene, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Warm Palaeocene Epoch, Zeus

𝐙𝐞𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

The climate? What a pack of stupid fools!
They think that they affect it? The idea!
At my command it either heats or cools.
From here on high Olympus do I steer
The clouds, the winds! They say the atmosphere
Has too much CO2 — a load of rot!
Computer models? Dear, oh dear, oh dear.
They think the climate simple? Well it’s not!
In winter it is cold — in summer hot!
In autumn and in spring it’s in between!
They think that’s simple? Are they smoking pot?
Can they explain the warm Palaeocene?
I’d best calm down; I need to cool my rage.
I wonder how they’d handle an Ice Age?

— D.N. O’Brien

Kiwi Comrades

Tags

Australian poet, Jacinda Ardern New Zealand Prime Minister, Kiwi Socialists, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

𝐊𝐢𝐰𝐢 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬

Your PM’s Jacinda Ardern?
You’re kidding! Man can’t you discern
Behind that facade,
A Red! — It’s not hard!
(But Kiwis — they are slow to learn).

— D.N. O’Brien

Jacinda the Red

On Her Word

Tags

Australian poet, False accusations, Perjury, poem, poetry, Political Correctness, Rape claims

On Her Word

She claims she was taken, by these hands abused,
And therefore I stand here, by her word accused.
And thus I may lose all I’ve gathered, my life;
And though it’s a lie, perhaps even my wife.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Yanks

Tags

Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Australian soldiers in Vietnam, Australian traditional poetry, Fourth of July, poem, poetry, Vietnam War

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬

{𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘋𝘢𝘯}

I’ll tell you here a story and I swear I will not lie.
It’s a story of a man we knew — to whom we’ve said goodbye:

Once a jungle scarred and blasted, overhead a baleful sky,
Where with whirring, doleful droning, did a lonely chopper fly
To a clearing where the man lay still — it took him by and by
To a place where they could save him, and I tell you that is why
While he lived for ever after on the fourth day of July
Would that digger quietly praise the Yanks who wouldn’t let him die.

— D.N. O’Brien

Jahannam

Tags

Australian poet, Hell, islam, Islamic hell, Italian sonnet, Jahannam, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, sonnet

Jahannam

The hell of Islam — seven levels deep.
To one of these all nonbelievers go.
All those who won’t submit descend below,
To where their tortured wraiths will never sleep.
The hypocrites at level seven creep;
They are the very lowest of the low.
At level four those who choose not to know
Of Allah and his messenger, they weep.

Two levels hold the Christians and the Jews:
So near the bottom, down at level five,
Those of the prophet Moses find their fate.
At level six, perhaps on red-hot pews,
Sit Christians who no longer are alive.
(Construction work goes on at level eight).

— D.N. O’Brien

Israel

Tags

Australian poet, islam, Israel, Israel Folau, Middle East, poem, poetry, Rugby Australia, Triolet

𝐈𝐬𝐫𝐚𝐞𝐥

Your enemies, your fortress they surround.
So you must hone your wits, plan your defence;
Make sure your strategies are sure and sound.
Your enemies, your fortress they surround;
So be prepared to hold your precious ground,
And then attack, to gain your recompense.
Your enemies, your fortress they surround;
So you must hone your wits, plan your defence.

— D.N. O’Brien