Post Fair Play

Tags

Australian poet, Cheating, Cheating in sport, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲

Rules haven’t changed but it’s okay to cheat.
You’ll stay a hero even if you’re caught.
Use any tactic to avoid defeat —
Rules haven’t changed but it’s okay to cheat.
It isn’t good enough to just compete —
Be devious — by TV you’ve been taught.
Rules haven’t changed but it’s okay to cheat.
You’ll stay a hero even if you’re caught.

— D.N. O’Brien

Strange Guides

Tags

Australian poet, Guide animals, Guide dogs, Mongoose, poem, poetry, Red-bellied black snake

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬

I once knew a blind man, his name it was Jake.
His guide was no dog, but in fact was a snake.
A red-bellied black — his reptilian guide
Was six feet in length and was two inches wide.
Jake had it in harness and followed its trail,
And sometimes he’d give it a yank on the tail.
The snake never bit him, though fangs it would bare,
And hiss something like: ”I’m your master.” I swear!
He’d had a guide dog but the poor pooch had died
The day after Jake bought the snake — poor Jake cried.
The vet, he had said: “I suspect those two holes
In your guide dog’s neck, they were not made by moles.”
The snake played his cards right — he tended to cheat,
(Not easy when one has no hands, legs, or feet)
But managed to tempt Jake to give him a go
At guiding his footsteps — they started off slow
But soon got it right, and I’d see them most days,
As Jake trailed behind the snake’s serpentine ways.
The end to this tale, well I’m sorry, it’s sad,
(Although I suspect that that snake, he was bad)
The story was told by blind Jake at the wake:
One morning the pair of them, Jake and the snake,
Were walking (and slithering) slow through the fog.
Another blind man with a guide (not a dog)
Passed by them, and somehow the man’s guide broke loose —
No snake is a match for a hungry mongoose.

— D.N. O’Brien

Logical Extinctions

Tags

Australian poet, Dinosaur, Dodo, Mauritius, Neanderthal, Passenger pigeon, poem, poetry, Rhyming couplets, thylacine

𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

The Thylacine would snatch a pullet —
Soon the last one took a bullet.

On an island named Mauritius,
Lived the Dodo — so delicious.

The passengers that blackened skies
Were baked in lots of pigeon pies.

The Kingpin was the Dinosaur;
Until there came a meteor.

Neanderthals died out we know.
Their IQs were a bit too low.

— D.N. O’Brien

Convicted Kangaroo Caught!

Tags

Australian poet, Cardinal George Pell, George Pell appeal dismissed, kangaroo, Kangaroo joey, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 !

The roo who some judges say diddled
Some joeys (one claims that he fiddled.)
Is back in the clink —
Though fair folks may think
The case against him is hole-riddled.

— D.N. O’Brien

Pell loses appeal

Swapping Dependant Islands

Tags

Australian poet, Donald Trump, Greenland, Greenland for sale, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Tasmania

Swapping Dependant Islands

Seems the U.S. will have a new state
Called “Greenland” — aren’t they going great?
The Donald is dealing
With Danes (it’s like stealing).
Those boofheads will sure take the bait.

But we Aussies, well we are much brainier.
We thought of a deal even zanier.
Trump thinks he’s one up,
But we’ll sell him a pup!
He’ll swap us Greenland for Tasmania!

— D.N. O’Brien

From the North

Tags

Aboriginal Australians, Australian bush poetry, Australian Megafauna Extinction, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Formal poetry, poem, poetry

From the North

In the south live the lumbering giants of the Earth.
They’ve been slumbering there since the continent’s birth.
In the north is a tide that is turning to south,
And the tide it is black, and it’s wide, and its mouth,
It hungers for meat — for the harvest of fire;
Like a wave it rolls on and it never does tire.
To the north there’s a glow like the east-rising sun,
And it glows ever brighter as each mile is won.

And the sabre-tooth looks from the mouth of his lair,
And he growls at the glow; smells the smoke in the air.
And the giant kangaroo pauses out on the plain,
But he has little sense, for he’s little of brain.
And to all the doomed giants there’s a fact that applies —
From the north will come death — from the ones who are wise.
And the giants in the south, they have nowhere to go;
They are huge, they are powerful — alas, they are slow.
They’ve been safe in the south for these millions of years;
From the north comes their end — from the north come the spears.

— D.N. O’Brien

’69

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Drought in Queensland, Formal poetry, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Queensland dairy farms, sonnet, Vietnam War

‘69

The rains have come and washed away the dust.
The drought of ’68 is in the past.
The old man talks of selling-up at last —
Another drought like that and we’ll go bust.
Our worn-out ploughs are little more than rust.
The overdraft is climbing way too fast.
With falling prices for our milk forecast,
There’s little chance that we will earn a crust.

Dan’s back from Vietnam — he nearly died;
Was burning up — the Yanks packed him in ice.
War kills in different ways — the fever tried,
But some are not meant for the sacrifice.
He knows my thoughts, and so takes me aside —
Gives me his army boots — and his advice.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Bird Band

Tags

Australian birds, Australian bush poetry, Australian bush poets, australian formal poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, bird band, Formal poetry, poem, poetry

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐝

One evening walking through the scrub,
(A shortcut home from Riley’s pub.)
Under the glow of a full moon,
I heard a brisk and lively tune.

I looked around, and there I saw
Upon that moonlit forest floor,
A pumpin’ out a chorus grand,
A finely feathered all bird band.

And all around on stumps and logs
Sat kangaroos and native dogs,
And emus swaying to the beat
Jumped up and down and stamped their feet.

Echidnas danced Irish quadrilles
While skillfully avoiding quills.
Goannas flicked in time their tongues,
While in the band with bursting lungs

Black glossy red-tailed cockatoos
In harmony sang out the blues.
On ukuleles magpies strummed.
A flock of honey-eaters hummed.

With twelve apostles on the drums,
The beat it echoed from the gums,
While lyre birds serenely played.
(They’re known for being rather staid).

A bell bird rang his built in chime.
A whip bird cracked his whip in time.
A kookaburra, with a smile,
On his guitar played finger-style.

I stayed a while, then home to bed
With music coursing through my head.
I woke and wondered had I dreamed.
Outside my window, moonlight beamed,

And all was quiet and nothing stirred.
I listened hard but nothing heard.
No, not a noise of fur or fowl,
Except — the hooting of an owl.

— D.N. O’Brien

Suicide is Painless (for some)

Tags

Australian poet, Jeffrey Epstein suicide, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

Suicide is Painless (for some)

I doubt that the guy was in pain.
Though nasty, it seems he was sane.
But he knew lots of dirt —
Powerful creeps he could hurt.
Sure — Epstein by Epstein was slain.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Fem — Trans Wars

Tags

Australian poet, Feminists, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Transsexuals

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐦 – 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐬

The crazies are bashing each other;
Each feminine dad and butch mother.
It’s rather ironic
In these days demonic —
Your sister may well be your brother;

Your mother may well be your Pa,
And Pappy may be old Grandma.
The feminists even
Say Trans are deceivin’;
It’s all gone a little too far.

— D.N. O’Brien