A̶r̶s̶o̶n̶i̶s̶t̶s̶ Protesters

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Australian poet, poem, poetry, Triolet, U.S. riots 2020

A̶r̶s̶o̶n̶i̶s̶t̶s̶ Protesters

We are not arsonists, we must protest!
Oh damn, another building up in flames!
A squad car just exploded — who’d have guessed?
We are not arsonists, we must protest!
And we’re not anarchists! Give it a rest!
So stop harassing us and taking names!
We are not arsonists, we must protest!
Oh damn, another building up in flames!

— D.N. O’Brien

Stay Safe!

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Australian poet, poem, poetry, Stay Safe, WuFlu crisis

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞!

“Stay safe!” — it has replaced the phrase: “Take care.”
“Stay safe!” is now becoming hard to bear.
“Stay safe!” — should I stay safe tucked up in bed?
“Stay safe!” — are streets all littered with the dead?
“Stay safe!” — so is my safety now assured?
“Stay safe!” — with all this safety I am bored!
“Stay safe!” — I can’t stay safe! Not all the time!
“Stay safe!” — although it isn’t quite a crime,
It’s just a somewhat mindless thing to say;
For life is dangerous, therefore — Good Day!

— D.N. O’Brien

A Present Peril

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Australian poet, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

𝐀 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐥

We are their avowed enemies,
Yet we do and we say as we please.
From our numerous spires
We call out: “Stoke the fires!”
While they worry about the Chinese.

— D.N. O’Brien

Cicero Silenced

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Ancient Rome, Australian poet, Cicero, Death of Cicero, Formal poetry, Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, Marcus Tullius Cicero, Mark Antony, Octavian, poem, poetry, Second Triumvirate, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝐂𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝

The senate will no longer hear his words.
Herennius has stilled the traitor’s tongue.
By citizens, by slaves, and by the birds,
His praises are no longer to be sung.
His works into the Tiber must be flung.
His theories, but the ramblings of a fool.
His famous oratory, worthless dung.
His poems and his prose, seditious fuel.
The tomes must say that Marcus was a tool
Of those who would deny the good and great.
None may impede the three destined to rule —
So Cicero — forgotten be his fate.
See there his body and his severed head!
Go tell the trio — Cicero is dead.

— D.N. O’Brien

Yesterday

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Australian poet, ChiCom, Chinese Communist Party, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, WuFlu crisis

𝐘𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲

The ChiComs are bad? Ya don’t say!
But they were our pals yesterday!
In those recent times
We knew of their crimes,
But smiled and looked the other way.

— D.N. O’Brien

A Real Plague

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Australian poet, Grim reaper, Plague, plague doctors, poem, poetry, scythe, Triolet, WuFlu crisis

𝕬 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖑 𝕻𝖑𝖆𝖌𝖚𝖊

The plague has passed; the reaper’s scythe is sheathed!
Though half the people lie beneath the loam.
If doctors of the plague can be believed,
The plague has passed; the reaper’s scythe is sheathed.
Go to each house and tell the poor bereaved:
(That’s if there is a living soul at home)
The plague has passed; the reaper’s scythe is sheathed!
Though half the people lie beneath the loam.

— D.N. O’Brien

’54

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Australian poet, Childhood memories, poem, poetry

‘𝟓𝟒

First memories my mind recalls:
Wet streaks upon the canvas walls,
The steady rain a soft lament,
The jumbled stuff within the tent,
All that we had in one small space,
The beauty of my mother’s face,
Skinned knees, and measles, chicken pox,
A dwelling built of cinder blocks,
My father lifting me on high,
My wonder at the pale blue sky,
A soldier’s trunk, with spoils of war.
Some memories of fifty four.

— D.N. O’Brien

Jane

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Jane

Thai was her mother, Portuguese her dad.
A waitress working in old Singapore.
Eurasian face so pretty yet so sad,
Hinted of disappointments borne before:
Perhaps a soldier wearied by the war —
A brief but torrid tropic love affair;
Or else a Yankee sailor cast ashore?
These thoughts passed through my mind — why did I care?
Why not then ask her? Really, would I dare?
I held my breath, arose, and called her near —
So close to me, her face, her jet-black hair,
The scent of her — the memories so dear.

Those recollections in my mind remain.
Where are you now, my lovely lady Jane?

— D.N. O’Brien

The Frightened Ones

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Australian poet, Culture of fear, Fear, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬

It is the era of the frightened ones —
The trembling terrified who freeze in fright.
They’re terrified of viruses and guns,
And anything that goes bump in the night.
Of snakes and spiders and potato blight.
Of mice and elephants and also bears;
And darkness, one must not turn off the light
When they’re asleep — they’ll be killed in nightmares!
They’re scared of ants and certain plants and hares,
And every type of mole; and humming birds.
They’re scared of circles, rectangles and squares,
And poets who write poems with big words.
They’re scared of clocks and smelly socks and elves.
But what they’re really scared of is……. themselves.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Viral Solution

Tags

Australian poet, bats, Covid19 crisis, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Viruses, WuFlu crisis

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

They are basically aerial rats,
And they plaster the world with their scats.
They are full of disease,
And they do as they please.
I suggest we exterminate bats.

— D.N. O’Brien