๐๐๐ค๐๐ง
Oh pretty girl, now you grow old,
As does the boy who caught your eye.
But you were taken โ bound with gold,
And who would break the seal? Not I.
โ D.N. OโBrien
29 Sunday Nov 2020
Posted General
in๐๐๐ค๐๐ง
Oh pretty girl, now you grow old,
As does the boy who caught your eye.
But you were taken โ bound with gold,
And who would break the seal? Not I.
โ D.N. OโBrien
15 Friday May 2020
Posted General
inโ๐๐
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 motherโs 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 soldierโs trunk, with spoils of war.
Some memories of fifty four.
โ D.N. OโBrien
02 Saturday May 2020
Tags
Australian poet, Cossack, Kuban Cossacks, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry
๐๐ซ๐จ๐๐ ๐๐ฐ๐จ๐ซ๐๐ฌ
I once knew a Kuban Cossack,
And she always led the attack.
Her sabres sheโd twirl,
And though just a girl,
Sword-fighting skills she didnโt lack.
โ D.N. OโBrien
08 Sunday Sep 2019
Posted General, Historical
inTags
Australian poet, Circassia, Circassion genocide, Circassion Noble Dancing, Ottoman Empire, poem, poetry, White slavery
๐๐จ๐๐ฅ๐ ๐๐๐ง๐๐ข๐ง๐
{ ๐๐ช๐ณ๐ค๐ข๐ด๐ด๐ชa๐ฏ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ถ๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ญ๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ข๐ถ๐ต๐ช๐ง๐ถ๐ญ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ญ๐ฅ. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฏ๐ช๐ค ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ฐ๐ณ๐ต๐ฉ-๐๐ฆ๐ด๐ต ๐๐ข๐ถ๐ค๐ข๐ด๐ถ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ฉ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ฆd๐ด ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ข๐ด ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ช๐ต๐ฆ ๐ด๐ญ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ๐ด ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ต๐ต๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ช๐ณ๐ฆ. ๐๐ข๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต ๐ธ๐ช๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ฃ๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ถ๐ด๐ด๐ช๐ข๐ฏ๐ด. ๐๐ฐ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ถ๐ญ๐ต๐ข๐ฏ ๐ข๐ฏd ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ๐ต ๐ธ๐ข๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ด}
Pity not the proud Circassians,
Plundered by the cruelest nations.
Listen to their tunes entrancing โ
Glory in their Noble Dancing.
โ D.N. OโBrien
20 Wednesday Feb 2019
Posted General, Observation, Sonnet
inTags
Australian poet, Feeling sorry for yourself, Giving up, Losers, Losing attitudes, Negative thinking, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Victim culture
A Lost Mind
Itโs not my fault โ I had an awful start.
What chance had I to ever see success?
When I think of my woes it breaks my heart;
No wonder all my dreams are in a mess.
What happened to me? โ perhaps you can guess:
Iโve been unlucky since I was a kid โ
No luck at all โ I couldnโt have had less.
I tried so hard – no matter what I did
It came to nothing, for I couldnโt rid
My mind of all the failures in my past.
And so I shut myself away and hid,
And so had nothing left to lose at last.
But all your losses in the past are dead;
They only live within your loserโs head.
14 Thursday Feb 2019
Posted General
inTags
Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Rebecca Weisser, Rebecca Weisser journalist, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, The Australian newspaper
A Sonnet for Rebecca
{For Rebecca Weisser}
She has a sense of humour quite refined;
And common sense? โ of that she isnโt short.
Courageous? Yes indeed โ she speaks her mind;
For those without a voice Rebeccaโs fought.
She has integrity โ she canโt be bought โ
No one would try, her characterโs well-known.
I guess these were the values she was taught โ
Her faith in them throughout the years has grown.
She faces now a test โ but not alone,
For closest friends, and some sheโs never met,
Are with her โ in their thoughts and prayers theyโve shown
Their love and their concern โ know she wonโt let
A temporary hurdle stop her run;
This cloud will pass and soon reveal the Sun.
โ D.N. OโBrien
22 Saturday Dec 2018
The Boat
I saw an ad โ โA boat for sale.
Is neither powered by steam nor sail.
In size โ four fifty feet in length,
Beam, three score and fifteen โ its strength
Is in its mighty ribs and keel.
Its rudder and its steering wheel,
Original โ just like the rest.
One voyage put it to the test,
But since then itโs been high and dry.
The first to see this boat will buy.โ
I went around to see the boat.
The owner, quite a strange old goat,
Dressed all in robes, and with a beard,
Informed me in an accent weird
That he had built and sailed the thing
Some time ago โ he couldnโt bring
Himself to sell it โ but he said
(With just a tinge, I thought, of dread)
That he was now too tired and old
To stock and tend a floating fold.
I puzzled over what he meant.
The ancient sailor wizened, bent,
Then showed me all about the boat.
I said: โItโs sold!โ a cheque I wrote.
He said: โOne thing before you buy:
Should you find anything awry
In time, a broken beam, some rot,
A hole where once there was a knot.
If then repairs you make, you should
Use nothing else but gopher wood.”
โ D.N. O’Brien
18 Tuesday Dec 2018
Posted General
inTags
Acheron, Ancient Greek Mythology, Asphodel meadows, Australian poet, Cimmerians, Circe, Dawn, Erebus, Formal poetry, Hades, Hecatomb, Ithaca, Night, Odysseus, Persephone, poem, poetry, Polyphemus, Poseidon, red-cheeked ships, River of Flaming Fire, River of Lamentation, River Styx, Teiresias, The Odyssey, The Suitors, Theban, Thebes, Trinacria, Winnowing fan
The Meadow of Asphodel (extended version)
I
Said Circe of the lovely hair,
The goddess with the tresses fair:
โOdysseus, go and set sail,
For in your quest you must not fail.
I will provide a strong north breeze
That will propel you oโer the seas
To where a land is bathed in mist;
That Dawnโs soft rays have never kissed;
Where dreadful Night has spread her cloak.
Cimmerians, unhappy folk,
Live there, close to the gates of Hell.
A meadow clothed in asphodel,
A grove of slender poplar trees,
(They are august Persephoneโs)
Two rivers mingle in a gyre –
The Lamentation, Flaming Fire.
The first has waters of the Styx.
Around a towering rock they mix,
And with a thundering are gone –
They pour into the Acheron.
So when this mournful land you reach,
And on its shore your boat you beach,
Then dig a trench a cubit broad,
A cubit long, with your fine sword.
Around the trench pour offerings,
To all the dead, to slaves and kings,
Then barley, white, all over spread,
And say your prayers to the dead:
At Ithaca, when you return,
A heifer you will kill and burn,
And treasure heap upon the pyre,
So all will be consumed by fire.
And to Teiresias the seer,
The blind, the ghost who dwells quite near,
You’ll sacrifice the finest sheep,
So that the sage in peace may sleep.
When prayers are done, call to your crew
That they must bring a ram and ewe,
Jet-black, no others will suffice –
Two victims for the sacrifice.
To Erebus then turn each head,
But look away till they are bled.
And when the trench is filled with blood;
When death has staunched the surging flood,
From Erebus thereโll come a swarm
Of all the souls in ghostly form;
But take your sword, and let none pass
Till you speak with Teiresias.โ
II
All then went as Circe had said.
From Erebus the swarms of dead
Approached Odysseus the Lord,
Who held them back with his bare sword,
And said: โUntil the Prince of seers,
His prophesy brings to my ears,
No soul but he this blood will taste.
I beg Teiresias โ make haste.โ
And then the Theban seer came up:
โOdysseus, now let me sup
The dark blood; nimble-witted Lord,
In silver scabbard sheathe your sword.โ
Odysseus did then obey
The ghostly sage, and backed away.
Teiresias, the blood consumed,
Then spoke: โYou and your men are doomed
If the Earth Shaker has his way.
He still broods on that fateful day
When with your crudely crafted spear
You blinded Polyphemus – dear
To him – his son; heโll send you down
To Oceanโs bottom โ watch you drown.
But should he fail, then mark my words:
There is an island blessed with herds
Of cattle, flocks of sheep; the Sun,
He keeps them โ watches every one.
Trinacria this isle is named,
And for these kine and sheep is famed.
So if by chance you reach this isle,
Do not these flocks and herds defile;
Donโt hurt the cattle or the sheep,
Or Sun will send you to the deep;
For wrecked will be your ship โ your crew
Will perish, but perchance should you
Survive – should you avoid this fate,
To Ithaca youโll come home late,
And in a ship from foreign soil,
All laden rich with gifts and spoil.
But trouble in your house youโll find,
Where are the Suitors fed and wined,
And to your royal and faithful wife
Make love. By stratagem or strife,
By plan or sword, clear them away.
In Ithaca you cannot stay;
For you must bear a shapely oar
And travel far away once more
Until you meet the men who know
Not sea – who salted food forgo.
Where red-cheeked ships are unknown things,
As are their oars – their well-cut wings.
A sign Iโll send โ will say a man:
โUpon your shoulder thereโs a fan
For winnowing.โ Then plant the oar
Into the earth. A breeding-boar,
A bull, a ram, then sacrifice
To Lord Poseidon. Sage advice
To you Odysseus I give,
Though I am dead and you still live:
Return then home – to gods, in turn,
The hecatombs on pyres burn.
As for your end โ Death from the sea
Will gently come โ prosperity
Will mark your days โ you will grow old.
Teiresias, the truth has told.”
– D.N. O’Brien
16 Sunday Dec 2018
Posted General
inTags
Acheron River, Asphodel meadows, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Cimmerians, Circe, Erebus, Formal poetry, Greek Mythology, Hades, Hell, Homer, Ithaca, Odysseus, Persephone, poem, poetry, River of Flaming Fire, River of Lamentation, Styx River, Teiresias, The Odyssey
The Meadow of Asphodel
Said Circe of the lovely hair,
The goddess with the tresses fair:
โOdysseus, go and set sail,
For in your quest you must not fail.
I will provide a strong north breeze
That will propel you oโer the seas
To where a land is bathed in mist;
That Dawnโs soft rays have never kissed;
Where dreadful Night has spread her cloak.
Cimmerians, unhappy folk,
Live there, close to the gates of Hell.
A meadow clothed in asphodel,
A grove of slender poplar trees,
(They are august Persephoneโs)
Two rivers mingle in a gyre –
The Lamentation, Flaming Fire.
The first has waters of the Styx.
Around a towering rock they mix,
And with a thundering are gone –
They pour into the Acheron.
So when this mournful land you reach,
And on its shore your boat you beach,
Then dig a trench a cubit broad,
A cubit long, with your fine sword.
Around the trench pour offerings,
To all the dead, to slaves and kings,
Then barley, white, all over spread,
And say your prayers to the dead:
At Ithaca, when you return,
A heifer you will kill and burn,
And treasure heap upon the pyre,
So all will be consumed by fire.
And to Teiresias the seer,
The blind, the ghost who dwells quite near,
You’ll sacrifice the finest sheep,
So that the sage in peace may sleep.
When prayers are done, call to your crew
That they must bring a ram and ewe,
Jet-black, no others will suffice –
Two victims for the sacrifice.
To Erebus then turn each head,
But look away till they are bled.
And when the trench is filled with blood;
When death has staunched the surging flood,
From Erebus thereโll come a swarm
Of all the souls in ghostly form;
But take your sword, and let none pass
Till you speak with Teiresias.โ
27 Tuesday Nov 2018
Posted General, Historical
inTags
ANZUK Force, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Avondale bar, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Sembawang Strip, Singapore bar girls
Alice
Was in a bar, a dingy dive,
That Alice worked – just twenty five,
A bar girl, by grief driven mad.
A Yankee sailor, handsome lad,
Sheโd tell me was her absent beau:
โThe ships are in โ I want you go
And find him โ bring him here to me.โ
Each time this was her tearful plea.
And humour her, each time I would,
For in her heart the girl was good.
โHe come โ I know he will!โ sheโd cry.
โAlice, Iโve looked โ not yet.โ Iโd lie.
Her son theyโd taken from her breast;
Mad Alice never more would rest
Until she saw his fatherโs face.
At closing time sheโd leave the place
And make her way through midnightโs gloom
Back to her wretched rented room,
And at her shrine, prayer candles burn;
And wait for her loveโs safe return.