Nigar Kalfa

Tags

Australian poet, Magnificent Century, Nigar Hatun, Nigar Kalfa, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Suleiman the Magnificent, Turkish TV series

𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝑲𝒂𝒍𝒇𝒂

Controller of the Sultan’s concubines
Is Nigar Kalfa, Macedonian slave.
But for the unattainable she pines;
For Ibrahim, Grand Vizier, the brave.
But whispered is the lie that he’s a knave,
And soon his hopes great Suleiman will wreck —
His body buried in an unmarked grave,
A twisted cord around his loyal neck.
By terror are all subjects kept in check,
So Nigar far from Istanbul must flee.
With babe in arms through forests she must trek.
Soon she is trapped, and sets the baby free.
She spreads her arms and to her death she falls;
And from a hidden grave a spirit calls.

— D.N. O’Brien

Lingchi

Tags

Australian poet, Death by one thousand cuts, Execution, Lingchi, Methods of execution, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐢

Teach what we know as right to now be wrong.
Remove the rights of those who are unborn.
Replace with the weak-willed, the good and strong,
And all that’s sacred vilify and scorn.
(Make sure to silence those who seek to warn.)
Corrupt the clergy and brainwash the young.
(The very young must have access to porn.)
Rule that the grand all songs must not be sung.
Encourage tribes — discard the common tongue.
Discourage all productive industry —
Make ladders it must climb — break every rung.
Damn enterprise — ensure that it’s not free.

The blood flows freely, and the nation tires;
But keep on cutting until it expires.

“Lingchi” or Death by a Thousand Cuts was not banned in China until 1905. It was of course an Asian invention and was also practised by the Vietnamese. It was a method of execution designed to inflict maximum pain and suffering before eventual death. There were variations, but the practice basically involved tying the victim to a wooden frame and inflicting a cut followed by another cut a short time later and then another and another and so on until the victim died.
While each cut was no doubt painful and serious it was by no means fatal, and it was only the incremental summation of pain and bleeding of a multitude of cuts that eventually weakened and then killed the victim.

This torture/execution is analogous to what is happening to western nations. Almost on a daily basis we hear of some new law, rule, tax, levy, regulation, woke social imperative, supposedly justifiable discriminatory action based on race or sex, support for abortion of the innocent unborn, ridiculous workplace health and safety requirement, environmental restriction, mad school curriculum, rewriting or erasure of history that doesn’t fit the narrative, attack on the legitimacy of the nation — the list goes on and on. Each one of these is an insidious cut and each one has a cost, social or cash, immediate or delayed; but the cost of each cut by itself goes largely unnoticed. These costs inexorably build however and gradually erode and undermine the nation’s structure — gradually sap its strength, divide its people, and weaken its character. Wealth dwindles and health (mental and physical) deteriorates. The end is always the same — If not taken down from the gallows and seen to before terminal damage is inflicted — the victim dies.

— D.N. O’Brien

After Giarabub

Tags

18th Brigade 7th Div 2nd AIF, 2nd Australian Imperial Force, 7th Division 2nd AIF, Battle of Giarabub, Cyrenaica, Giarabub, Giarabub Fortress, Giarabub Oasis, Italians in WW2, poem, poetry, Siege of Giarabub, Tamma Heights

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐛

Over silent sons blows the desert dust.
Over guns long stilled — over rifles’ rust.
To a sacred God the Sirocco moans
Of the sacrifice — of the shared bleached bones,
Where the Roman raised a defiant hand,
And is buried deep, neath a shroud of sand.

Was a victory — a first glimpse of Hell,
As a battle won — as a fortress fell
By an emerald grove and a sapphire jewel
In the great Sahara — a precious pool.

And the ones who fought and the ones who died
They have met perhaps on the other side —
The Australian boys from across the sea;
The reluctant soldiers of Italy.

— D.N. O’Brien

Australians of the 18th Brigade 7th Division raise their colours over the fortress of Giarabub 21st march 1941.

Colonists

Tags

Ancient Greek colonies, Australian poet, Colonialism, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬

The first ones clustered round the central seas.
From city states the ancient Greeks they came.
On foreign shores they founded colonies,
And to each settlement they gave their name.
They set their sails to conquer and find fame,
To spread Hellenic culture to the Earth;
Barbarians they thought it right to tame,
For their crude ways they thought of lesser worth.
And so of colonies we see the birth —
Of how the thinkers sent abroad their thoughts.
Of how they sought Poseidon’s realms to girth.
These frogs around the ponds no doubt had warts;
But had the Greeks not spread their wisdom wide;
Before their birth — what wonders may have died?

— D.N. O’Brien

ANZUK FORCE

Tags

28th ANZUK Brigade, 8th Division 2nd AIF, ANZUK Force, Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Fall of Singapore, poem, poetry, Singapore

𝐀𝐍𝐙𝐔𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄

They come once more to Singapore,
To deter those who would wage war.
The locals see their garb and guns
Have little changed — these are the sons
Perhaps of those who were brought low;
But that was thirty years ago.

The Aussies, Kiwis, British boys,
Their distant Queen once more deploys,
As she plans to give up her best —
Retreat in order to the West.

Now fifty years have passed and most
Have left — have given up the ghost.
Their shoulder flashes slowly fade —
Like memories of their brigade.

— D.N. O’Brien

Invasion Day

Tags

Australia Day, Australia Day protests, Australian poet, Invasion Day, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐃𝐚𝐲

Again that loathsome day has rolled around,
And you strap on your armband black as night.
You’ll march upon the stolen sacred ground.
(And you may do this for it is your right.)
No storm-troopers will put your crowd to flight,
For the invader was enlightened man.
And you may prod him but he will not fight,
And neither will he seek to crush or ban.
And did he make mistakes? Well all men can.
But also he did good — so what instead?
Invaders mad and cruel? You seek to fan
Extinguished fire — the actors are long dead.
Yet you are bitter — shackled to the past.
While most give thanks, your flag flies at half mast.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲

Tags

Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Grandmother, Granny, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲

“Old Granny”, so they call the ancient soul —
That little woman sitting by the door.
She’s worn — for her long life she’s paid a toll.
Apparently her family was poor.
She had a dozen kids or maybe more —
At least six daughters and six strapping sons.
Two of her boys she lost in the Great War.
They all were good with horses and with guns;
Were raised on western stations — massive runs.
Her husband was a hard man — so it’s said.
Was typical of those Australians
Who were around back then — now most are dead.
And Granny will soon join them I would say —
She’s just a relic of another day.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Rescue of baby Mary Jane Meehan

Tags

Australian Aboriginals, Australian Outback, Australian pioneers, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, cattle and sheep stations, Formal poetry, Helen Montgomery, Mary Jane Meehan, Moree New South Wales, poem, poetry, Rosewood Mungindi

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐧

On the 16th of December 1886 in the “Big Leather Watercourse” area of the Gwydir River, west of Moree in New South Wales, a woman, Mary Jane Meehan (nee Heydon), died soon after giving birth to a baby girl. It appears that she and her 3 year old son Edward were living in the bush, no doubt in a makeshift dwelling, while her husband, Timothy Edward Meehan, was away working, probably droving. Tragically, Mary Jane’s mother, Mary Jane Heydon (born in Whittingham, Hunter River, NSW in 1849) had died giving birth to her.

It was summer, but the children were apparently found by local aboriginals and presumably looked after by them until they were found by Helen Montgomery, a grazier’s wife, and taken to their property “Rosewood” near Mungindi. The child was later christened Mary Jane. It’s not known how long the children were in the care of the Montgomerys, or when they were reunited with their father, but when Mary Jane married Queensland drover Frank Epstead Green in Moree in 1904, she gave her residence as “Rosewood, Mungindi”.

Mary Jane and Frank Epstead Green went on to have 16 children. The family lived on properties throughout western Queensland but spent later years at Tulga station and other locations near Longreach. Both died in Darra, Brisbane — Frank in 1957 and Mary Jane in 1975.

Mary Jane was the Grandmother of my wife Helen O’Brien (nee Green).

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞

Here’s a story I’ll tell of Australia’s outback:
Out west of Moree there’s a tumbled down shack
Where died a young woman a long time ago —
Some still talk about it, the few left who know.
And though details vary, most of them agree
She was heavy with child; had a young boy of three.
Her husband away, just the odd friendly black
Would sometimes pass by on a lonely bush track.
One day, as it happened, a new baby cried,
And a little boy clung to the mother who’d died.
She’d told little Edward, whilst words she could give,
That the blacks he must find, for the baby must live.
And the little boy found them and quickly they came
And rescued the baby, and her mother’s name,
With that she was christened. A story of pain,
Of death, and the rescue of babe Mary Jane.

{𝘐𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘑𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘔𝘦𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘑𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘔𝘦𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥,
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘖’𝘉𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯}

— D.N. O’Brien

The Rescuer

The natives saved them, she then took them in —
The newborn baby and her little brother.
She cared for them, though they were not her kin,
But helpless little waifs who’d lost their mother.
The girl when she grew up and then was married,
Put “Rosewood, Mungindi” as whence she came;
For in her heart those memories she carried —
Her gratitude burned like an endless flame.
Now as she said her vows the rescuer —
The one who’d acted selflessly that day,
Though there in spirit, could not smile for her;
Five years had passed since she had passed away.

{In honour of Mrs. Helen Montgomery, “Rosewood” Mungindi, died 1899,
RIP}

— D.N. O’Brien

Incorrigible

Tags

Australian convicts, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, Cat of nine tails, Formal poetry, Incorrigible convicts, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Van Diemen's Land

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞

He heads for hell beneath the surging sails;
One soul of tens of thousands bound in ships
East-driven by the roaring forties gales.
His gruel consumed, a brackish brew he sips —
Stares at the deck, and licks his leathered lips.
Sad hopeless thoughts beat in his beaten brain,
As with cold calloused hands his head he grips.
Perhaps he stole a pound of precious grain,
A handkerchief, a coin, a rich man’s cane.
Perhaps he is a villain through and through,
And so deserves this cruel unnatural pain,
Or maybe he is not — whichever’s true,
He’s landed on the wrong side of the law.
He’s branded by the cat for evermore.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Slain

Tags

Ancient Greek Mythology, Australian poet, Homer, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, The Iliad, The Trojan Plain, The Trojan War, Troy

The Slain

In ancient times a certain poet wrote
A mighty poem of a dreadful war:
The corpses on the battlefield will bloat
Until their comrades take that ground once more.
The gashes that the spears and arrows tore
Are here described in detail — every kill;
The splattered brains, the lifeless eyes, the gore,
The clattering armour — all flow from his quill.
The flower of youth all bloodied, wrecked and still;
Their beauty lost upon the hallowed plain
That lies before the city on the hill.
A catalogue of courage, death, and pain,
Yet not a tome where war is glorified —
A tale of love — of men — and how they died.

— D.N. O’Brien