Thinking Nice Thoughts

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Anti-depressants, Australian poet, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

I’ve started thinking nice thoughts every day,
And magically the world’s a better place.
All existential threats have gone away.
No longer are there any foes to face.
I’ve thrown away my nunchuks and my mace.
My rifles I have flung into my lake
With all my ammunition — every case.
It’s so easy to do, a piece of cake!
Nice thoughts are all you need, make no mistake!
They’ll make your wordly worries disappear!
No longer do my limbs begin to shake
When I see scary things — I have no fear!
(These pills the doctor gave me work so well,
I think I’d be exuberant in Hell!)

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞

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Australian poet, Flippin Arkansas, Flippin Police Department, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞

All these jokes about Flippin must cease!
Or I’ll call up the Flippin Police!
It ain’t flippin’ funny
To mock our town sonny!
You’re flippin’ disturbin’ the peace!

— D.N. O’Brien

Flippin Arkansas Police Department

Worms

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Australian poet, Can of worms, Nightmares, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Worms

Once all the worms, in cans were tightly sealed;
For those invertebrates would cause us harm.
But cans are opening, and there revealed,
The slimy creatures. Some sound the alarm,
But most say: “Do not panic, please stay calm.
The worms will not destroy us – they’re benign;
They even have a certain wormy charm;
Keep opening the cans — all will be fine —
Now try this rich ricotta with your wine.”
The worms all congregate and reproduce,
As on the riches of the host they dine,
Until the last imprisoned worm’s let loose!
I scream: “What is that crawling in my head!”
I’d best not drink that home-brew before bed.

– D.N. O’Brien

Viral Conversation

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Australian poet, Civet cat, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Wuhan Virus

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Two viruses having a chat:
“I come from Wuhan, via a bat.”
Said the other microbe
Whilst adjusting his robe:
“This is genuine fur — civet cat.”

— 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 Purposeless Rat

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

The Purposeless Rat

All of us need a purpose it seems.
Even rats must have their rodent dreams.
When their goals all go west
Even rats get depressed —
It’s the quest for success that redeems.

D.N. O’Brien

Depressed rats

Animal Tales

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Animal Liberation, Australian poet, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

𝗔𝗻𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗹 𝗧𝗮𝗹𝗲𝘀

Homo sapiens, they are the ones.
They are wise, all the daughters and sons;
And they think and they plan,
And so dominates — man.
(And that’s why chimpanzees don’t have guns).

Getting a bit tired of these crazy animal stories — you know what I mean:

“Lion rescues baby antelope from crocodile infested river! “
“Killer whale takes injured seal to hospital!”
“Eagle catches falling baby in mid air and delivers it to mother’s arms!”
“Unconscious man saved from speeding train as millions of ants drag him from railway tracks!”

No need to over-inflate animal IQs or credit them with human characteristics. Keep it up and pretty soon we won’t be allowed to eat them — I guess that’s the idea.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Gurley Police

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Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Formal poetry, Gurley NSW, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞

The Gurley police are not small.
The Gurley police are quite tall.
They’re big brave and strong,
So don’t get me wrong —
They’re not really girly at all.

— D.N. O’Brien

{Photo D.N. O’Brien}

Formalists

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Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Formal poetry, Formalists, free verse, poem, poetry

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬

Free versifiers, as we know, these folk are everywhere,
But those who compose formally are really rather rare.
As rare as that elusive stuff, a rocking horse’s dung,
And rarely are they read, and rarely are their praises sung.
Hen’s teeth, they are quite plentiful, compared to these composers,
And most of them live in the past, and most are old as Moses.
And though their numbers dwindle fast, and though their foes are many,
They’ll keep on writing to the last — and never earn a penny.

— D.N. O’Brien

Strange Guides

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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