A Logical Event

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Australian poet, cause and effect, Logic and reason, Logical outcomes, poem, poetry, Triolet

A Logical Event

If looked at logically it all makes sense;
We shouldn’t be surprised that it occurred.
All that was needed was a trigger — hence,
If looked at logically it all makes sense.
For every action there’s a consequence,
Though often it’s the actions that are blurred.
If looked at logically it all makes sense;
We shouldn’t be surprised that it occurred.

— D.N. O’Brien

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Cathedral Conflagration Clues

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poetry, poem, sonnet, Formal poetry, Australian poet, Spenserian sonnet, Petrarchan sonnet, Notre-Dame de Paris, Notre-Dame de Paris Fire, Government cover-ups

Cathedral Conflagration Clues

𝟏:

Within a day we know what was the cause
Of this disaster — what efficiency!
Unscathed by revolution and world wars;
But now an accident, and all agree
It was, and yet it seems quite strange to me
That this could happen — were there not strict rules,
And drills, extinguishers? I just can’t see,
Despite this being France, how could some fools,
Some workers start a fire (or two?). It fuels
The arson theory to exclude it — to
Lay blame on renovators or their tools
Without investigation. Facts are few,
Misinformation plentiful — was it
By spark, a rag that smouldered, or match lit?

𝟐:

Although they say it was an accident.
Why did the fire breakout at Easter time?
Could it have been, in fact, an arson crime?
Why did a vacillating government,
With obscene haste declare that this event,
This tragedy, loss of a jewel sublime,
A symbol of the Christian Paradigm,
Was accidental — no evil intent
Was found. (When nothing’s looked for nothing’s found).
They had not searched amongst the cooling ash.
Forensic tests? — no, they had not been done.
The charred remains still cloaked the sacred ground,
And that was for the better — no backlash
Is likely…….. if there is no smoking gun.

— D.N. O’Brien

A Cashless Economy

Tags

Australian Federal Election 2019, Australian Labor Party, Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

A Cashless Economy

Labor is the way to Venezuela;
For socialism is their stock in trade.
Pink or red — one’s just a little paler;
Don’t let them in — you’ll see your freedoms fade.
They’ve been in power before and how we paid
For their mismanagement — the crippling debt,
The mess these mad misguided wreckers made.
They say they’ll pay you not to work? Don’t bet
Your life on it — those workers who now sweat
And earn to pay your way will lose their jobs,
And then the vote you cast you may regret.
Somebody has to make what Labor robs,
Or one day they will go to raid their stash,
And find that they have run right out of cash.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Root of the Problem

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Athenian democracy, Australian poet, epigram, poem, poetry

The Root of the Problem

Those ancient Greeks would mock the rule that we
In ignorance now call democracy.
That all, the wise men and the fools votes cast —
Athenians would say: “This cannot last”.

— D.N. O’Brien

Time Bomb

Tags

Australian poet, cause and effect, Civilizational decline in the West, Dysfunctional systems, Formal poetry, Logic and reason, poem, poetry, Societies in decline, Subversion, Triolet

Time Bomb

The time-bomb we have made must be disarmed,
Before the damned thing blows us all to Hell!
Before they wake — before they get alarmed,
The time-bomb we have made must be disarmed.
We saboteurs thought we’d escape unharmed!
But now it seems that we’ll be killed as well!
The time-bomb we have made must be disarmed,
Before the damned thing blows us all to Hell!

— D.N. O’Brien

Dams

Tags

Anti-dam fanatics, Australian bush poetry, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, dams, Green fanatics, irrigation, poem, poetry

The seed that’s planted in the endless rows,
With irrigation sprouts, emerges, grows.
But take away the sprays that make the rain,
And witness then, the graveyard of the grain,
As each seed shrinks and withers where it lies,
As in its blasted shell the life force dies —
A desolation sown thick with the dead,
Where could have been a field of golden bread.

To plant into the ground when parched and dry —
To throw the dice, the seed of wheat, of rye,
Upon the dust — to gamble with the gods;
Or else to irrigate the tumbled sods
And watch the seedlings germinate and thrive,
So those who would destroy the dams — survive.

— D.N. O’Brien

Nyet

Tags

Australian poet, Nyet, poem, poetry

Nyet

The mystery at last is solved.
The Russians, it seems, weren’t involved.
So how on Earth did Donald win?
Americans voted him in.

— D.N. O’Brien

Kickin’ It

Tags

Australian poet, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Tayla Harris

Kickin’ It

I’m sorry to tell you this chicks,
But some guys will always be pricks.
They’ll put in the boot
And think it a hoot,
For that’s how these blokes get their kicks.

— D.N. O’Brien

Who’d a thunk ut

Manifesto

Tags

Anarchists, Australian poet, Brenton Tarrant, Brenton Tarrant manifesto, New Zealand mosque shooting, Nihilism, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Manifesto

What manifesto? I have searched in vain
To find it on the net — it’s disappeared!
Those writings are a window to his brain.
I wish to peer through it, see what he feared,
His twisted thoughts. I have to say it’s weird
That it has gone — extracts are all I read.
Apparently the document appeared
Just briefly, then was scrubbed. it was agreed,
By whom I’ve no idea, there was no need
For common peaceful folk to read such stuff:
How evil grew, from what pernicious seed.
No, those extracts we’re told are quite enough.
His manifesto must remain suppressed;
And after all, our guardians know best.

— D.N. O’Brien

Condemned

Tags

Australian poet, Cardinal George Pell, Catholic Church sex scandals, George Pell found guilty, poem, poetry, Scapegoats, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐧𝐞𝐝

Well here you are — you really should have known
That they were bound to get you in the end.
They’re like a dog that’s gnawing at a bone
And won’t let go — and you — you wouldn’t mend
Your ways. You made it clear you wouldn’t bend;
You wouldn’t cave in to the crazy crowd.
It’s true you managed for some time to fend
Them off — held your head high; you never bowed
To them or their false claims. No doubt your proud
Defiant stance just made them hate you more.
But souls so quiet are drowned out by the loud,
So: “Guilty!” said the twelve, and it’s the law,
That guilty men must suffer for their sins.
Condemned — it’s only now your trial begins.

— D.N. O’Brien