Hector

Tags

Achilles, Anger of Achilles, Aphrodite, Apollo, Cypris, Death of Hector, Greek Mythology, Hector, Hector's body, Homer, Ilion, poem, poetry, Priam, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, The Iliad, Trojan War, Troy

Achilles’ anger was unquenched, and so,
Three times each day he dragged him through the dirt.
Yet he remained untarnished head to toe –
No bloodied flesh, no broken bones, no hurt
Showed on unblemished skin. Still and inert,
As if asleep, and no decay was seen.
It seemed by unseen armour he was girt,
For Cypris and Apollo kept him clean.
His wounds they’d closed, since, bloody and obscene,
His body had been taken from the field.
He’d fallen to the bronze so bright and keen,
Yet now the cuts that killed him were all healed.
Achilles longed to tear him limb from limb,
Whilst grieving Priam dreamed of burning him.

{Pic – The Triumph of Achilles by Franz von Matsch. {from Wikipedia}}

Advertisements

This Day

Tags

ANZAC Day, Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

The soldiers, those who’ve died, moulder away
Beneath their gravestones – flesh and bones don’t last.
Their souls perhaps look down upon this day
And see the flags that flutter at half-mast;
The thinning ranks so proudly marching past –
With many from the rear, now at the fore.
The souls of all the soldiers who have passed
Away – just yesterday, and all before:
The dead who died at home, and those at war.
Perhaps they all gaze on – each mother’s son,
Remembering the smoke, the cannon’s roar,
The corpses in the trenches overrun.
They won our freedom, and they bore the cost;
And none know better – how it can be lost.

Get Your Gun

Tags

Anti-gun lobby, Australian poet, Irrational fears, NRA, Phobias, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

There are peculiar people here on Earth,
Who have a fear of nasty pointy guns.
They live in Western lands, and right from birth,
Whenever they see one, they clench their buns.
The mere sight of a rifle sears and stuns
Their brain cells – they will soon convulse and scream:
“A curse on all the shooters and their sons!
Come join with us – we are a trendy team!
We are the virtuous – we have a dream:
It is to rid the Western World of harm.
We’re on the peace train – we’ve a head of steam,
And soon each rifle owner we’ll disarm!”
They’ll ask you nicely – I’m sure you’ll agree
To hand your weapons over – peacefully.

Drought & Flood

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, drought, Flood, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Drought

The paddocks bake to brown in summer heat.
The river shrinks to holes where lungfish dwell.
The grass remaining cracks beneath one’s feet.
The water level drops deep in the well,
And everywhere is death, and death the smell,
For scattered on the ground the rotting dead.
A blasted vision of an earthly hell,
Where walk the living with their limbs like lead,
Beneath a sky bloodshot at dusk with red.
The wind stirs dust; the tree limbs crack and fall.
The ants and maggots thrive – they are well-fed.
A crow upon a carcass sounds its call.
The land is dying – drying is its blood;
Its thirst will not be quenched – until the flood.

Flood

The land has languished in the drought’s foul grip,
But now the clouds roll in and soon the rain
Falls lightly, and the downpipes start to drip.
Then steadier, like an approaching train
it’s heavier, that welcome sweet refrain
As gutters gurgle and tanks overflow,
And raindrops drum against the window pane.
The rain turns to torrential – warm winds blow.
The fresh creeps higher in the stream below.
The river’s banks are broken, comes the flood.
Across the flats the surging waters flow
To wash away drought’s sacrificial blood.
The gods appeased – the cycle is complete.
Now throbs the land once more to its slow beat.

Ball-Tampering World Championships

Tags

April Fool's Day, Australian cricket team ball-tampering, Cricket ball tampering, poem, poetry, sonnet, The Ashes

{a repost of this poem to go with the following story}

Oh cricket! What has it descended to?
What happened to that fair and honoured game?
To the old rules we must now bid adieu,
And surely it will never be the same.
Of course, the players, they will take the blame,
But is it just a symptom of an ill?
Are dirty tricks okay now when it’s fame
And money that’s the goal? The venues fill
No more – the faithful miss that cheering thrill
When honest men took to the hallowed field
With bat and ball unsullied, and a will
To triumph fair and square, and not to yield.
Those days are gone; Oh well, we must be brave.
Meanwhile “The Don” turns over in his grave.

Australian cricket team caught ball-tampering

(The following story is brought to you by the United Sandpaper Company, and by Chakita – makers of battery powered ball-tampering angle grinders – “Is that a Chakita in your underpants, or are you just glad to see me?”)

Once again The Great Southern Land is Ball-Tampering Champion of the World.

Up against incredibly rough, stiff, and abrasive competition from such giants of the sport as Cakistan, The East Windies, Sindia, and Pommyland, our amazing team of professional ball-tamperers has shown true-grit, and has once again ground its way to an impressive win.

Of course the early rounds against the world’s BT minnows hardly tested the skills of our formidable tricksters. Crowds gasped at the sleight of hand exhibited (well, not exhibited actually) – one moment the ball would be clearly in good condition – one side shiny and the other slightly dull and then! – Hey presto! It would be magically transformed, with the dull side now virtually destroyed! The applause from the stands was at times deafening!

The “Big Guns” of BT then fell one by one, inexorably, to the GSL team. All were rubbed out until only one team was left to deal with – the team that strikes fear into any ball-tamperer. Yes, the final would be a rough and grinding, gritty and gouging contest between the Great Southern Land and that other giant of the game – Seth Efrica.

How the final surged back and forth! First Seth Efrica would gain the upper hand – their tampering was a thing to behold. (or not behold) And then GSL would counter-attack. So many balls destroyed! Soon supplies of balls were running low – would the final be declared a draw due to lack of balls? Luckily time was nearly up, and with just 10 seconds to go and the score deadlocked and the country almost ball-less the Great Southern Land team struck! In those few remaining seconds they miraculously transformed a bright and shiny ball into something that can only be described as….hideous – no doubt this tamper will be talked about for years – sports analysts will dissect it tamper by tamper and coaches will use it to inspire their teams.

The World Championship of Ball-Tampering is over, but its effect will live on. Young players who witnessed the best ball-tamperers in the world will no doubt be inspired, and will diligently practise their skills, The great sport of Ball-Tampering will surely expand as once again the diminutive and humble Holy Grail of the sport , “The Granules”, returns to The Great Southern Land.

This has been Gary (the grinder) Gritenberg reporting from Seth Efrica. 1st April 2018

It’s Just Not Cricket

Tags

Australian poet, Cricket ball tampering, Don Bradman, Donald Bradman, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Test cricket, The Don

Oh cricket! What has it descended to?
What happened to that fair and honoured game?
To the old rules we must now bid adieu,
And surely it will never be the same.
Of course, the players, they will take the blame,
But is it just a symptom of an ill?
Are dirty tricks okay now when it’s fame
And money that’s the goal? The venues fill
No more – the faithful miss that cheering thrill
When honest men took to the hallowed field
With bat and ball unsullied, and a will
To triumph fair and square, and not to yield.
Those days are gone; Oh well, we must be brave.
Meanwhile “The Don” turns over in his grave.

Australian cricket team caught ball-tampering

Canada Scientifica

Tags

Australian poet, Canadian scientists, Justin Trudeau, Justin Trudeau scientist, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

In Canada the scientists are found;
They’re scientific people from their birth.
In Canada scientific thoughts abound;
It’s the most scientific place on Earth.
In Canada scientific thought is worth
Far more than gold, just ask Justin Trudeau.
And he is serious, suppress your mirth!
He means it, and sure, he’s a little slow,
But he is photogenic and nice so
Cut him some slack. Yes he’s a scientist,
Like all Canadians, so he must know.
Oh Canada! I beg you, don’t be pissed!
Although you are such stern scientific folk,
I’m sure that you can take my little joke.

Canadian babies are scientists

 

 

Unmarked

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Gayndah cemetery, poem, poetry, Queensland drovers, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Two-up, Unmarked graves

I’ve walked this graveyard; I know you are here,
But I can’t find a headstone or a cross.
And you can’t give a sign when I am near,
So maybe I’ll just take two coins and toss
Them high, and where they land there’ll be no moss-
Encrusted stone – just a bare patch of earth
That I’ll call yours, and it will mark our loss.
Of grander monuments there is no dearth,
But their inscriptions are of little worth.
The elements erode each written word;
Time blurs the name, the date of death, and birth.
I never knew you. Of your life I’d heard.
My father learned the truth, but much too late.
I came to find you – sorry for the wait.

{In memory of Felix Thomas O’Brien – drover, 1895 – 1963}

{Photo of Gayndah Cemetery by Ruth P}

Australia Day

Tags

Australia Day, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, First fleet 1788, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Australia Day! Come on! Let’s celebrate
Our liberty, our fairness, rule of law.
The qualities that made Australia great:
The sacrifice in theatres of war;
The mateship that is at our nation’s core.
Turn deaf ears to the ones who would divide.
These weak but wily worriers – ignore.
They’ll crawl under the nearest rock and hide,
And from their lair cheer on the darker side;
Just leave them to their wild imaginings.
We love this land that stretches far and wide.
We benefit from all that progress brings.
Had not those ships sailed in in ’88,
Would such success have been this island’s fate?

Sliding South

Tags

Australian poet, Crime in South Africa, poem, poetry, sonnet, South Africa, South Africa in decline, Spenserian sonnet, White farmer murders in South Africa

South Africa is going to the dogs.
The squatter camps are crammed with fearful whites.
A once great nation has worn out its cogs;
Its gears no longer mesh; dim low its lights.
The people cringe in fear on darkest nights,
When bush knife or the bullet from a gun
May cut life short; as in the street the fights
Go on – the gangs attack – the victims run.
A failing state when all is said and done;
It slides back to its troubled tribal past.
As sure as westward sinks the setting sun,
So is the shadow’s shroud advancing fast.
By all accounts there’s little hope I’d say.
If not a shithole, it’s well on the way.

Shitholes protest