A Lost Mind

Tags

Australian poet, Feeling sorry for yourself, Giving up, Losers, Losing attitudes, Negative thinking, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Victim culture

A Lost Mind

It’s not my fault – 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? – perhaps you can guess:
I’ve been unlucky since I was a kid –
No luck at all – I couldn’t have had less.
I tried so hard – no matter what I did
It came to nothing, for I couldn’t 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 loser’s head.

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A Special Place in Hell

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Ancient Greek Mythology, Australian poet, Elysian Fields, Elysium, Hades, Hell, Italian sonnet, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, sonnet

A Special Place in Hell

Each day is perfect, and each night divine.
Sometimes a misty shower comes on the breeze.
No storms with thunderbolts — calm are the seas.
Upon a hillside graze contented kine.
My emptied bottle soon refills with wine.
My dog, I’ve noticed, is devoid of fleas.
My hay-fever has gone, I never sneeze.
It’s always springtime. On rich food I dine,
And never exercise, but am I fat?
No I’m as fit as any man could be!
And what about the whisky, beer, and rum?
It’s all too neat, too perfect — Is it that
There’s something seriously wrong with me?
Is there a doctor in Elysium?

— D.N. O’Brien

Reversal

Tags

Australian poet, Civilizational decline in the West, Historical revisionism, Italian sonnet, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Postmodernism, Revisionism, Socialism, sonnet

Reversal

The time has come to watch the old ways fall,
As from the bottom rises what once fell –
What has decayed and has decay’s sweet smell.
What once loomed large will shrink until it’s small,
And lowest things will rise to be the tall.
And thick will float the flotsam on the swell,
As downward sink the sainted souls to Hell.
The oldest lies will be believed by all.
Past heroes will be vilest villains now.
All once thought right will surely now be wrong.
The noble and their courage men will curse,
As those once brave down to the cowards bow.
Admired will be the weak – reviled the strong,
And what was true will be quite the reverse.

– D.N. O’Brien

Trees

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, Planting trees, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Trees

Trees

He planted trees at every place he owned,
But never stayed the years to watch them grow.
It was, he hoped, a pleasure but postponed –
Kept for the future. Many years ago,
He planted the first tree – he didn’t know
That it would be a gypsy life he’d lead;
He’d put down roots, but then up stakes and go.
A planted seedling, or sometimes a seed,
He’d leave with one last water, one last feed,
And hope that with some luck it would survive;
Be not mistaken for a struggling weed.
Some of those trees by a clear pool now thrive.
They cast their shadows on a verdant glade,
Where rest the weary, thankful for the shade.

– D.N. O’Brien

{Photo – D.N. O’Brien}

Monkey Business

Tags

Australian poet, Chimpanzees wage war, Innate instincts, Jane Goodall, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Postmodernists say humans are the cause
Of all the problems of old Mother Earth.
They claim invasions, battles, bloody wars,
Weren’t present prior to our primal birth.
But such a theory is of little worth,
For so behave the monkeys – chimpanzees.
Of facts to back this up there is no dearth.
(Conclusions that most certainly won’t please
Those worshipers of Nature, birds, and bees.)
They prove that just like us these murderous apes
Will conquer, kill, and territory seize.
Our primate cousin also raids and rapes;
It’s not just us who have this fatal flaw,
For like us humans, chimpanzees wage war.

Chimps wage war

To the Breakers

Tags

Abortion on demand, Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

To the Breakers

The end of a long voyage is now reached.
Seaworthy she once was, and too, well-found.
But soon her rotted timbers will be breached.
For though wise sailors with their lead-lines sound
And cry: “Reverse or we will run aground!”
There is no slowing, it’s full steam ahead,
The course is set – they are disaster bound.
Her crew will pay a price for all the dead –
Each tiny body with its cruel crushed head
And splattered brain – each murdered little child –
A human being, ruined, wrecked, and red
With sacrificial blood – God’s gift defiled.
The ship ploughs on towards the breaking waves;
In its foul wake the slain sink to their graves.

Abortion up to 22 weeks to be decriminalized in Queensland

The (Very) Silent Majority

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, Islam - Religion of Peace, Islam - the majority are peaceful, Islam in Australia, Islamic infiltration, Islamization, jihad, Jihadists, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Terrorist lone wolves

The (Very) Silent Majority

They are the great majority, we’re told;
No need to worry – they are on our side.
They’re all contented sheep within the fold;
No wolf amongst them wears a woolly hide.
And all the men who’ve made such claims have lied,
And still about these peaceful lambs they lie.
By all, such allegations are denied.
(Although there’s evidence one can’t deny.)
So innocents who walk the streets will die,
And few amongst this flock will say a word.
Their shrouded shepherds they will not defy;
They will not bleat – no protest will be heard.
They tell us they are all opposed to hate;
And yet, this virtue, seldom demonstrate.

Doctor Death’s World Tour

Tags

Abortion, Abortion doctors, Abortion on demand, Australian poet, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Doctor Death’s World Tour

I hear each story – sometimes shed a tear;
But wield my weapons for the woman’s sake.
I make the little devils disappear.
They can’t fight back, so it’s a piece of cake.
It’s sad I know, but with the cash I make,
It’s on a worldwide cruise I soon will go.
Old Europe, and the Med, Geneva’s lake,
And India, the tropics where winds blow
So warm, and too, the land of ice and snow –
Siberia – the steppes so vast and wide.
I’ll see the deserts, and the great Nile flow
In Egypt – on a camel I will ride
To see the sphinx – I’ll climb the pyramids.
I need a break from daily killing kids.

Bill’s Boats

Tags

Australia stops illegal boat people, Australian Labor Party, Australian Liberal Party, Australian poet, Bill Shorten Labor Leader, Formal poetry, Illegal immigration, Manus Island, Nauru, Offshore processing of boat people, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Turning back the boats

Bill’s Boats

With Bill in charge the boats will soon be back.
Wrecks once again will sail the briny seas.
Of “refugees” there will not be a lack,
As Labor and the Greens rush to appease
The U.N. – they will fall upon their knees
And beg forgiveness for sins of the past:
The mercilessness of their enemies –
The Liberal scum who on a far isle cast
The people of the boats – soon at half-mast
They’ll fly the flag, and mourn all those returned
To their homelands – state: “They will be the last!
Let no more boats be sunk! Let none be burned!”
Flotillas gather on those distant shores.
The going price to smuggle people soars.

Under Labor illegal boat arrivals will resume

Hand Grenade Instructors

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, Hand grenade instructors, Hand grenades, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Hand Grenade Instructors

It’s not a job most people would desire;
The guys who do it always seem so tense.
They count each day until they can retire.
Their extra pay is little recompense
For teaching those without an ounce of sense,
And petrified with fear, just how to throw
Grenades – the strain I guess must be immense.
Some fool beside you with a bomb – you know
That he may drop the bloody thing and blow
You both to Hell: “Don’t panic – pull the pin.
You see those dummies lined up in a row?
Now throw!” – the trainee’s face twists in a grin.
The primed grenade drops as his body shakes;
And in a cold sweat the instructor wakes.

10 Grenade fails