Let There be Light!

Tags

Australian poet, Big Bang Theory, Creation of the Universe, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Singularity, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Let There be Light!

The singularity is now complete.
Contained — the building blocks of gas and rock.
The Master Builder rises from His seat
And sets to midnight its celestial clock.
But time’s timepiece will neither tick nor tock
Until the detonation — till the blast.
The Builder nods — the shackles, they unlock;
The force that held the seething mass is cast
Aside — no longer is the bomb held fast,
As now the point of no return is reached.
And so the future will be as the past,
As boundaries are broken, blasted, breached.
Exploding outward does the matter race,
Constructing rock and gas and time and space.

— D.N. O’Brien

Apart

Tags

Australian poet, Divided societies, Formal poetry, Left and Right, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Apart

Divided is the normal state of things.
Divided we have been right from the start.
Divided into those who’d fight for Kings,
And those whom with the Kings would wish to part.
Divided by the conscience and the heart.
Divided by the different types of thought.
That’s why, it seems, we’ll always stand apart.
That’s why some cowered while the others fought.
Once fighters’ values were the values taught,
But now the cowards’ values are writ bold
Upon the banners brandished by the bought,
And few fighters are left, and they grow old.
They’ll soon be gone, but some will rise to fight;
Their values will prevail — for they are right.

— D.N. O’Brien

Bankers for Wankers

Tags

Australian poet, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Westpac Paedophile Scandal

Bankers for Wankers

So paedophiles are buying porn, it seems,
From overseas, and paying through the banks.
So banks are now assembling their teams
To thwart the paedophiles — they’ll get no thanks.
The journalists and all the other wanks
Are busy stirring shit — they’ve not a clue
How any of this works — banks’ share price tanks,
While bankers are up to their necks in poo.
They hole-up in their broken banks and stew.
Meanwhile bank shareholders look on dismayed —
What in the world are they supposed to do?
They know the dividends that they’ll be paid
Will dive, and not a soul will give a shit.
They pray that boards, en masse, will up and quit.

— D.N. O’Brien

Westpac Paedophile Scandal

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

Impersonating an Egyptian

Tags

Australian poet, British Gypsies, British Justice, Capital Crimes in old England, Egyptians (Gypsies), Gypsies, Gypsy, Impersonating an Egyptian, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Travellers

Impersonating an Egyptian

“Impersonating an Egyptian is
The charge m’lord — a capital offence.
You’ll notice he has darkened up his phiz,
Wears earrings, gypsy clothes — it’s all pretence.
Found in his pocket was a bright sixpence
For which he can’t account — stolen I’d say.
It’s rumoured that he steals — makes perfect sense.
When he’s accused of this he answers: ‘Nay!’
(He clearly thinks confessing doesn’t pay).
He’s fake! It seems a tinker is his trade.
He looks Egyptian in most every way.
He travels in a caravan — he’s paid
For fixing pots and pans……could I be wrong….?”
“Of course not!” cries the judge, “Your case is strong!”

— D.N. O’Brien

{Impersonating an Egyptian (gypsy) could get you hanged in old England}

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

Carbon Con Men

Tags

Australian poet, Global Warming Scam, Man-made Climate Change scam, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Carbon Con Men

A gas called CO2, that is inert;
That plants breathe in to make the planet green;
A harmless clear trace gas that wouldn’t hurt
A fly, is now malevolent and mean.
(Though skeptics whisper: “It is sweet and clean”)
Invisible it is — its molecules,
No matter how one strains, just can’t be seen.
There is a theory, (it’s believed by fools)
That this rare gas a raging furnace fuels,
Which makes the planet warm to a degree;
But should it be reduced, the planet cools.
(A colder Earth a better Earth would be?)
This theory’s pushed by shysters with a flair
For making lots of moolah out of air.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Order of Things

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, Natural laws, Natural order, Order, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Wedgetail Eagle

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

All things are ordered — why then is this so?
All can be calculated, all comply
With laws of nature. All the things that grow
From out the earth and all that walk, and fly,
And swim, and too, the rocks, the clouds, the sky —
No thing escapes these fundamental laws.
Rock decomposes, living creatures die,
Clouds cloak the sky, and down the rain it pours,
According to the laws — the eagle soars
Upon wings of incredible design —
Each feather is a wonder without flaws.
Is order flowing from a source divine,
Or do these laws exist by accident?
By God or accident — they’re heaven-sent.

— D.N. O’Brien

Wedge Tailed Eagle (Aquila audax)

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

A National Disgrace

Tags

Australian poet, Balkanization, Division, Formal poetry, Internationalism, multiculturalism, Nationalism, No borders policy, Open borders policy, poem, poetry, refugees, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Tribalism

A National Disgrace

Nations? Such a concept is outdated!
All borders on all maps must be erased.
Counter-views will not be tolerated.
No fences will be built, walls won’t be raised.
By multitudes our kindness will be praised —
By billions who are striving to be free
To flood our richer lands — they’ll be amazed
By all the wealth and beauty they will see.
From all their worn-out wastelands they will flee.
On our accumulated fat they’ll feed.
And with them they’ll bring war and anarchy.
Old hatreds will be nurtured, bloom, and breed.
There’ll be no nations — tribal ways again
Will triumph and bring misery to men.

— D.N. O’Brien