Slavish

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Australian poet, cause and effect, epigram, Friedrich Nietzsche, Master Slave Morality, poem, poetry

I am a slave and so I have a slave morality.
You have a slave morality and so you are a slave.

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Crunch!

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Australian poet, Dark matter, Heat Death of the Universe, poem, poetry, Singularity, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, The Big Crunch

So comes the end – expansion ceases now;
All heat has died; all matter is stone cold.
It’s reached as far as its laws will allow;
Now gravity, attractive force, takes hold.
For what seemed an eternity it rolled
Forever outward – now it is reversed.
For all things must return, when they are old,
To where they once began – so all are cursed.
From just a speck it into being burst;
Now to that point its body must return.
To that elusive place before the first
Fraction of time and space, now it must turn
And race – all matter, stuff of stars, to there
Must hurtle – every atom, to nowhere.

Shadow Banned

Tags

Australian poet, Facebook shadow banning, poem, poetry, Social media censorship, Social media shadow banning

Hear this, my friends in Facebook-land:
At Facebook I’ve been shadow banned!
My friends say: “Facebook we have scanned –
Where have you gone?” – I’m shadow banned!
My content counted, and my stand!
It’s groovy to be shadow banned!
Down at the beach in sparkling sand
I wrote it large: “I’m shadow banned!”
Oh what a day! It’s great, it’s grand!
At last! At last! – I’m shadow banned!
Perhaps some tiny flames I’ve fanned.
Could that be why I’m shadow banned?
But then I can’t quite understand:
I’m quite obscure, yet shadow banned?
By some computer code – so planned;
By algorithm, shadow banned.
So folks, give Zuckerberg a hand,
Plus all his pals! I’m shadow banned!

Weight Fluidity

Tags

Australian poet, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Postmodern fluidity

My doctor says: “You must lose weight!
You soon will be dead at this rate!”
“Oh sure have your say –
I’ll decide what I weigh!
I’m weightless doc, and I feel great!”

Bang!

Tags

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

It starts – the birth of matter, time and space,
As silently, expanding gases roar.
Towards a far infinity they race.
From just a speck, a tiny point, they pour
White hot – the cosmic building blocks, the raw
Materials that swirl and then condense
To blazing suns and planets. And from core
To crust, each body, tiny or immense,
Each boiling ball of rock or gas so dense –
All came, each one, from just a single place;
From there they came, or nowhere, in a sense;
Yet now these wonders would the Heavens grace.
The Universe was made in such a way,
And too, its laws – and these it must obey.

Baby Bumps

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Australian poet, baby bumps, Maternity clothes, poem, poetry

Remember maternity frocks?
I wish they would make a comeback.
On tight-fitting garments, a pox!
Bring back the all-covering sack.

Now women with buns in the oven,
Exhibit their bellies distended,
To show off the fruit of their lovin’.
I’m by this display much offended.

If I wish to see a beached whale,
Then down to the sea I will go.
An inflated pregnant female?
I’d rather that bump didn’t show.

The Slaves

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Beyond Good and Evil, Communism, Envy, Friedrich Nietzsche, Master Slave Morality, poem, poetry, Radical socialism, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Will to Power

A wise man wrote that men are mostly slaves
Who envy all who have, while they have not.
Until the ones who have, rest in their graves,
The uber-slaves within the herds will plot.
The slaves don’t wish to rise – it is their lot
To be ignoble, but they must bring low
The master, and his works – his honour blot.
They’d strike this stronger man a mortal blow;
A thrust to pierce his body from below.
The higher man on their bowed heads would bleed,
And so his wealth unto the slaves would flow;
For what he calls his wealth, the slaves call greed.
Afflicted by their slave morality,
They seek no pathway to nobility.

About “A” & “B”

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Australian poet, Formal poetry, modernist poetry, poem, poetry, postmodern poetry, satire, vers libre

Without a complaint and without a delay
They’ve published my postmodern poem called “A”.
I got the great news from the postman today –
They’re simply adoring my poem called “A”.
It’s daring, progressive, insightful they say;
A poetry gem is my masterpiece “A”.
A singular capital letter essay;
You’ll love it to pieces – to use a cliché.
They say for more poems they’re willing to pay,
So since I’ve composed this magnificent “A”,
I’ll harness my brainpower and try hard and see
If I can compose a new classic called “B”.

I promised to write a new poem called “B”;
It turned out quite perfect, I hope you’ll agree.
It’s much like my “A” for it’s just one removed;
Its shape is more rounded so somewhat improved,
And clearly recited, read softly or sung,
However you say it, it rolls off the tongue.
Of course formal poets will pick it to pieces –
Say such innovation, the art’s worth decreases,
But I take no notice of dinosaur turds;
They’re stuck in the past – they are still writing words.
Post modernists surely will drown it in praise;
It sums up vers libre in so many ways.
They’ll say that this poem will add to my fame,
And 24 more will establish my name.

Hill 1054

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2/25th Battalion AIF, Australian 7th Division AIF, Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Mazraat Ech Chouf, poem, poetry, Syrian Campaign ww2

“Who? V.C. Williams? – Yes, I knew the bloke.”
The old man lit his pipe – savoured the smoke.
He paused a moment, seemed quite deep in thought,
And then he spoke: “It was the French we fought –
The Vichy French – in Syria, a land
Much like our own, out west – dust, rock, and sand.
So V.C. Williams used to say, you know.
He’d say: “This bloody country wouldn’t grow
Much more than saltbush.” – like from where he came.
Yes, V.C. Williams thought it much the same.
In ’41 it was – eighth of July.
It seems like yesterday – how the years fly.
He was beside me in that final fight.
We charged with bayonets fixed and took the height.
He’d joined, he said, to get a taste of war.
We buried him on hill ten fifty four.”

{In memory of Pte. V.C. Williams, C Company 2/25th Battalion 7th Division A.I.F. – Killed in Action, Hill 1054 Syria 8th July 1941 and of Pte. A. N. O’Brien of the same company, Wounded in Action the same day, and in memory of the 26 other members of the unit killed or wounded during the taking of Hill 1054. This was the last action against the Vichy French in Syria – they surrendered 3 days later. The Australians had suffered 1,500 killed and wounded, the French over 6,000}

Gravy Train

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Australian poet, Climate change gravy train, Gravy train, poem, poetry

I see – you are wanting to buy
A ticket for this gravy train.
The cost is (you’ll soon find out why)
Our total control of your brain.