’69

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Drought in Queensland, Formal poetry, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Queensland dairy farms, sonnet, Vietnam War

‘69

The rains have come and washed away the dust.
The drought of ’68 is in the past.
The old man talks of selling-up at last —
Another drought like that and we’ll go bust.
Our worn-out ploughs are little more than rust.
The overdraft is climbing way too fast.
With falling prices for our milk forecast,
There’s little chance that we will earn a crust.

Dan’s back from Vietnam — he nearly died;
Was burning up — the Yanks packed him in ice.
War kills in different ways — the fever tried,
But some are not meant for the sacrifice.
He knows my thoughts, and so takes me aside —
Gives me his army boots — and his advice.

— D.N. O’Brien

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The Bird Band

Tags

Australian birds, Australian bush poetry, Australian bush poets, australian formal poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, bird band, Formal poetry, poem, poetry

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐝

One evening walking through the scrub,
(A shortcut home from Riley’s pub.)
Under the glow of a full moon,
I heard a brisk and lively tune.

I looked around, and there I saw
Upon that moonlit forest floor,
A pumpin’ out a chorus grand,
A finely feathered all bird band.

And all around on stumps and logs
Sat kangaroos and native dogs,
And emus swaying to the beat
Jumped up and down and stamped their feet.

Echidnas danced Irish quadrilles
While skillfully avoiding quills.
Goannas flicked in time their tongues,
While in the band with bursting lungs

Black glossy red-tailed cockatoos
In harmony sang out the blues.
On ukuleles magpies strummed.
A flock of honey-eaters hummed.

With twelve apostles on the drums,
The beat it echoed from the gums,
While lyre birds serenely played.
(They’re known for being rather staid).

A bell bird rang his built in chime.
A whip bird cracked his whip in time.
A kookaburra, with a smile,
On his guitar played finger-style.

I stayed a while, then home to bed
With music coursing through my head.
I woke and wondered had I dreamed.
Outside my window, moonlight beamed,

And all was quiet and nothing stirred.
I listened hard but nothing heard.
No, not a noise of fur or fowl,
Except — the hooting of an owl.

— D.N. O’Brien

Suicide is Painless (for some)

Tags

Australian poet, Jeffrey Epstein suicide, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

Suicide is Painless (for some)

I doubt that the guy was in pain.
Though nasty, it seems he was sane.
But he knew lots of dirt —
Powerful creeps he could hurt.
Sure — Epstein by Epstein was slain.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Fem — Trans Wars

Tags

Australian poet, Feminists, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Transsexuals

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐦 – 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐬

The crazies are bashing each other;
Each feminine dad and butch mother.
It’s rather ironic
In these days demonic —
Your sister may well be your brother;

Your mother may well be your Pa,
And Pappy may be old Grandma.
The feminists even
Say Trans are deceivin’;
It’s all gone a little too far.

— D.N. O’Brien

B Grade Only

Tags

Alpha males, Australian poet, Beta males, discrimination, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

B Grade Only

We’re taking no real men – here’s why:
We value the sensitive guy,
Who won’t look or touch.
We thank you so much,
But no alpha males need apply.

— D.N. O’Brien

CeCe Senor

Tags

Australian poet, CeCe Telfer, Craig Telfer, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

𝐂𝐞𝐂𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐫

At first I thought they were just jokin’,
But female athletes are heartbroken.
They’re cryin’, not grinnin’ —
If she keeps on winnin’,
Their records are sure to be broken.

— D.N. O’Brien

CeCe wins

Climbing Mount Insanity

Tags

Australian poet, Decline of the West, Formal poetry, Insane Australian policies, poem, poetry, Political Correctness, Radical socialism, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Western self-destruction

Climbing Mount Insanity

Australia struggles on towards the peak.
A peak that with each minute seems to grow
Still higher, ever higher, as the weak
Cheer on the mountaineer, from down below.
Australia scrambles; never does it slow
Its maniacal climb towards the height;
While all that once was high is brought down low,
And all that once was wrong now must be right.
Australia strives so all may see the light
Shine down on them from high insanity,
But for an instant, before endless night
Descends upon their foolish vanity.
And should one day it scale that mountain tall,
Then on its long descent — then it will fall.

— D.N. O’Brien

The rise and rise of the insane left

The Sonneteer!

Tags

Australian poet, poem, poetry, sonnet, sonneteer, Spenserian sonnet

Trigger Warning!

{I have, with some trepidation, published the following rather rude and insensitive sonnet due to the persistent urging of the author — an unfortunate and somewhat misguided acquaintance who refers to himself as “The Sonneteer”. This anti-social but arguably talented individual has been banned from all online platforms and I realize that I am taking a risk here in publishing his work, but feel it is my duty as a passionate supporter of free speech to give him a voice. I must, however, state very clearly that I do not necessarily condone the graphic language used nor the sentiments expressed by “The Sonneteer” and have warned him that while I wish to support him, the possibility of my posting any of his works (sonnets no doubt) in future will require a reasonable toning down of such profanity.}

The Sonneteer!

Come, sing high praises to the sonneteer!
And damn to Hades all those worn-out crocks —
Those fiends who’d mock him, and his good name smear.
Upon their houses and their heads a pox!
On them, from high, descend a rain of rocks!
And let them burn in Hell for wicked words!
The sonneteer knows well the knave who knocks
His works — he knows the smell of stinking turds
Of cawing crows and vultures — bitter birds
Who feast on carrion and call it art.
The sonneteer, his loins with courage girds,
And in the faces of such fools does fart!
He voids the moist miasma of his bowels
Unto the lungs of such fine-feathered fowls.

© The Sonneteer, 2019

Angling Adder

Tags

Australian poet, Fishing snake, poem, poetry

𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐫

I said to the snake: ”Put it down!”
The snake hissed: “Would you see it drown?”
Replied I: “Reptilian beast —
You’re saving it — but for your feast.”

— D.N. O’Brien

Form

Tags

Australian poet, Building construction, Buildings, Formal poetry, Plumb and level, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Form

I’ve been a builder — buildings I have built
Weren’t crooked — they obeyed the timeless laws.
Foundations poured on rock, not sand or silt,
And concrete piers with steel rods at their cores,
That took the wooden joists that bore the floors.
And walls that were quite smooth and true and straight.
Then trusses, geometric, free of flaws,
With bottom chords fixed to the high top plate —
They’d shoulder with their strength the tiled roof’s weight.
All primed and painted — pleasing to the eye,
There stood the finished form. It’s fair to state,
(I doubt that any could in truth deny.)
A structure, if it is to make the grade,
Must be both plumb and level — and well made.

— D.N. O’Brien