Sarah Island

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Convicts in Australia, Macquarie cat, Macquarie Harbour, Penal settlements, poem, poetry, Sarah Island Tasmania, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Tasmania, Transportation of convicts, Transportation to Australia, Van Diemen's Land

Sarah Island

There are few signs that once this lonely isle
Was home to men of Empire and their slaves.
Just scattered bricks, worked stone, and shards of tile,
Remind us of when England ruled the waves.
But no doubt close at hand forgotten graves
Hold bones of some of those who trod this ground —
The convicts of The Crown, and other knaves,
Who for Macquarie Harbour once were bound;
And where they’d surely hear the dreaded sound
Of the “Macquarie Cat” — that fiendish whip.
Those men who died in chains and those who drowned,
Were payments made for every well-built ship.
“Hell’s Gates” the convicts called the harbour’s mouth —
Beyond it lay the Hades of the South.

— D.N.O’Brien

Sarah Island

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The Gore Effect

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Al Gore, Al Gore coming to Queensland, Anthropogenic Climate Change scam, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Formal poetry, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭

It seems that wherever Gore goes,
The forecast is for record lows.
Wherever he’s chosen
To go — it is frozen!
In Queensland where it never snows,

It’s snowing! Oh well done Al Gore!
We’ve never seen this stuff before!
Your amazing powers
Have brought snowy showers.
(Now go home, you climate change bore.)

— D.N. O’Brien

P.T.S.D.

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Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bomb Happy, Combat fatigue, Formal poetry, Italian sonnet, mental illness, Mental illness industry, P.T.S.D., Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, Quacks, Self reliance

P.T.S.D.

What noble thing this soldier boy has done.
He’s served his time so bravely at the front.
Now he’s light-hearted – it was his last stunt
He laughs, as he lays down his faithful gun.
It was he says, this patriotic son,
Much like those good old days when he would hunt,
Except the prey were armed. He’d borne the brunt
Of their attacks, and luckily he’d won.

His unseen wounds will gradually heal
If left alone: the visions of the dead,
The nightmares when he wakes alone in fright;
They too will fade with time. But some would steal
His patience, wish to meddle with his head
For gain – must he a friendly foe now fight?

— D.N. O’Brien

Dark Beauty

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Agelessness, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Dark Beauty, Formal poetry, Lasting beauty, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, The Evening Star, Venus

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲

{For Helen}

Dark Beauty, how is it you never change?
Should not your beauty fade as years go by?
Whilst I grow old, I find it somewhat strange
That time’s accursed attrition you defy.
But still of course your beauty you deny —
What this admirer spies you do not see.
But be assured, his eyes they never lie,
And surely would discerning eyes agree.
It’s true, and yet a mystery to me —
A very pleasant one; how is it so,
That loveliness so lasts — how can it be?
You cannot tell me, for you do not know.
Perhaps, Dark Beauty, that is why you are
As everlasting as the evening star.

— D.N. O’Brien

{Photo — D.N. O’Brien}

Bill’s Bandits

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Australian Federal Election 2019, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Franking Credit theft by Labor, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, Opposition leader Bill Shorten, poem, poetry

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥’𝐬 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬

No one wants to be poor when they’re old,
But these thieves have their eyes on your gold.
You may not have a lot,
But you’d best vote for Scott,
If your wish is to keep what you hold.

— D.N. O’Brien

Underpowered

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Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, satire

Underpowered

My satire sir, I’ll not explain,
No matter how much you complain.
The problem’s not mine
But is of your design –
You use less than half of your brain.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Other’s Ways

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Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Revisionist Historians, Spenserian sonnet, The Other

The Other’s Ways

It’s clear to us that human nature’s changed;
No longer need we fear The Other’s ways.
What came before must now be rearranged
Until it all conforms — our view obeys.
And those few who will not believe — the nays,
They must in institutions be confined,
Until such time as they have joined the yeas —
Until each sick reactionary mind
Agrees with the new system we’ve designed.
The Other’s ways must be approved by all,
And to The Other’s faults all must be blind,
While our old ways must be allowed to fall.
So from The Other we will learn what’s true,
And so reject the teachings of a Jew.

— D.N. O’Brien

Dams

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Anti-dam fanatics, Australian bush poetry, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, dams, Green fanatics, irrigation, poem, poetry

The seed that’s planted in the endless rows,
With irrigation sprouts, emerges, grows.
But take away the sprays that make the rain,
And witness then, the graveyard of the grain,
As each seed shrinks and withers where it lies,
As in its blasted shell the life force dies —
A desolation sown thick with the dead,
Where could have been a field of golden bread.

To plant into the ground when parched and dry —
To throw the dice, the seed of wheat, of rye,
Upon the dust — to gamble with the gods;
Or else to irrigate the tumbled sods
And watch the seedlings germinate and thrive,
So those who would destroy the dams — survive.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Isle

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Fanaticism, Formal poetry, Insane States, poem, poetry

The Isle

There is an isle of sanity
Surrounded by an insane sea;
And on its wicked wind-whipped waves
There sail the ships of Satan’s slaves.

The slaves look to the island’s shore
And make their plans for holy war.
The sane upon the isle they fear,
Yet to destruction still they’ll steer.

For they believe the isle does mar
Their chosen hell – Its sacred star,
Its symbol, they will rend and smash;
They’ll burn the hated isle to ash.

So many times they’ve tried and failed,
But sanity each time prevailed.
But mad men driven by mad dreams
Will not abandon their mad schemes.

And though it’s plain that they will fail,
Their ships they’ll man — the isle assail,
With faces masked, black flags unfurled —
The navy of the underworld.

— D.N. O’Brien

Dry Country

Tags

Australian bush poetry, Australian deserts, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bradfield Scheme, Bush Poetry, Flood, Formal poetry, Paroo River, poem, poetry, River diversion schemes in Australia

Like inland seas that stretch to far horizons,
The swirling waters soak the sodden plains.
And brown and foaming flow the streams flood-swollen,
Swelled high and wide by teeming monsoon rains.

The arid deserts bake in summer heat waves,
While ancient stream beds dream of former days.
The deluge on the coast flows out to oceans,
As sense and “progress” go their separate ways.

— D.N. O’Brien

{Image of the Paroo River by Peter Woodard via Wikipedia}