A Discarded Inauguration Day Sonnet

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Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Formal poetry, Inauguration Day Poem, Joe Biden inauguration, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝐀 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭

In praise of Joe this poem I have writ.
But I’ll not mention any of his flaws —
His hair-sniffing, his groping, all that shit;
His keen support for all those foreign wars.
I love him, for he’s opened many doors
For me, a budding poet laureate.
Oh I know old Joe farts — at times he snores;
But he’ll be dead before long — you can bet
Your house on that. Still, let us not regret
Selecting this frail, barely conscious guy
To lead our fast decaying nation — let
Him show the way as all the old ways die.

I’ll start again and throw this in the bin.
I’ll write some whiny waffle — that should win!

— D.N. O’Brien

Certa Cito

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121 Signal Squadron, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Formal poetry, Gough Whitlam, poem, poetry, Royal Australian Signal Corps, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝑪𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂 𝑪𝒊𝒕𝒐

The plan is hatched by foolish faceless men.
The squadron’s fate by treachery is sealed.
The method and the why, the where, the when,
Is to the gathered malcontents revealed.
All that the patriotic have concealed
Will be exposed just when the time is right;
The squadron will be banished from the field —
Its troops will be destroyed without a fight —
All trace of it will fade into the night,
And none will mourn its swift and sure demise;
And on its fate no one will shine a light.
But those who filled its ranks — its ears and eyes,
Who served and sweated on that Asian Hill,
They know how easily mere words can kill.

— D.N. O’Brien

Taken

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Australian traditional poetry, poem, poetry

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧

Oh pretty girl, now you grow old,
As does the boy who caught your eye.
But you were taken — bound with gold,
And who would break the seal? Not I.

— D.N. O’Brien

Domino Theory

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Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Belt and Road, Chinese aggression, Chinese expansionism, Chinese infiltration, Chinese spying, Domino Theory, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Vietnam War

Domino Theory

The “Domino Theory”? — Man, that’s so old hat!
We Chinese know many ways to skin a cat.
No need to send armies — make deals! — we can buy
Left wing politicians in blink of an eye!
In Aussie, a target, we have Labor guys
On payroll — have also an army of spies!
We lease port of Darwin — these Aussies so dumb!
We gain naval access for miserly sum.
Take over Australia? It not very hard.
If they try to stop us we play racist card!
We’ll liberate shortly the folk in Hong Kong;
To Mao they’ll be bowing before very long!
And in South East Asia no need to wage war;
Our sneaky takeover those bozos ignore.
For we have a plan that we call “Belt and Road”.
(Means world domination in our secret code).
Yes “Domino Theory” is rubbish you dunce!
Now dominoes, they all fall over at once!

— D.N. O’Brien

Stage Four — the Paid Piper

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Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Dan Andrews Premier of Victoria, Formal poetry, Kim Jong-un, North Korea, Paying the piper, poem, poetry, Stage four Corona Virus Lock-down, State of Disaster declared in Victoria, Triolet

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 — 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫

Victoria is moving to stage four.
(Dictator Dan’s a fan of Kim Jong-un).
They’re shutting all the gates and every door —
Victoria is moving to stage four.
The piper stands and plays the tune: “It’s war!”
(Dan pays the piper, so he calls the tune).
Victoria is moving to stage four.
(Dictator Dan’s a fan of Kim Jong-un).

— D.N. O’Brien

Deicide

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Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Übermensch, Beyond Good and Evil, Deicide, Frederick Nietzsche, God is Dead, Nihilism, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, The Gay Science, the Superman, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

There isn’t enough water to wash clean
The evidence of murder — all the blood.
The body, once in white, stripped and obscene;
This One, this fashioner of fire and flood,
Who moulded us from cold primeval mud;
We’ve pierced His heart with science’s shining blade —
No longer will we hear its mighty thud.
The steady beat of ages soon will fade
As in his grave the slain Creator’s laid.
And with what laws will we His laws replace?
And by whom will morality be made?
Who will bestow upon the people grace?
You say, within, these virtues must be found;
But Supermen are thin upon the ground.

— D.N. O’Brien

Pat

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Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Shell shock, World War 2

Pat

To join his brothers he was keen.
In forty two at just nineteen,
With both he sallied of to war.
Though never under fire before,
Courage he showed, no lack of will,
But no rejoicing at the kill.
But then there rolled a hand grenade,
And with his life Pat almost paid.
Upon a stretcher he was placed.
With morphine were his veins then laced.
A brother’s hand upon each knee,
Pat asked: “What will become of me?”
“You’ve scored a homer”, they replied;
But twice under the knife he died;
For fragments lay close to his heart —
Cold iron with which he’d never part.
Evacuated back to home,
Not buried under foreign loam,
He thought now of the future peace
When murderous war would wane and cease.
So back to health young Pat was nursed,
For by good fortune he was cursed.
Brought back to life when all but dead —
“You’re fit to fight again.” they said.
Too much to ask of one so young,
Scarred by the blast and by the gun;
And in the morning he had fled.
A note his elder brother read:
“I’m sorry Noel, I’ve done my best,
I’ll wait this war out in the west.”
A tear ran down a weathered cheek;
Noel knew that Pat was far from weak,
So three words with a steady hand
He wrote: “Brother, I understand.”
The two boys fought three more campaigns;
Were members of the few remains.
They both returned in forty five,
And thus did all three boys survive.
Then Pat came back to pay his dues,
And to the state his honour lose;
But all three brothers then embraced,
For each had death in battle faced.
But Pat, the guilt bore all his life —
Cared for his mother, took no wife,
Trod the straight path, and bless his soul,
Revered his brothers, Ron and Noel,
Who kept his secret — his great shame —
They knew that he was not to blame.
And when he lay on his death bed,
A doctor turned to me and said:
“Those scars upon your uncle’s chest —
They’re battle scars, we all have guessed.”
“A hand grenade”, I then replied,
“It’s not the first time he has died.”

— D.N. O’Brien

Choke

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Australian 7th Division AIF, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Formal poetry, Kokoda Trail, New Guinea, Owen Stanley Campaign, poem, poetry

(I was just a kid when I met this man in the very early sixties. He and a mate had called into our farm to see my father — dad had been their platoon sergeant during the Owen Stanley Campaign (Kokoda Trail). Dad told us the story later or at least started to tell us before not being able to continue. He (the ex-soldier) had been in the prone position firing at the Japanese when a bullet had hit him between the eyes near the nose. Because of the position of his head the bullet had passed through his mouth and voice box and out the back of his neck narrowly missing his spinal column. The war was over for him but he made a good recovery apart from a pronounced speech difficulty. )

Choke

I met a man who should have been quite dead.
I listened hard to hear the words he said.
He had a scar between his pale blue eyes,
And one upon his neck, of greater size.

He was my father’s friend, he said: “G’day”;
But in a strange and strangled muffled way.
I saw a tear run down my father’s cheek;
It was some time before my dad could speak.

— D.N. O’Brien

(Flag raising ceremony after the capture of Kokoda November 1942. My father, Sgt Allen Noel O’Brien is amongst these men.)

𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

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Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Dead stars, Distant stars, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Speed of light, Starlight

𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

I see the night sky from my chair,
And there’s a star that isn’t there.
It sent its light out into space,
And now it shines upon my face.

But could I travel oh so far;
So close that I could touch that star,
Then I would know the star had lied —
For years and years ago, it died.

— D.N. O’Brien

Deathly Detachment

Tags

7th Division 2nd AIF, Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Formal poetry, New Guinea Campaigns, Owen Stanley Campaign, poem, poetry, World War 2

Deathly Detachment

You doubt this tale told to me long ago?
But wait! I heard it from their very lips.
Cruel circumstance may bring the noble low;
It’s bloody war sometimes the balance tips.

Was rendered then without embellishment;
No hint of sentiment — matter of fact.
No judgement; none had reason to repent;
And words once said, they never would retract.

I write it here as best I can recall.
Three men agreed it was at Butcher’s Flat.
They drove them up against a lethal wall
Of spitting guns, they died, and that was that.

The jungle floor a stinking sea of mud.
Like islands were the bodies of the foe.
The biting tropic sun soon dried the blood.
And where the victors sat no one would know.

Detachment was the normal state of mind;
Exhaustion of the body and the brain.
So seated, on a Spartan meal they dined —
Arose, and left the shambles to the slain.

— D.N. O’Brien