Suffer the Little Children

Tags

Australian Jihadists, Australian poet, Children of Islamist terrorists, Formal poetry, ISIS, Islamic infiltration, Islamic State, Islamization, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, Nieveta, poem, poetry

𝐒𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧

What chance that these little Jihadies,
(The offspring of murderous baddies)
Now helpless and small,
No danger at all,
Grow up to be just like their daddies.

— D.N. O’Brien

Terrorist’s kids to come home

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Golf

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, golf, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐟

I headed off to golf at early morn.
Was still quite dark when I got to the tee.
I hit my first tee shot at crack of dawn.
A mighty strike, it flew left, hit a tree.
I knew it had, for though I couldn’t see
A bloody thing, I heard that woody sound,
And then a white projectile whizzed by me.
It missed, for I’d already gone to ground,
Anticipating just such a rebound.
But then a crash! — The sound of breaking glass!
(So far, I thought, this is a lousy round.)
I heard some shouting — better get my ass
Away from there — I slunk back to the car.
With pencil, marked my card — first hole —a par.

— D.N. O’Brien

Little Britain

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, Great Britain, poem, poetry, Rise and Fall, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, The British Empire

Little Britain

Oh Britain, what a sad pathetic mess!
To go from what you were to what you are —
The greatest empire ever seen, no less,
Now but this isle. What once had stretched so far
And wide, the sun, that everlasting star,
Upon your broad dominions never set.
Now your empire is gone; yet remnants mar
Your green unhappy land. A fool would bet
Upon your resurrection. Still you let
Into your fold, the wolves, all dressed as sheep;
Will you not learn? It’s growing late — and yet,
Can you be woken from your deadly sleep?
It’s true that kingdoms rise and then they fall;
But how could such a great one shrink so small?

— D.N. O’Brien

The Gore Effect

Tags

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

The Swordsmith

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Swordsmith

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡

From the Maker’s furnace is wrought each life,
When are portions promised of joy and strife,
And these both, in measure, for life one pays,
And the price is fate, and it cuts both ways.

And how blows are borne, will in each reveal,
Whether flawed with weakness, or strong like steel.
Knows the smith, when forging a two-edged sword,
How it holds each edge, is its temper scored.

— D.N. O’Brien

P.T.S.D.

Tags

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

Tags

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}

The Good Fight

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, Labor lose in Australian election 2019, LNP win Australian Federal election 2019, poem, poetry, Scott Morrison Prime Minister of Australia, Triolet

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

The good fight we have fought, and we have won!
The Reds are bloodied and their chief has fled!
Our celebrations have barely begun!
The good fight we have fought, and we have won!
We’ll drink until the rising of the sun;
For any doubts we’d win we’ve put to bed!
The good fight we have fought, and we have won!
The Reds are bloodied and their chief has fled!

— D.N. O’Brien

Vale Bob Hawke

Tags

Australian Labor Party, Australian poet, Bob Hawke dies, Bob Hawke former Prime Minister, Formal poetry, Malcolm Fraser, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Vale Bob Hawke

Vale Bob Hawke

I voted for you Bob, the only time
I’ve voted for your party, I admit.
I thought it, way back then, a bloody crime
To vote for Fraser — what a pompous twit!
I liked what you stood for and yes, your wit.
You brought the unions into line; you tried
With some success the warring sides to knit —
You tried for peace. Although the gap was wide
You pulled it off. Oh yes, you turned the tide,
I’ll give you that. You made mistakes it’s true,
And I recall that once or twice you cried.
Now a pretender and his motley crew
Have risen up — but Bob they’re not the same;
To say they are — that just insults your name.

— D.N. O’Brien

Bob Hawke Dies

A Pack of Pesky Poets

Tags

Australian convicts, Australian Federal Election 2019, Australian Greens, Australian poet, Bill Shorten Labor Leader, Formal poetry, Gulag, King brown snake, Microbus, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Transportation

𝐀 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐬

If Labor and the Greens happen to win,
What happens to the poets of the right?
Will Bill just take our punches on the chin?
More likely, we will be removed from sight.
To some place where our works won’t see the light —
A gulag in the gum trees way out west,
Where hot sun sears, flies swarm, and king browns bite.
Just tucked away, away from all the rest,
Out where the dingos howl and eagles nest.
We’ll be transported, like in days of old.
They’ll tell the people it is for the best,
For we write evil words. (Or so they’re told.)
They’ll need to transport every one of us;
I estimate they’ll need a microbus.

— D.N. O’Brien.