Simoeisios

Tags

Aias, Ajax, Australian poet, Homer, Italian sonnet, Mount Ida, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Simoeis River, Simoeisios, sonnet, Telamonian Aias, The Iliad, The Trojan Plain, The Trojan War, Troy

𝙎𝙞𝙢𝙤𝙚𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙨

You fell just as a smooth-barked poplar would.
The spear from Ajax struck you in the chest.
Anthemion’s brave son — he loved you best,
As did your mother. On that field you stood,
A young man, yet unmarried, strong and good;
In armour brightly shining you were dressed.
But no cuirass would shield your noble breast,
For from the arm of Ajax nothing could.

Born by the river that bequeathed your name;
Upon a water meadow you were laid.
Then raised to be your parent’s pride and joy,
Though never would their kindness be repaid.
In bloom of youth, up to the front you came,
To fall and rot upon the plain of Troy.

— D.N. O’Brien

Jahannam

Tags

Australian poet, Hell, islam, Islamic hell, Italian sonnet, Jahannam, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, sonnet

Jahannam

The hell of Islam — seven levels deep.
To one of these all nonbelievers go.
All those who won’t submit descend below,
To where their tortured wraiths will never sleep.
The hypocrites at level seven creep;
They are the very lowest of the low.
At level four those who choose not to know
Of Allah and his messenger, they weep.

Two levels hold the Christians and the Jews:
So near the bottom, down at level five,
Those of the prophet Moses find their fate.
At level six, perhaps on red-hot pews,
Sit Christians who no longer are alive.
(Construction work goes on at level eight).

— 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

A Special Place in Hell

Tags

Ancient Greek Mythology, Australian poet, Elysian Fields, Elysium, Hades, Hell, Italian sonnet, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, sonnet

A Special Place in Hell

Each day is perfect, and each night divine.
Sometimes a misty shower comes on the breeze.
No storms with thunderbolts — calm are the seas.
Upon a hillside graze contented kine.
My emptied bottle soon refills with wine.
My dog, I’ve noticed, is devoid of fleas.
My hay-fever has gone, I never sneeze.
It’s always springtime. On rich food I dine,
And never exercise, but am I fat?
No I’m as fit as any man could be!
And what about the whisky, beer, and rum?
It’s all too neat, too perfect — Is it that
There’s something seriously wrong with me?
Is there a doctor in Elysium?

— D.N. O’Brien

Reversal

Tags

Australian poet, Civilizational decline in the West, Historical revisionism, Italian sonnet, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Postmodernism, Revisionism, Socialism, sonnet

Reversal

The time has come to watch the old ways fall,
As from the bottom rises what once fell –
What has decayed and has decay’s sweet smell.
What once loomed large will shrink until it’s small,
And lowest things will rise to be the tall.
And thick will float the flotsam on the swell,
As downward sink the sainted souls to Hell.
The oldest lies will be believed by all.
Past heroes will be vilest villains now.
All once thought right will surely now be wrong.
The noble and their courage men will curse,
As those once brave down to the cowards bow.
Admired will be the weak – reviled the strong,
And what was true will be quite the reverse.

– D.N. O’Brien

𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝕰𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖉

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, England, Formal poetry, Islamization, Italian sonnet, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Richard II, sonnet, This England, William Shakespeare

𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝕰𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖉

This island that once ruled the seven seas.
This misty Eden with her wide-spanned moat.
This land of which the greatest poet wrote
The finest verses – she is on her knees.
The quislings genuflect, the Lords appease.
The foe they flatter, as they seek his vote.
Gone are the Princes and the Knights of note,
And to the gates the traitors have the keys.

Is there a cure for this infected Isle?
Is there a remedy? Unhappy men
Know but too well what is the fate of fools
Who turn a blind eye to the villain’s guile.
The gem’s within his grasp – no poet’s pen
Can help defend a house where weakness rules.

The Melian Dialogue

Tags

Ancient Greece, Athenian Empire, Athens, Delian League, Greece, Italian sonnet, Melos, Peloponnesian League, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Siege of Melos, sonnet, Sparta, Spartan, Spenserian sonnet, The Cyclades, The Melian Debate, The Melian Dialogue, The Peloponnese, The Peloponnesian War, Thucydides

The Melian Dialogue

Now Melians, consider what we ask:
Swear loyalty to us and none shall die.
For what’s transpired we’ll not take you to task;
But now surrender, lest our arrows fly.
Athenians – surrender? – tell us why?
Our city, in this war it takes no side,
Though it is true to Sparta we’ve a tie.
But you, so mighty – can it be denied
That Melos could not swell the Spartan tide?
We won’t accept your claimed neutrality,
For Spartan ships, your harbour they have plied.
We’ll have no truck with weak morality –
To conquer you is right; it would be wrong
To spare you – Athens must be seen as strong!

Would you alarm the other neutral states?
Will they not think it’s Athens they must fear?
Our friends and allies know we hold them dear.
Not one, we think, disloyalty contemplates;
To Sparta they will not open their gates.
But island states that are to Sparta near,
Towards which may those Spartan triremes steer;
Their destinies we’ll not leave to the Fates.
It would be shameful were we not to fight!
Oh no, not shameful – you would surely lose.
We are the stronger – you would all be slain.
But we believe there is a chance despite
Your strength, and so we feel that we must choose
To stand and fight – perhaps a victory gain!

The Spartans too will come to our defence.
Self-interested Spartans fight to win
A victory for you? – they have more sense!
They will, we think, for Spartans are our kin.
With them we share our ways – our discipline.
And too, the gods are on our side – we’ll fight!
The Spartans would not spread their ships so thin.
Our navy would put such a force to flight.
The gods will watch as weakness yields to might.
So one last time we ask you – make your choice.
Think of your people – make the one that’s right.
We men of Melos answer with one voice:
Return to Athens, tell them we’ll not yield!
Oh foolish Melos! – now your fate is sealed.

The Melian Dialogue

The Old Soldier

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Formal poetry, Italian sonnet, Old soldiers, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Sacrifice in war, sonnet

The Old Soldier

He sits there in the winter’s morning sun.
His pale blue eyes have faded with the years,
And shed in solitude some bitter tears.
This man so frail, could he have been the one
Whose wasted arms once held a victor’s gun?
He’s seen the darker side, no death he fears,
But as the day of reckoning it nears,
He wonders was the loss worth what was won.

His life, a story mixed of hope and toil.
The years have gone – how rapidly they fly.
And now he sees the enemy is nigh –
A foe no bullet and no steel can foil.
To fight and win but finally to die,
And gain at last a tiny patch of soil.

Cycles

Tags

Australian poet, Cycles, Formal poetry, Italian sonnet, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Rise and Fall, sonnet

Cycles

All things that rise up to a peak must fall.
Even the tallest towers of Earth’s empires.
The strongest life-force, given time it tires
And slows and dies – it matters not at all.
A being or a mountain or a wall,
Churches and mosques with heaven-pointing spires –
They all must yield to death, to rain and fires;
All things will be brought low, that now are tall.
The rocks will one day all be ground to dust.
New rocks will rise and reach towards the sky.
The world will once again be clothed in ice,
And steel that girds the world will turn to rust.
Yet what is low, in turn will be brought high,
Until the time comes for its sacrifice.

The Shadow

Tags

Agreeableness, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Carl Jung, Id, Integrating the shadow, Italian sonnet, Jungian psychology, Petrarchan sonnet, poem, poetry, Psychology, Shadow archetype, Sigmund Freud, sonnet, The Dark Side, the Persona, The shadow

The shadow lurks beneath your consciousness.
Go meet him, for he is your primal mate;
Engage with this dark archetype innate.
For your persona he could not care less,
And this he will quite willingly confess.
In order that you reach a stronger state
Your darkness and your light must integrate;
It isn’t wise, your shadow to suppress.
It’s best that you confront your darker side
To understand your capabilities
And realize potential waiting there.
Until you do, he deep within will hide,
While conscious self will try its best to please,
By being nice, agreeable and fair.