Collateral Damage

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Australian poet, poem, poetry, Triolet, War with Iran

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞

Our enemies will die if we wage war;
We can’t have that — think of their wives and kids!
War will result in carnage — blood and gore!
Our enemies will die if we wage war;
And we must love our enemies, therefore,
We’ll do whatever any tyrant bids.
Our enemies will die if we wage war;
We can’t have that — think of their wives and kids!

— D.N. O’Brien

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Watchdog

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Australian poet, Facebook Algorithm, Facebook censorship, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Watchdog

The Facebook algorithm never sleeps.
It’s watching everything you post or view.
It scrutinizes Facebook friends and peeps.
Right now I’m sure that it is watching you!
Its methodology is nothing new —
It looks for keywords in the things you post,
And phrases will get its attention too.
It haunts the Facebook pages like a ghost,
And if it catches you, you may be toast!
And so be careful with your use of words,
For Facebook is a temperamental host.
The algorithm is controlled by nerds
Who think that they know best what’s good for you,
Despite the fact that they’re a brainwashed crew.

— D.N. O’Brien

Suffer the Little Children

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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

Beyond the Pale

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Alan Joyce, Australian poet, Israel Folau, Israel Folau sacking, poem, poetry, QANTAS, Rugby Australia

𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐞

The short gay Irishman named Joyce,
He has a quite annoying voice.
The faith of footballer Israel,
Joyce says is way beyond the pale.
(It’s not a trendy “lifestyle choice”).

— D.N. O’Brien

Latham attacks QANTAS Joyce

Hate Speech

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Australian poet, censorship, Hate Speech, hate speech laws, poem, poetry, Triolet

Hate Speech

I hate to tell you this, but hate’s been banned;
All hated hate has been replaced by love.
And though your hate I fully understand,
I hate to tell you this, but hate’s been banned;
There’ll be no hate allowed throughout the land.
And just in case you missed the news above:
I hate to tell you this, but hate’s been banned;
All hated hate has been replaced by love.

— D.N. O’Brien

Far Right

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Australian poet, Far-left, Far-right, poem, poetry, Triolet

Far Right

I’m to the right, that’s obvious I’d say.
No you’re far-right, there’s no such thing as “right”!
You’d best take a turn left, and right away!
I’m to the right, that’s obvious I’d say,
And to the right is where I wish to stay;
But you, it seems, are spoiling for a fight —
I’m to the right, that’s obvious I’d say.
No you’re far-right, there’s no such thing as “right”!

— D.N. O’Brien

Secrets

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Australian poet, National Security, poem, poetry, State secrets, Traitors, Treason, Triolet

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬

From public knowledge, some things must be kept,
Or else our enemies will also know.
We have no love of secrecy — except,
From public knowledge some things must be kept.
Our enemies at spying are adept —
They seek to know all of our secrets, so,
From public knowledge some things must be kept,
Or else our enemies will also know.

— D.N. O’Brien

A Pressing Problem

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Australian poet, Military secrets, Official secrets, poem, poetry, Press freedom, State secrets, Treason, Triolet

𝐀 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦

We want to publish every fact and lie!
And even all the secrets of the State!
We care not that some foreign friends may die.
We want to publish every fact and lie!
You wish us to be prudent? Tell us why!
Security? Your rules we’d abrogate!
We want to publish every fact and lie!
And even all the secrets of the State!

— D.N. O’Brien

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

Golf

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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