Watchdog

Tags

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

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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

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

Fearful

Tags

Australian poet, Being fearful, Fear, Phobias, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Fearful

I find the world a very scary place.
And fear’s a thing I find I just can’t fight.
So many fears — so many I can’t face.
I’m scared of things that go bump in the night.
I go to bed but must leave on the light.
There hardly is a thing I do not fear.
I’m scared of saying what I know is right;
I fear I may offend those who are near
To me — they may think I’m some kind of queer
Psychoneurotic kook — I am I guess,
But they need not know that. But you may hear
The fear I fear the most — yes, I’ll confess —
The fear that really chills be to the bone,
Is fear of future fears as yet unknown.

— 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}

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.

Mother

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, Mother's Day, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

With every new day’s dawn I think of you.
Of you and Dad, and too, my brother Dan.
You’re gone and so are they — our days are few;
But with those days we do the best we can.
That’s what you always taught us. For a span
And twenty years and one, you lived your life,
And many times it didn’t go to plan —
When disappointment stabbed just like a knife,
You bore the pain, the hardship, and the strife.
A city girl who loved a soldier boy,
When peace broke out became a farmer’s wife.
I think of long gone days and our shared joy,
And all I really wanted here to say,
Was Mother, have a happy Mother’s Day.

— D.N. O’Brien

Time Travel Warning!

Tags

Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, Time travel

Time Travel Warning!

If I could travel back into the past
And rectify mistakes that I have made,
I’d cast again that losing die I cast,
And all the traps set for me I’d evade.
Where I had failed through fate to make the grade,
My fate would change, and thus I would succeed.
To all old disappointments I’d put paid,
And I should be a happy man indeed.
To what though might my interference lead?
When I returned I wonder what I’d find —
What crop had ripened from this altered seed?
The present, by the past has been designed;
So what, I wonder, would the present be?
And what if there is not a sign of me?

— D.N. O’Brien