𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

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Australian poet, First Nations, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭  𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

First Nations? So how were these states defined?

By boundaries, by government, by laws?

By hordes and bands and tribes all intertwined?

First Nations? So how were these states defined?

By armies forcefully? By treaties signed?

By victories hard-won in bloody wars?

 First Nations? So how were these states defined?

By boundaries, by government, by laws?

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐬

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Australian poet, Finland joins NATO, Finns, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞  𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐬

I see, the fickle Finns have joined NATO;

The Finns are unpredictable at best.

Which side are they on now? It’s hard to know!

I see, the fickle Finns have joined NATO —

One never knows which way a Finn will go;

He may march East but then turn and march West!

I see, the fickle Finns have joined NATO;

The Finns are unpredictable at best.

— D.N. O’Brien

700Z

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700Z, Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝟕𝟎𝟎𝐙

We heard the story of his sad demise.

Concocted, we all thought, but never said.

Out on parade beneath the warm blue skies,

We heard the story of his sad demise.

Was best to just pretend, most thought it wise,

And after all, an officer was dead.

We heard the story of his sad demise.

Concocted, we all thought, but never said.

Now fifty years have passed and memories fade,

And those who still remember, they are few.

No flowers upon a tropic grave are laid,

Now fifty years have passed and memories fade.

The past is gone, what’s done can’t be unmade,

But words can still be written, and be true.

Now fifty years have passed and memories fade,

And those who still remember, they are few.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥

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Australian poet, Formal poetry, Nord Stream Pipeline, poem, poetry, Triolet, U.S. blows up Nordstream gas pipeline

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥

The Swedes know who blew up the gas pipeline.

But who it was, the Swedes they cannot say.

But having dived into the Baltic brine,

The Swedes know who blew up the gas pipeline.

Of them spilling the beans there is no sign —

They’re hoping that it all just goes away.

The Swedes know who blew up the gas pipeline.

But who it was, the Swedes they cannot say.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 ‘𝐘𝐞𝐬’ 𝐕𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐫

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Aboriginal 'The Voice' referendum, Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝐓𝐡𝐞  𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭  ‘𝐘𝐞𝐬’  𝐕𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐫

‘They think I’m voting ‘no’ — I’m voting ‘yes’!’

And then I’ll feign surprise when ‘yes’, it wins!

I’ve been quite negative, therefore I guess

They think I’m voting ‘no’ — I’m voting ‘yes’!

It will be quite a thrill I must confess,

To cleanse myself of my ancestors’ sins.

They think I’m voting ‘no’ — I’m voting ‘yes’!

And then I’ll feign surprise when ‘yes’, it wins!

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐎𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐚𝐭

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Australia Day Awards, Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝐎𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫  𝐨𝐟  𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐚  𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭  𝐓𝐰𝐚𝐭

Compliant twats are being decorated.

Each one will get a shiny piece of brass.

The devious, the fools, the overrated —

Compliant twats are being decorated.

For their collaboration compensated,

For blindly taking it right up the arse.

Compliant twats are being decorated.

Each one will get a shiny piece of brass.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐎 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧

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Australian poet, Formal poetry, NATO, NATO expansion, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐎  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐆𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧

NATO is always pushing to the East,

Devouring all the crumbs the Russians left,

And lately has crumb-gathering increased.

NATO is always pushing to the East.

On Holy Russia’s carcass they would feast

If into many pieces it was cleft.

NATO is always pushing to the East,

Devouring all the crumbs the Russians left.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐆𝐮𝐧 𝐎𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤

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Australian Firearm Owners proposed registration, Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝐆𝐮𝐧  𝐎𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐫  𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧  𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤

I’m being added to a list of crims,

Because I have some guns I seldom shoot.

As the faint flame of freedom flutters, dims,

I’m being added to a list of crims.

Perhaps I should get tattoos on my limbs —

A swastika — a goose-stepping jack-boot.

I’m being added to a list of crims,

Because I have some guns I seldom shoot.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐁𝐮𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞

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ANZAC Day, Australian poet, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝐁𝐮𝐲𝐞𝐫  𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞

Australia Day has come and gone and well,

Like Anzac Day they say that it divides.

What, more divided? How on Earth to tell?

Australia Day has come and gone and well,

As long as we buy what the bastards sell,

We’re sure to finish up on different sides.

Australia Day has come and gone and well,

Like Anzac Day they say that it divides.

— D.N. O’Brien

𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭

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Australian poet, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, Triolet

𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭

My neighbour has just bought a machine gun.

He says he’s only bought it for defence.

He digging in — it’s looking like Verdun.

My neighbour has just bought a machine gun.

He’s buying ammunition by the ton.

Hostilities may very soon commence.

My neighbour has just bought a machine gun.

He says he’s only bought it for defence.

— D.N. O’Brien