Ophelia of the Billabong

By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh

Past adrift, the fruitful vine,

Lost in reason, space and time.

Mankind from eggs sprouting forth,

From brood dear, burst I,

Upon yet another swarth.


But these were times for better ships,

With song and wine, a feast of oysters

Turned men mad for swaying hips.

So keep them tight, try not to utter any of this,

From your loose lips.

For of’t hath I dreamt,

Of Turkish tapestry,

My troubled traversing of

Tannhausers gate.

In these such dreams,

I’ve thrown my cautions

To the reckless wind.

Prosperous, wayward traveling’s,

Towards Venusberg.


Geneva, oh darling Geneva,

You know how I’m coming for you.


Frown, your glass is half empty,

Smile, for the bottle is half full.

“Make it on the rocks”,

You proclaim, while you drown.

Sorrows swelling, screaming,

Washed up on the sandy shore.

Stuck on the rocks,

That make up Opus 40’s stones.


Styrofoam Jesus crashes up against the rocks.

Drowning in the fountain of youth,

Jesus wept, into his bottle for Adonis was lost.


Injected lipstick,

An old syringe,

Nobody is watching,

So may well binge.

With a fist full of coins,

You could fire up my loins,

Now tell me,

Doesn’t that sound sweet,

Now honey does it?