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Greg Costello Poems
The Night We Met
A silver, slimline, sparkling nymph, Stole into view, looked heaven sent, Her modest, unassuming smile, But served to sharpen my intent.
This laboured Labrador went waddling by, His awkward gait the legacy of time, The tragic loss of youth's vitality, What once were walks, now mountains he must climb.
Let Children Be
With eyes of lapis lazuli, And laughter soaked with unbound joy, And spirit bold and thoughts carefree, My role is just to let her be.
When eating began for young Tom as a laddie, His dinner unfailingly, came from the 'paddy'. Japonicas, Indicas, he'd gulp down with glee, Aromatics and Glutinous, munched avidly.
Girls Will Be Girls
A sniper by the hot tap lay, Turned upside-down in battle grey, Soaking in a pool of water, Deserted by my impish daughter.
Whilst waiting for a cranial MRI, the person to my right, began to pry. 'Are they searching for some fatal tumour? ' 'Just a brain, ' replied my driest humour.
The Wiley Wildebeest
I'm just a young wildebeest, and to say the very least, Not all that appealing to the eye, Though 'round these plains, between crocs and manes, By the grace of God, go I.
A black trickle of mourners were sucked reluctantly towards the clayless plug-hole, A ninety-one year old life, about to be consumed by the ground. I prayed her spirit was soaring above in a heavenly orbit, I recoiled at the notion of her lingering at some lost and found.
A Painful Extraction
He drilled and filled and root canaled, But it ended with dry socket. The toothless gum ached far less than, The cavity in my pocket.
A Few 'Unny' Endings
The Salmon of Knowledge! !
This poem suggests that youngest Fionn McCool, Found tough the challenges of early school, And pointless he attend some fledgeling college, Prior to gaining all one fishes knowledge.
I basked in the ordinariness of the day, Where it demanded nothing of me, nor I of it, An afternoon unfolding in it's own shapeless way, A temporary truce, that did my mood befit.
Comments about Greg Costello
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The Night We Met
A silver, slimline, sparkling nymph,
Stole into view, looked heaven sent,
Her modest, unassuming smile,
But served to sharpen my intent.
Which was to see if I could charm,
The stand-out girl 'midst those around,
That there was not a suitor swarm,
Did nothing, if not me astound -
Moments before I'd watched her dance,
In rhythmic step to every beat,
And so as not to dent my chance,
Kept unemployed, both my left feet.
Then finally, the time it came
A meeting that would change my life,
The sparkling nymph, she felt the same,