A young aspiring writer and graduate of Townsville Grammar School. I write on a variety of different topics. Please enjoy, and be sure to rate and comment. My most popular poems to date (4/July/14) are 'The Willow', 'Autumn Leaves', and 'Simpler Minds'. Again, I encourage you to read and rate them, and comment as you see fit.
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Jack Growden Poems
From a rolling hill in one green Essex field, A splendid, sweeping vista was suddenly revealed. Rays of sunlight appeared marking the advent of dawn, Invigorating the gully below on this placid morn.
Alas, it has been a season of yawns and weary sighs, Each and every morning met with dreary eyes; The sluggish shuffles; the weight of the world upon; Several moons have waned since hope has shone.
My nephew Fletcher, from this line, Heed these words, wise words of mine. I am your uncle, so trust me hence Even if you think I make no sense.
Eulogy For Youth
I once ventured upon a hillside At dawn when the weather was best. I skipped and I hopped right to the top, Possessed by jubilant youthful zest;
Beneath One Sky
Beneath One Sky The boys on the beach Feel the sand between their toes,
Life and Chess
Life can be likened to a good game of chess As white has always moved first, And whilst kings have ruled without a cut on their hands, Every pawn’s life is cursed.
Driftwood at Sunset
Far abreast of distant moored-up boats The quiescent air engulfs each lung. You taste briny salt upon your tongue; As without haste, nonplussed driftwood floats,
Spirit of the ANZAC: Kokoda
Scaling across a mountain range, That seems unfathomably steep. Scurrying through the sodden trees, Through mud that is knee-deep.
I could describe your beauty in a thousand words, Though that has been done by many before. I could squeal my admiration of your blue eyes, Though it goes without saying, so I will say no more.
Down By Mavers Hill
So down by Mavers Hill There’s a backward kind of place. A tiny forgotten blemish Upon Melbourne’s glamorous face.
Journey Throughout The Empire - Part 1
Jack Growden (C) 2013 PRELUDE
There is a city where all man’s dreams take shape, And this city is known as Brelles. A wonderful mirage set on Arabian sands, Quite the opposite of fiery hell.
Escaping Port Arthur
I had lived a pleasant life, With my future perfectly planned… But after a swig of whiskey And one theft too risky,
Walk In My Shoes
I invite you just this once - To take a walk in my shoes. With an eye to detail, Please observe and peruse
(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)
From a rolling hill in one green Essex field,
A splendid, sweeping vista was suddenly revealed.
Rays of sunlight appeared marking the advent of dawn,
Invigorating the gully below on this placid morn.
The autumn calm was quite crisp, but pleasantly mild,
As I drew a deep breath and simply smiled…
Ambling down the path that led to the glen below,
I caught the gentle scent of an English meadow.
Well-worn, the trail continued to meander
Through lush pastures of flowered oleander.
Towering modestly among stood the odd foreign teak,
Which by the tree further...