Biography of Jack Growden
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's Works:
Seasons of Sentiments (2013)
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.
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;
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.
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.
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.
Beneath One Sky
Beneath One Sky The boys on the beach Feel the sand between their toes,
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.
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.
The Lucky Country
The mists of morning settle low Upon Mt Gambier’s Great Blue Lake. Testing the limits of the naked eye, It encompasses everything in its wake.
Ensnared in a plume, denied a pure breath, Are vermin born into this vile caper, Moaning in spite of the sweat and the smoke, And pleading to part ways with the vapour.
Journey Throughout The Empire - Part 1
Jack Growden (C) 2013 PRELUDE
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,
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,
When the clocks did chime for the eleventh hour
Well after the Sun had completed its fall,
The darkest of Whitechapel's darkest,
Staggered from an alley, in a hunched-over crawl.
With nary a moon to behold, light was scarce,
And t'was a lamppost that brought him into view.
Such a haggard mess he was indeed,
His teeth a bare yellow few.
A matted mane sat upon his face,