The Leaving
He changed from boy to man in double time,
And crammed his whole clan's dreams inside his boots,
The time had come for him to walk the line,
And turn his youthful back upon his roots.
The parting in itself was filled with fears,
A solitary journey 'cross the sea,
To face a future brief, or countless years,
He flew on wings racked with anxiety.
What lay ahead he felt his craft could match,
Years of application helped fuel his fire,
But the golden boy among this latest batch,
Decided that his soul was not for hire.
The odyssey it ended five years hence,
Relief at last his exile came to pass,
Stalled in gear with a life yet to commence,
The second hand is ticking much too fast.
poem by Greg Costello
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Seaside Scene
The selfish sun beckons bodies beach-side.
Parties of people decamp, floating towels onto their chosen patch.
Toddlers transfixed by the sea, trip over togs in anticipation.
Swimmers squeal as they tiptoe their way to the required depth, others bound with looping legs in an attempt to ignore the tide's temperature.
Waves crash and bang, as bare-chested builders carefully decide where sandcastles won't subside.
Sunbathers bask to the intermittent shushing of sun-sprays, as parasols protect the fairer kind.
Magnums are munched and ice-cream cones rotated on outstretched tongues, conscientiously saving the sand bound drips.
Children clutch kite-strings, whilst letting too their laughter soar on the salted air.
Eventually evening intervenes and forces the sun to relinquish its solar grip.
poem by Greg Costello
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Catching Up
I'm one and forty but going on six,
This age disparity I must try fix,
The mirror reflects my manly stubble,
Yet I'm somehow stuck in this boyhood bubble.
I've gone to my passport to verify,
What's printed inside can't speak so can't lie,
There right before me the year I was born,
So 'tween boy and man you see I am torn.
There's parts I enjoy being a full grown kid,
But boy-like fears of myself must I rid,
And submit to this erstwhile overlap,
'Til both my personas can bridge this gap.
The two must make friends in a bid to unite,
The older whom with the greater insight,
Must harbour the child and protect him thus,
Allaying all those fears and anxiousness.
[...] Read more
poem by Greg Costello
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Give Or Take
Do you reckon yourself to be either,
A giver or taker by breed,
It's a falsehood to say that you're neither,
Should people be defined by deed.
Do you take others feelings for granted,
And give a deaf ear to what's said,
Neglecting to take heed of what's wanted,
Giving a cold shoulder instead.
Would you call yourself one who takes pity,
And gives support when so required,
Do you take pause from life's nitty-gritty,
Give help when the need has expired.
Are you one to take pride in your children,
And give them a platform to grow,
Or instead take control and just will them,
Give in to your manifesto.
[...] Read more
poem by Greg Costello
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Our Old 'Sanyo
Remember our old 'Sanyo' three-in-one,
A musical delight to my young mind,
Listening spellbound as our vinyl spun,
'Twas with tape-deck and radio combined.
Recalling when it first came to our house,
The best invention ever, it was hailed,
Excited, but as quiet as a mouse,
Itching for this new voice to be unveiled.
A few things first, required some pointing out,
Stereo jargon that we ought to know,
'Volume control negates the need to shout
For spinning discs, you switch it to phono.'
'All albums should be played at thirty-three,
For singles you best change to forty-five,
The stylus, always handle carefully,
Drop in the groove and hear it come alive.'
[...] Read more
poem by Greg Costello
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Wiley Wildebeest
I'm just a young wildebeest, and to say the very least,
Not all that appealing to the eye,
See 'round these plains, between crocs and manes,
By the grace of God, go I.
Now it's fair to think, I'm a food-chain link,
But that's not what irks me the most,
More the continual strife, of the migratory life,
The tough slog from pillar to post.
Incredulously, we do this annually,
Because we're genetically predisposed,
Whoever got it in their brain, to follow the rain,
To me that name must be disclosed.
See we're a million strong, and our tumultuous throng,
Trek for kilometres in countless degrees,
Our way's riddled with foes, but it's me that they've chose,
And so I must the crocodiles appease.
[...] Read more
poem by Greg Costello
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!