tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25958638643806516312024-02-20T18:22:11.337-06:00DreamworldJack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-62189309412238314502014-08-12T18:21:00.004-05:002014-08-12T18:21:39.605-05:00An oppressive sun beats<br>
down on panting dogs,<br>
beneath golden willow.<p>
Sprinklers hiss at dragon flies.<br>
Noisy children splash<br>
in plastic pools.<p>
Bare shouldered mothers<br>
sprawl on large towels,<br>
baking bodies brown.
Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-67394639689674001592014-08-09T20:11:00.002-05:002014-08-09T20:11:40.981-05:00Finding the Right WordsWords fail me when I try
Finding the right ones to
Describe how I feel about
You now that you are leaving.
Emotions strip way my resolve
To hide my true feelings from you.
Chocking back the tears mutes
The quisling voice from finding
The right words to describe
The sorrow that I know will
Engulf me for years to come.
I fear that I will never find
Right words to sustain true love.
Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-40156516271821062102013-01-30T13:30:00.001-06:002014-08-12T19:18:32.817-05:00The Black DogThe black dog is waiting,<br>
Waiting outside my door<br>
To lead me down dark<br>
Corridors of my mind<br>
Past stations in the wall;<br>
Rope, razor, pill and gun.<p>
Black velvet shrouds drape<br>
Pressing walls, enclosing; lulling<br>
Me like a Nick Drake song.<br>
Glass obsidian floors cover <br>
Unfathomable twisting rivers of<br>
Dark thoughts, glimmering through<br>
The faint defenses I have cobbled.<p>
He takes me down un-cheerful.<br>
Leaden purpose darks out the<br>
Light. Pulls the covers over, <br>
Willing me to sleep and dream <br>
Foreboding ways to end the pain.<br>
To stop at stations in the wall and<br>
Choose respite from it all.<p>
I used to fear the visits; tried<br>
Everything to bar the door.<br>
All the frenzy, all the fear,<br>
Empowered him to enter and<br>
Lead me down dark corridors,<br>
Past stations in the wall;<br>
Rope, razor, pill and gun.<p>
Alas, I no longer fear him.<br>
He cannot tie the knot or<br>
Slice the vein, drug me to oblivion,<br>
Put gun to head, without my hand.<br>
He will get bored and disappear,<br>
Knowing this and not to fear the <br>
Bite, has tamed his power over me.<p>
He will be waiting, always waiting<br>
For me to let him in and like an old<br>
Familiar friend, he will walk me<br>
Down dark corridors again, still<br>
Stopping at the stations, knowing<br>
I no longer consider these choices as<br>
Salvation. He will leave me to the light.Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-11222544516480120082013-01-30T13:29:00.001-06:002014-08-12T18:36:33.154-05:00Padraig's WakePut down the urn and open the bar,<br>
all that are here should raise up a jar,<br>
cry Faugh A Ballagh, cry clear the way<br>
and toast sweet piper, Padraig Macgill,<br>
with the frothy black magic that Guiness distills.<p>
Drink to sweet Padraig and pause between sips<br>
tell the tales of his daring, bring praise to our lips.<br>
The dangers he faced consumed his whole life.<br>
This friend and this neighbour told his stories in turn<br>
while he sat on this stool at the bar, in front of this urn.
Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-69820206296708785902013-01-30T13:27:00.002-06:002014-08-12T18:35:08.754-05:00Crimsom RiversCrimson rivers flow from<br>
Young black bodies down,<br>
Staining concrete sidewalks<br>
Iron brown.<p>
Crimson poppies growing in<br>
Foreign fields... betoken<br>
Young Warriors bones<br>
Cut down.<p>
What crimson flower<br>
Represent discarded youths;<br>
Who fight and die for<br>
Absurd truths?
Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-66999256303580338362010-06-30T02:25:00.004-05:002010-06-30T02:39:41.248-05:00If you really want to hear about it<br />I'll tell you, but then again<br />You wouldn't listen, no one ever does.<br />Even you already have an answer<br />before I finish, but then again, who cares<br />I'm done listening to you.<br />If you really want to know about it<br />I'm done talking, there's no more to say<br />on the matter, any matter for that matter.<br />It no longer matters but if you really want<br />to hear about it, I'll tell you. Then again<br />maybe not, if you really want to know.Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-59272640168606677002010-06-26T00:46:00.005-05:002011-02-03T09:38:06.291-06:00Everybody's perfectWell, nobody's perfect. <br />
sighed in resignation,<br />
spoken in rationalization,<br />
shouted in indignation,<br />
epitah to a fucked up nation<br />
<br />
Truth be told, who said we were?<br />
Look in the mirror, what's there <br />
a perfect image of imperfect me, <br />
a flawed reflection of perfect experience,<br />
predjudiced by choices, culture and family.<br />
<br />
How can there be perfection in a Universe that<br />
changes with the beat of a Humming birds wing.<br />
I created myself and I am what I am. That's as perfect,<br />
as it will ever be.Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-38228399689338531122009-06-23T15:52:00.002-05:002009-06-23T15:54:32.436-05:00VisionI had a vision once<br />only once, of Death.<br />Not Death, but Ego dying.<br />Upon dying, I was reborn.<br />Just reborn, without attachment. <br />Death of attachment to attachment.<br /><br />Awareness that I was awake.<br />fully awake, finally fully free.<br />pain free, no longer depressed.<br />Aware of my depreesion, but not attached.<br />No longer attached to my attachment.<br />Was my vision Real?Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-1625241390557717022009-03-25T19:18:00.004-05:002014-08-09T12:28:45.679-05:00Will Love not fade awayEarnest<br />Layer<br />Reactive<br /><br />Should I stay or should I Go.<br />So many complex emotions<br />layer upon layer, reactive<br />To the slightest nuance or<br />Benign word well intended.<br />She tries in earnest, still<br />Will love not fade away, away<br />From the burden day by day.Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-41740482993400435472009-02-12T13:50:00.001-06:002012-12-06T16:11:26.016-06:00I'm not one for sentimental endingsGone gone gone, gone<br />To find herself she said.<br />I didn't know that she <br />was lost. I was too content <br />to see the signposts<br />passing bye.<br /><br />A farewell letter handwritten<br />in her florished script,<br />Purple perfumed ink,<br />How could something so distasteful<br />smell so sweet.<br /><br />It was not you, but me.<br />I love you, but I must go.<br />You are too good for the likes of me, <br />someday we may meet again,<br />Who knows what fate will bring.<br /><br />A mind so muddied that<br />Thought and reason fail to meet<br />All I know is that your gone.<br />I'm not one for sentimental<br />endings. Not this time.Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-86899337123059471072008-10-31T15:10:00.008-05:002012-06-26T01:41:33.633-05:00GossipThere he is, don't look, <br />
Don't let him see you stare<br />
His poor parents what they must <br />
Think. Such a good lad he was<br />
Back then. Curly haired little boy,<br />
Full of laughter, full of beans,<br />
Not in a bad way by any means.<br />
<br />
He dated my Sarah in high school,<br />
So handsome, so well mannered,<br />
Still is by all accounts, but <br />
Who would have thought back then<br />
what we now know. There but by <br />
The Grace of God, could we all go.Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-27513899722054526442008-02-18T12:05:00.003-06:002012-12-06T16:13:47.737-06:00ValentineValentine indeed!<br />
<br />
The name suits her,<br />
money-minded whore.<br />
What right has she<br />
to be happier then me?<br />
<br />
He'll be sorry soon enough.<br />
Bitter chocolate covered,<br />
poisoned hard candied, heart.<br />
Smiling hand holding tart.<br />
<br />
<br />
Her smile so sweet, her soul is<br />
iced cold steel, and rough.<br />
His innocence she will soon impale;<br />
Her heart's a hammer, every male's a nail.Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2595863864380651631.post-46698184765812419492008-02-11T11:40:00.001-06:002014-08-09T12:34:09.265-05:00Full TimeThis poem was first conceived when the last man who played football during the Christmas Truce(1914) passed away in 2005.The first two lines were written by a friend JayCee as an idea for a poem. I filled in the rest using her prompt. I was imagining that all those who participated in the famous football game that took place between the trenches on Christmas day were waiting in the afterlife for the last man to join them so they could resume the game again.<br />
<br />
Full time is called at last<br />
The final player is no more.<br />
All the ghosts of no man's land <br />
Will celebrate the final score.<br />
The last man leaves his mortal <br />
Shell to walk on heavens shore,<br />
Where old friends and former foe <br />
Wait to play the game once more.<br />
<br />
The field is ruled with poppies red,<br />
The ball as golden as the sun.<br />
Death's ditch is lined with eidleweiss<br />
And Angels sing, The New Jerusalem,<br />
To celebrate that glorius day<br />
When they layed down bayonet and gun,<br />
And ran upon a battlefield<br />
To play footy just for fun.Jack Greeninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04757436266215791856noreply@blogger.com2