Greg Costello

Rookie - 177 Points (05/04/1970 / Dublin, Rep. of Ireland)

Greg Costello Poems

1. Catching Up 12/20/2011
2. Golfing In Ireland 12/22/2011
3. Seaside Scene 12/22/2011
4. Homesick Sonnet 12/26/2011
5. Couldn'T Write Without Either 1/6/2012
6. Moving On 1/22/2012
7. Writing 1/25/2012
8. Changing Colour 1/25/2012
9. When Winter Comes Calling 1/25/2012
10. Winter Wonders Why 1/26/2012
11. The Sugar Lump 2/15/2012
12. Cloudy Judgement 2/20/2012
13. Lost And Found 2/29/2012
14. Tennis Elbow 3/14/2012
15. Coming Down 4/21/2012
16. Not 'Letterally' True 5/17/2012
17. Our Old 'sanyo' 2/4/2012
18. Moving Farther On 2/8/2012
19. A Lunar Musing 12/5/2012
20. Time 1/7/2013
21. Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind 4/15/2013
22. The Footballer I Stood Behind 10/21/2013
23. Tuned To A Different 'station' 11/11/2013
24. A Happy New Year? 2/2/2014
25. Beggars Can Be Choosers! 5/5/2015
26. Things You Won'T Find Or See! 5/6/2015
27. Knowing Your Place 6/17/2015
28. Downsizing 6/22/2015
29. Autumn Cinquain? 10/9/2015
30. Jack Sprat 1/12/2016
31. The Male 'pram Pusher' 7/30/2016
32. Graveside Reflections 10/10/2012
33. Give Or Take 7/30/2012
34. An Oasis 2/22/2012
35. Left Open-Mouthed 2/22/2012
36. The Leaving 12/26/2011
37. Don'T Get Your O' Logists Mixed Up 12/22/2011
38. The Hacker 12/20/2011
39. The 'Ession' Session 12/26/2011
40. Migraine 8/25/2012
Best Poem of Greg Costello

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.
To play and act and float and flounce,
But nurture her with every ounce, .
Without control but steadfastly,
Avow anew to let her be.
So that one day she may decree,
She lived with childhood liberty,
To roar aloud 'hey look at me'
My parents chose to let me be.

Read the full of Let Children Be

The Hacker

The hacker sets out in deep concentration,
But golf shots soon turn to excavation.
Staring glumly at cavernous divots,
No textbook technique, but reverse pivots-

They endure this torment for eighteen holes,
Feel guilty for all the evicted moles.
Into the clubhouse to glance at the card,
Which has been strangely, by high numbers marred.

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