Jack Growden

Rookie - 278 Points (1997 / Townsville, Australia)

Jack Growden Poems

1. The 'Chapel 3/21/2013
2. The Captain's Brutal Night 3/21/2013
3. Caged 3/21/2013
4. The Angel 4/10/2013
5. Journey Throughout The Empire - Part 1 4/10/2013
6. Autumn Leaves 5/8/2013
7. Brelles 7/27/2013
8. Brelles - French Version 7/27/2013
9. Down By Mavers Hill 7/27/2013
10. Spirit Of The Anzac: Kokoda 7/28/2013
11. Life And Chess 7/27/2013
12. The Sweatshop 7/27/2013
13. The Brutal Full-Back 7/26/2013
14. The Willow 8/2/2013
15. The Lucky Country 9/19/2013
16. Dearest Nelly 10/10/2013
17. Mournful Lament 10/11/2013
18. Driftwood At Sunset 10/15/2013
19. Fletcher 10/16/2013
20. The Pointless Verse 10/16/2013
21. Midnight Fever 10/16/2013
22. Escaping Port Arthur 10/16/2013
23. Beneath One Sky 10/17/2013
24. Evening Contemplation 10/22/2013
25. Always 11/6/2013
26. Early Mourning 12/24/2013
27. If You Forget Me 1/4/2014
28. The Candle 1/4/2014
29. Eulogy For Youth 1/11/2014
30. Yours 1/11/2014
31. Thunder 2/9/2014
32. Simpler Minds 2/15/2014
33. Four White Walls 2/27/2014
34. February 3/20/2014
35. Fall From Grace 3/27/2014
36. In Conclusion 3/27/2014
37. The Cathedral 3/28/2014
38. Walk In My Shoes 3/28/2014
39. Finality 4/4/2014
40. Tear-Shaped Lake 4/5/2014
Best Poem of Jack Growden

The Captain's Brutal Night

It was a Friday night in Roxby Downs, and the workers were drowning some ales.
With every drop of West End, they told taller and taller tales.
All of the workers were footballers; except for one who had to speak.
He introduced himself as a rugby bloke and called the footballers weak.

He strutted towards the dartboard and called the captain soft.
The champion's focus was maintained as he sent the dart aloft.
Spot on target he was indeed, winning with a measly double nine,
Turning his attention to the nuisance he exclaimed, 'Mate, you've crossed the line.'

The ...

Read the full of The Captain's Brutal Night

Autumn Leaves

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.

Far too many dawns have passed, it must be confessed,
Which have been welcomed without an inkling of zest.
All that remains is a grim incessant strain
As you see all your vigour trickle down life's drain.

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