Jack Growden Poems
|2.||The Captain's Brutal Night||3/21/2013|
|5.||Journey Throughout The Empire - Part 1||4/10/2013|
|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|
|13.||The Brutal Full-Back||7/26/2013|
|15.||The Lucky Country||9/19/2013|
|18.||Driftwood At Sunset||10/15/2013|
|20.||The Pointless Verse||10/16/2013|
|22.||Escaping Port Arthur||10/16/2013|
|23.||Beneath One Sky||10/17/2013|
|27.||If You Forget Me||1/4/2014|
|29.||Eulogy For Youth||1/11/2014|
|33.||Four White Walls||2/27/2014|
|35.||Fall From Grace||3/27/2014|
|38.||Walk In My Shoes||3/28/2014|
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.'
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.