Amos Greig

Amos Greig Poems

Steel capped icebergs' pierce the sky.
In artificial towers
Rapunzels refused to let down their hair,
Satisfied to watch the tired and hungry

Sheltered field of pleasant green
The susurrus of distant wind,

Nature gossips
Protests at intrusion,

Faceless streets close in around, as corridors seem to stretch into infinity,
A burst of adrenaline and the heart seems to beat irregularly a small bird
Desperate to escape the cage. The flight of logic begins as images blur into
Chaotic thoughts.-

Urban concrete jungle
In the twilight hours
This is where the lost boys are.

Changing weather
That is the best description of Irish weather.

Blood dripped onto the green grass
He turned to his followers
"Tie me to the standing stone"
He commanded

He was different from me and yet the same,
We had both come to this place of healing
Because of the pain our homelands had suffered.

Communication was difficult

Generation Y should I?
clones following the latest
footballers hairstyle
children with pierced

Bronze Age shelter slowly eroded by the careless
Impersonal presence of sheep and cattle,
Ironically being repurposed for original

In late summer your family disrupted the roads
Brought traffic to a standstill,
A line,
Mother and children blocked the way.

It begins almost motherly,
a return to the warmth of the womb,
a central point on the journey to oblivion,
time travel is a lie an uncaring trick of time.

Twilight the even' flight,


I have always enjoyed the smell.
of burnt peat, sometimes I would
languish in the smoke wreathed chambers.

For my Irish ancestry peat,


Social cohesion was our dream,
we the gardeners and cultivators of tomorrow,
watched in sadness as rot set in,
turned our hopes into bitter memories.

Your dark birth has long been prophesied,
My dark parasite needed yet twisted
Far beyond your original purpose.

Quicken muse, your words
Can spark an amber fire:
Defender of the past
Vanguard of futures

I see the hidden spheres which over lap our own,
not all of the time but there are moments,
of crystal clarity/
in the rain/

Smoke etched shadows
Crowded the halls
The night you were assaulted,
Dressed differently a bright flamingo target.

The world turned...
I see chest of drawers, wardrobes, tv, painted models dusty abandoned, bandana's The Ladder plays softly mingles with distant dogs barking and window framed birds chirping.
My world turned...
I see old scripts discarded sketches that never existed a pile of art pads, note books, models, pencils, paints an assortment of artistic implements.

Onyx waters lapped pebbled shore,
Lonely candles hold total darkness at bay,
In distance town lights beckon like lonely Wisp's.

Amos Greig Biography

I have been working with a local small publishers for nearly 25 years. I designed their logo and helped edit some of the books. In 2001 I won a bursary to the John Hewitt Summer School and also studied poetry at James Simmons Summer School.My work has been used in several anthologies and I am currently working on my first book of poetry. I also publish an online literary e-zine called A New Ulster. I've also worked as a visual artist including book covers, logos and children's murals.)

The Best Poem Of Amos Greig

Social Decay

Steel capped icebergs' pierce the sky.
In artificial towers
Rapunzels refused to let down their hair,
Satisfied to watch the tired and hungry
Like ants scrabble for scraps.

Sharp eyed ‘suits' stand at bullet proof windows.
In climate controlled towers,
A hand forms an O shape
Crocodile smilers imagine crushing every bug
Before returning to solitaire and innumerable
Facebook updates.

Smoke like a jealous lover hoards the city
Smothers the masses in her choking grasp
Industrial furnaces churn out mass produced
Tomorrow's perfect flawed commodities
Shelf life limited

The seagulls fight over scraps
Countries and business
Scrabble and bicker over dwindled resources
Unsullied beauty
The prima donna runs from the stage her
Makeup ruined.

It is always four degrees colder under the
artificial steel valleys
Cold caress of monumental man
They erode nature's purpose
Millennia replaced by minutes
Business and cities hold a diseased
Desperate need
To leave a legacy

Lines of tired and weary
Tramp towards the factory gates
Shackled to endless drudgery
Unnoticed the fisher king flies away
His place of beauty overcome with dross

The music box winds down
The ballerina stoops
Gathers her flowers accepts the crowds ululations
Masked youths rebel before a burning bus
In their towers untouched
The great smile and crow
Let them eat cake

Amos Greig Comments

Amos Greig 11 February 2018

I wrote the poem in 2010 the poem is about the price of the human condition in a world where industry reduces us to commodities.

0 0 Reply
julie preston 10 February 2018

when did you write this poem? And am I right in saying that the industrial revolution and its cost is at its core?

0 0 Reply

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