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Amos Greig

The Lost Boy's

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

Kaleidoscope eyes,
Discordant vowels
These are the marks the lost boys make.

Electronic beats,
Songs of angst
These are the sounds the lost boys need.

Sad panda eyes,
Downward faces
The war paint of the lost boys.

Drum boogie,
Anti fashion,
This is what the lost boys wear.

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Lord of the hill

Scaraveen,
Changing weather
That is the best description of Irish weather.

Momentary sunshine drew me out
From carefully constructed artificiality
I stumbled as a new born
Into fields of pleasant green.

Yet even here the steady encroachment of man
The lack of beauty a stark contrast
To the natural court
Magpie's the guardians of the gate.

Mocked my passage a warning cry!
Here comes man the defiler
I am humbled and stunned when
I accidentally stumbled onto your court.

Nature scoffs at my presence,

[...] Read more

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