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Gregory Stanford Poem
Souls travel, that’s the fact
You can’t deny or skip
It’s like unconscious act
But only way more deep
Some places of this planet
We never thought to check
Souls easily inhabit
And some cannot get back
We can be born in places
That weren’t meant for us
Life’s random in such cases
Another life we trust
I bet we’re living through
Another time and space
I sought my soul for you
To see it in your face
We cannot quite correct it
Just like the shoals of fish
Souls travel, when connected
Drawn by the shared wish.
Copyright © Gregory Stanford | Year Posted 2023
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Gregory Stanford Poem
Are you there, by the table
In your living room?
What a pity I’m unable
To see through the gloom
Winds are blowing, leaves are dancing
The trees are standing bare
All my emails are unanswered
Like you didn't care
To reply me, cause you don’t know
What about to write
I’m not welcomed, off I go
Into the cold of night
Silence is a strong reply
And you use its power
Probably to show that I’m
Not your garden flower
You are silent, and I’m speaking
For us both again
Like a water I keep leaking
Spilling down my pain.
Copyright © Gregory Stanford | Year Posted 2024
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Gregory Stanford Poem
Let’s make the Greenland green again
Melt down the ice with fire
Let’s build on Greenland’s pleasant land
A city of desire
Erect the towers most gigantic
And hotels on the coast
The biggest port on the Atlantic
I dare to propose
Let’s make some money out of soil
I hope you understand
We’ll label it a Greenland oil
A number one oil brand
The Danish king must be well paid
To him we’ll do no harm
We’ll offer him a job to paint
A brand new coat of arms
I’ll be depicted in my pants
With a stone axe in hand
Parading on the golden sands
Of Greenland’s pleasand land!
Copyright © Gregory Stanford | Year Posted 2025
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Gregory Stanford Poem
Take me away with your eloquent talk
Tell me news about my ideology
Show me the opportunities baulked
Smile at my unsaid apologies
Put me into scheme where I’m just a screw
Within a machine that makes war
Stereotype me with anything you
Distinguished about times before
Your precious guidance is my comfort zone
All you expected to see
That’s what I am, when I’m here alone
And you are talking to me
What can I say? There’s no way to ignore
Calamities of some failed state
Where I was accidentally born
You wouldn’t envy this fate
I won't try to disarm the army
I can't vacate laws and police
Of course I don’t think its too funny
To be accused for all this
Don’t want to cause any damage
There is no point to load you
With what I’m not able to manage
With something beyond my full due
As you have hinted, I’m little
So in metaphysical sense
There's nothing about to fiddle
I cost no extensive expence
I value a lot what you say
You are my interlocutor here
You help me to live through the day
Even if me you can’t hear.
Copyright © Gregory Stanford | Year Posted 2024
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Gregory Stanford Poem
Haven’t you noticed sometimes that it goes
As if not with yourself, but with somebody else
Whom you never desired to know, but who knows
Something about your state of health
I've no clue how it happens, but it seems unreal
That I’m not the same anymore
It is more than surprise, that I have to feel
A stranger, whom I cannot ignore.
Copyright © Gregory Stanford | Year Posted 2025
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Gregory Stanford Poem
What is nowadays West, in a moment of relaxation
While you wait for the green on a crossroad:
Impressions dissolve in stuffiness, preceding rainfall,
Although there are no other signs of rain.
Poor Jim Morrison, the whole generation
Of melancholic, alco-dependant kids
Was growing old, listening in awe to his invocations.
He clearly stated the west is the best,
We quickly and joyfully surrendered,
Puffing rings, bowing languidly to the rhythms of the End.
Fortunatelly, my West stays the same, in general
Though compared to Morrison’s time
West may look a bit more Babylonian.
You get clusters of towers, mounting up
Which are the cathedrals of Marduk,
Who is the most disguised of all the Gods,
But even he is disclosed
For those who wish to know -
Needless to say, there are very few initiates.
Whereas the majority live in blissful ignorance,
Using those towers like homes,
They elevate up and down, go in and out
Doors revolve every second in perpetual motion.
Tower people are happy about their work and after hours
And whatever else they are happy about in the depths of shallow bustle,
Unbeknownst to themselves, Mardukians
Unknowingly serve their obscure God
Who uses his almighty power
Just for the fun of it, like the other Gods did,
Until their cult passed into oblivion.
Copyright © Gregory Stanford | Year Posted 2024
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Gregory Stanford Poem
This week is bleak, the birds don’t sing
No sun, no rains, but greyness
Even the churchbells didn’t ring
Have they become atheists
The bellman and the bearded dean
And all the congregation?
In times like this to breathe is sin
No promise of salvation
Can take away the truth it fakes
And like a stubborn stem
Grows through the slab, the truth condemns
The order of the damned
So atheism’s a way to go
Believe in politicians
They must continue this old show
Which you can call fictitious
But wasn’t it meant to be as such?
Just ask the God, if you
Don’t think he is disturbed too much
With millions in the queue
That stretches out through centuries
Dead people want to know
What were their lives about, if this
Was meant to be a show
Beware the Ides of March, in case
The warning comes in time
If there is still a time to waste
You doubt it? So do I.
Copyright © Gregory Stanford | Year Posted 2025
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Gregory Stanford Poem
Racists beat some other racists, bigots hate some other bigots
Gunman kill some other gunman, thieves deceive some other thieves
Politicians of both parties share the views that must divide them
But they hate each other madly, cause the people love this circus
And they do the show on purpose to get votes and fly away
No fanfares for the common in the search of sheer perfection
There is so much imperfection everybody can’t believe
They are multiplied one person, cloned from a forgotten sample
On the basis of resemblance they can’t tolerate all that
And they give a deadly fight to the copies of their type
Would you like to join the battle or its better just to watch them
Sitting in the comfy armchair, thinking of the cloudy sky
In the world of competition I don’t have enough ambition
I don’t want an expedition to the jungles of the lost
I’m incurious for nation, immigration and salvation
Give me less of variation, and lets finish on this note
I’m a mouse of every fable eating crumbles from a table
Drinking tea and playing rummy in the middle of the night
I’m a line in cubist painting, broken down and nearly fainting
I’ll be happy just to vanish in the damp of morning air.
Copyright © Gregory Stanford | Year Posted 2024
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Gregory Stanford Poem
I have to be patient, and not too concerned
About the things I can’t manage
If some of the stones I left lying unturned
For this I cannot be disparaged
The island is so overcrowded and small
New comers arrive by the boats
They want to steal space, so the natives can fall
Into the sea full of ghosts
But what was Mayflower by modern esteem?
No politics here, just a fact:
A boat full of immigrants, led by a team
Of Jesus freaks with legal act
To establish an ownership far, far away
They claimed it “the promised land”
How can you deny others doing the same?
For jobs you won't do they're godsend.
Copyright © Gregory Stanford | Year Posted 2024
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Gregory Stanford Poem
This belle epoch awakes resemblance
With times of plague in dark-bound books
Allegedly, we’re on dependence
Of history, with all its hooks
I doubt this cliche, however
This comer is a bit too smart
And so it smells he’d stay forever
Being handcrafted from the start
He’s going to mature through the ages
He’d bring the depth in water run
He’ll pass all the required stages
He wouldn’t stop, till work is done
Then may he rest in rich man’s arbour
Where ivy hangs down to the floor
Last glimpse of lighthouse in the harbour
Eroded pier, and ships galore
A guest unwanted, he dissolves
In wee small hours, when the air
Is still at night, while breezing calls
For morning star - and it is there.
Copyright © Gregory Stanford | Year Posted 2020
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