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Poems By Poet Michael Micmac Mccrory  7/31/2014 10:31:45 AM
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  Best Poems From
  MICHAEL MICMAC MCCRORY (25/01/1954)
 
 
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  37.     

'The Naked Poet'

I sit before the bare page
With just the lines protecting it's emptiness
My mind is also bare, bereft of words
The pen in my hand shouting
I am here with all the world's language's
Held within my ink filled lining
The pen goads me on, go on, you naked poet
Make me the empty one
Dress your bare page
With the words I have within
My ink filled lexicon lining
Go on if you dare you naked poet
Claim the glory for the words
That that stream from my innards
True poetry flows from my nib
True in every language
I am the almighty pen, the one truly gifted poet
Dress your page with my prose, dress your page with an ode
From my memory, the memory of the almighty pen
The one true poet, the poet master
The one who dresses your mind with words
The one who will dress you, until then you must remain
‘The naked poet'

Micmac

 
Michael Micmac Mccrory
   
 

   
   
 

  38.     

' The Unpublished Poets '

They were only half way to heaven
Stranded on a cloud
They were shouting and yelling
But they couldn’t have been loud
They were howling at the moon
Too softly to be heard
They could shout until doomsday noon
They’ll find out nobody cared

Not rude not bad not rotten
But they still had to go
They were the forgotten
Nobody wanted to know
They were not good enough to save
Nor bad enough to be lost
They just don’t know how to behave
So their left out in the frost

They were only half way to heaven
Stranded on a cloud
The unwanted poets
Shouting and yelling their poetry
To people who didn’t want to know
This is what unpublished poets have to do
Walk about with their heads in the clouds
 
Michael Micmac Mccrory
   
 

   
   
 

  39.     

‘That was me; but who am I? '

‘That was me; but who am I? '

I was that man
Had gun did travel
Shot others for a fee

I was that man
Yet was that man me?
He's not who I am now

This old dog
Learnt some new tricks
I don't do what I used to do

That man was a part of me
He no longer exists
Yet without that man

Who would I be?
Would I still be me?
Am I me?

That was me
Should the question be
Who am I?

Michael Micmac Mccrory
 
Michael Micmac Mccrory
   
 

   
   
 

  40.     

'A howling at the fouling'

‘A HOWLING AT THE FOULING’

People a howling
at dogs a fouling
And owners that just walk away
It smells like a cess
Clean up your mess
But the owners just let it lay

Cyclists then ride
Push it from side to side
The mess spreads
More dogs a walking
More reasons for squawking
The mess is up to our heads

The rain does pour
And spreads it more
And then it covers our houses
Pick it up
In a bag or a cup
And think of others you louses

MICMAC
 
Michael Micmac Mccrory
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Michael Micmac Mccrory