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Poems By Poet Michael Micmac Mccrory  11/28/2014 4:56:45 AM
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'The game of life'

‘The Game of Life’
Where would we be?
Without the eccentric
Life would be square
And never concentric
Now and again
I need the odd
Wouldn’t it be wonderful?
If we were all god

My head’s permanently in a mangle
My life is a triangle
Looking askew
Life is always a left angle
I wish I were normal
I want to blend in
Yet I could never be formal
Men in white send in

You never see
My point of view
However, I can see
Straight through you
You think you would like to stand
On the outside of the frame
You never will because you think
That I am suited and it’s for the lame

You’re so happy
It is my game
It is my life
I am the man with no name
And so my life goes on
Out in rain, hail and smog
Spat at and pissed upon
Always the underdog
Forever last in; ‘THE GAME OF LIFE’


Michael Micmac Mccrory



'The Last Rites'

The last Rites

The blessing from the priest
Did not allay her fears
Cos she was still having them
The pains she’s had for years

What is the use of religion to me now
She cried at his reverence
You could anoint me in a sea of holy water
It would still be time for my severance

The priest he knelt in solemn prayer
May the good lord take care of you
She said; the gravedigger may dig another layer
Cos you’ll be dead before the answer comes through

Sure! Says she; the truth to you I will tell
Listen to me; before I’m in my mound
By the time I get ready to die
Sure! Even the devil may be heaven bound

Michael Micmac Mccrory
Michael Micmac Mccrory



'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'


Michael Micmac Mccrory



'The Oddball In The Window'

The boy sat at the window
Looking out at the other boys
Laughing and playing their games
Enjoying their childhood days

The boy hopes that they will cherish
Those blissful moments of youth
That have been stolen from him
Moments gone forever from his childhood days

He’s not crippled in body or mind
He’s not allowed outside to play
Those boys point and stare at the boy
They call the oddball in the window

His parents have imprisoned him
To wrap him up in cotton love
He is just to much a gift from god
He is their only precious child

The parents say it’s for his own good
He’s such a delicate child
He just sits at the window
Jealous of the children running free

He will never laugh with other children
He will never join in their games
He never smiles in photographs
He’s not enjoying his childhood days

He’s grown up now; still sitting at the window
His parents can’t get him to venture outside
Everyone passing takes time to point and stare
At the man they call
The oddball in the window
Michael Micmac Mccrory
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Poems By Poet Michael Micmac Mccrory