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Poems By Poet Michael Micmac Mccrory  8/29/2014 7:23:17 PM
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'Racing certainty'


Racing Certainty

Racing certainty
Insured horse dies
Owner wins again

Michael Micmac Mccrory



'Researcher of poetry'

‘Researcher of poetry’

To be or not to be that is the question
Am I a word junkie or a poetry equestrian?
Riding a rhyme changing the line
To make it look like it was mine

The good Lawrence Durrell was a wordy man
Little about poetry he did understand
Till a woman led him to the Promised Land
Now he’s one of the best in the land

Barrington had a duck-billed Platypus at trinity
With whom he shared a remarkable affinity
The Platypus made Barrington nervous
When he suggested they join the Diplomatic Service

John’s padre was an old sky pilot
Until they clipped his wings
He sits in his garden: writing poetry
Playing guitar, composing songs which he sings

Noel proved he was no coward
He proved he was the brave one
With mad dogs and Englishmen
He went out in the midday sun

Cole Porter said let’s do it let’s fall in love
I said Cole you have had to much porter
I really don’t fancy you, but, if you can wait
To get drunk: I might like a little porter

I did do some research to come up with this prose
I know you’re not happy, and what’s getting up your nose
I am not a researcher I will tell you for free
I may just be a thief of other people’s poetry

Michael Micmac Mccrory



'Santa Is Just An Old Wives Tale'

I’m not the simpleton you think I am
I’m not the buffoon you’d like me to be
You keep me in a blind corner, whilst whispering away
However much kept in the dark, I learned to see

My dislike of your secretive ways
Your treating me like a court jester
Made me a very bitter person
Who just sat and learned to fester

You could have told me the truth
I learnt it anyway, and took it without pause
Now it’s you who look like fools
I know now, there’s no Santa Claus

You always called me your little man
Which made me want to throw up
Look in the mirror, you’re aging parents
Despite your lies, I did grow up

Santa is an old wives tale
They say he could be St. Nicholas
He made parents lie to their kids
But he must really be old Nick, alas
Michael Micmac Mccrory



Tantric Poetry

Phone: Ring, ring, ring

Him: There goes the phone
Hello who’s there?

Her: It’s me darling
Are you on your own?
I’ve been lying here on my bed
With thoughts of you in my head
I want you to please me
With sweet loving words of poetry

Him: Oh alright; here goes
I’ll start at the bottom
At the tip of your toes
I’d like to kiss each one
Then rub you all over with my nose
Show love: like the Eskimos

Then there’s your dainty feet
Small and ever so sweet
Up to your ankle
Caressing gently with a tickle
I hope this doesn’t rankle
I aim to please you

My tongue ascends up your leg
To the upper reaches of your thigh
Stopping at your knee
To acclimatise as I get high

See as I massage your back
Turn you over to lick your tummy
On to your chin and cheeks
Then kiss your lips so yummy
Ending with a gentle blow in your ear

A little rest on your shoulder
Start, on my way down again
On the other side
Caressing, licking and kissing
All the bits I was missing
On the way up

I haven’t mentioned your naughty bits
Cause that would be obscene
I want the world to know that
Tantric poetry if practised right
Can be kept clean

I hope this poetry
Has pleasured your ears
I hope you get what I mean
This poem is for you my love
The most perfect human being

Now I am finished, I hope you love me
And I’m the one who you’ll always want
To be with you in your bed
But, please get it into your head
I love you but, heavens above
I like us to be in the same room
When we are making love

Michael Micmac Mccrory
Michael Micmac Mccrory
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Poems By Poet Michael Micmac Mccrory