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Poems By Poet Michael Micmac Mccrory  9/21/2014 7:10:51 PM
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'Reallity Tits'

‘Reality tits'

There was young Frankie the fool
Who was manipulated by the tits at the pool
By an older lady called Denise
She asked, Have you seen many of these
He said; lots; But yours are so cool

Michael Micmac Mccrory





A twinkle in his eyes
Catches her eyes
Their eyes love-locked
They speak their first words to each other
The first real date
The courting game
The gelling together, becoming real mates
They announce their engagement
Settle on a wedding date
The pre-nuptial plans
At last, the wedding day
A nice honeymoon suite
From sperm to baby
The baby is a boy
From boy to man
From a man to dust
The wind blows the dust into another man’s eyes
From dust to a twinkle
The twinkle in his eyes
Look out ladies


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
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Poems By Poet Michael Micmac Mccrory