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Poems By Poet Michael Micmac Mccrory  7/13/2014 10:49:38 PM
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  Best Poems From
  MICHAEL MICMAC MCCRORY (25/01/1954)
 
 
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  125.     

The Eejit

‘THE EEJIT’

DO YOU SEE THAT EEJIT ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET
DANCING AND SWAYING AND STOMPING HIS FEET
HE CAN’T HEAR MUSIC, BUT ALAS INSTEAD
HE’S CAVORTING LIKE THAT BECAUSE OF VOICES IN HIS HEAD
TO CALL HIM AN EEJIT IS A BIT UNKIND
HE’S LIKE THAT BECAUSE HE HAS A WANDERING MIND
ASK HIM ANY QUESTION, YOU’LL GET THE ONE REPLY
I DON’T KNOW THAT, BECAUSE MY BRAIN DID DIE
HE CAME FROM A BIG FAMILY, HAD MANY KIN
THEIR ALL DEAD, ALL BUT ONE DONE IN
BUT HE CAN’T GET IT LEVEL IN HIS HEAD
WHY HIS BROTHER TOOK A GUN AND SHOT THEM DEAD
MENTION ABOUT HIS MAMMY AND PAPPY
HE’LL SHOUT AND SMILE, THAT’S WHEN I WAS HAPPY
THEY’LL BE FOREVER WITH HIM, HE ALWAYS HAS SAID
HE KNOWS IT TRUE; IT’S THEIR VOICES IN HIS HEAD
HE’S BEEN THAT WAY SINCE HE WAS THREE
HE WAS THE ONLY ONE TO SURVIVE THE MASSACREE
YES, IT IS TRUE! HE WAS ONLY THREE
THAT’S THE AGE HE WILL ALWAYS BE
DO YOU SEE THAT EEJIT ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET
DANCING AND SWAYING AND STOMPING HIS FEET
LEAVE HIM ALONE, AND THANK YOUR GOD
YOU HAVEN’T THE LIFE OF THAT POOR SOD

MICMAC
 
Michael Micmac Mccrory
   
 

   
   
 

  126.     

'The Elder's Corner'

Heaven's waiting room
Is in the corner from hell
The corner of the pub
Where, the elders dwell

Whose going to be next?
Only time will tell
Politeness prevails
After you; I yell

It's called heaven's waiting room
But not for me, cos I am bound for hell
Last orders! one for every road in town
Before you ring that bell

Surprise, surprise, up to heaven; what joy
St. peter's is standing behind the bar
Is that you Micmac me boy
Will you have a little jar

Then the landlady wakes me up
Will you ever go home; will you empty your glass
Come on now you, take that last sup
Drinking with St. Peter… you were me ass! ! ! !

It'll be hell for you me lad
The flames will make you sweat a load
Won't your ugly face be sad
Cos the devil don't serve one for the road
 
Michael Micmac Mccrory
   
 

   
   
 

  127.     

The Empty Page

Here I sit and stare
At the empty page
Because it’s empty
I am in a rage

Here I sit and stare
Trying to empty my mind
To find the words
To write poetry of some kind

Here I sit and rage
I need more booze
Still looking at an empty page
Searching for a muse

The muse had always been there
The thing that made me rage
At it I did stare
My muse was the empty page
 
Michael Micmac Mccrory
   
 

   
   
 

  128.     

The English Invader in Training 2011

Future English invaders in training
Running amok
Bust that lock
Plunder and pillage

Good old English youths
Keeping the home fires burning
Stealing all that’s not tied down
It’s riches they are yearning

They are the new English invaders
In training
Today an unruly mob
Tomorrow they’ll be reigning

The English are at it again
Bullying by force
Taking what’s not theirs
It seems nobody cares

The victims can only wait
Prisoners in their own home
As the villains lay in wait
There is some good news

These particular English
Are leaving Ireland alone
They are practising by robbing
From their own

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