Categories
poem/poetry writing

POEM | Loss

I wish that losing
the best thing
that ever happened
to me
wasn’t the best thing
that ever happened to me

Categories
poem/poetry

POEM | Under The Streetlight

“I sat under a streetlight and realized that there is darkness to protect us from things we should not see. The night is ugly so the day can be beautiful.” @mightymikemcgeek an old poem of mine called Streetlight.

Categories
poem/poetry

POEM | Draft #1 of 1,000

It doesn’t matter
how much of your
contact information I delete
I set it to memory
when we met
so that I would never forget it
so that I could call you from a pay phone
the moment I reached shore
after being stranded
on an island for months or years

but now
I am an island and
all I want to do is call you
I still know your number and
there are phones all around me

I just want to hear a forgiving, tonal duet of technology and your voice

It seems you are the only one my heart will believe when it doesn’t believe in itself

But just because I can call
doesn’t mean I should
and this lesson has been the
hardest to memorize

Categories
poem/poetry

POEM: “At the Touch of You” by Witter Bynner, 1917

At the touch of you,

As if you were an archer with your swift hand at the bow,

The arrows of delight shot through my body.

You were spring,

And I the edge of a cliff,

And a shining waterfall rushed over me.

Witter Bynner, “At the Touch of You” was published in Witter Bynner’s collection Grenstone Poems; a sequence (Frederick A. Stokes, 1917).

This poem is in the public domain.

From Poets.org

Categories
poem/poetry

POEM | Soul Food: A Duel With Death At Lunchtime

Soul Food: A Duel With Death At Lunchtime

A silly poem by Mike McGee

October 24, 2000


So last week the Angel of Death comes knocking at my door

totally interrupting Perfect Strangers

And I’m like, Dude, you are so early! There is so much more I wanted to do with my life!

“You’ve had plenty of time for that!”

You know, you sound a bit like Sean Connery.

“No, he sounds a bit like me.”

Whatever, dude. There’s gotta be some sort of loop-hole. What if we competed for my soul? Like some sort of contest.

“I do love a good challenge. If we can both agree on one, then the winner may keep your soul.”

At this point I remembered I had a pot of ramen noodles waiting for me on the stove. The Angel of Death was lured into my kitchen by the sweet aromatic joy of powdered shrimp flavoring. I could see that Death was hungry, so I made a second pack of noodles. We sat and ate in silence, but my hunger just wouldn’t subside. So while I raided the fridge, I noticed Death scoping my Rice Krispy Treats.

“Still hungry, dude?”

“We’ll take one for the road.” he said.

And we both put a Rice Krispy treat in our pockets.

“You know, I could probably eat half of all your food.”

“So could I, dude… so could I.”

And it hit us both at the same time. We pulled out every bit of food in my house and divided it all into equal halves. We had one rule: First person to finish eating their half of food keeps my soul.

We sat down on the kitchen floor surrounded by an odd buffet. The world’s greatest food challenge began.

But this was no ordinary match.

I took an early lead as Death fumbled opening a can of refried beans. I plowed through a dozen eggs and half a gallon of milk. I strategically swallowed spoonful after spoonful of leftover lasagna without chewing. Death caught up to me with a tub of butter and half a soggy pumpkin pie. I hustled my way through cans of corn, green beans, kidney beans, chili, chicken soup, fruit cocktail, and a few cans of peas, but I was stopped dead in my tracks by a mystery can. It’s label missing and nowhere to be found. Damn, dog food! No time to think, I had to eat it.

Death was now ahead of me by two-cans of beer, a frozen steak and what we think may have been tamales. I burped to make room and continued on in the feast for my soul. I ate broccoli, cauliflower, cucumbers, oranges, bananas, a container of baking powder, two cups of salt & pepper, a jug of Pepto-Bismol and a can of whipped cream. We reached our last item of food. One. Raw. Potato. Each.

We slowly gnawed our way through the raw potatoes, swallowing our last bites at the exact same time. It appeared as though we had a draw. Then Death looked to me with a sly grin and handed me a Tupperware bowl with my half of uneaten Jello. I grabbed a straw and sucked it down, saying:

There’s always room for Jello, bitch!

But Death just smiled and said, “I believe I finished my half before you. Your soul is mine.”

But I just outsmiled him and said

What’s that in your pocket, hooker?

His face sunk as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the last Rice Krispy Treat.

He looked to me with fear as I handed him my wrapper, and swallowed a mouthful of crispy, marshmallow goodness.

I believe I win, fucker.

With that, the Angel of Death bowed and vanished.

I sat down to an episode of Full House

and ordered a pizza…

cuz there’s never

anything to eat

at my house.

Categories
blog fun poem/poetry thoughts

POEM | Santa Claus In Training

I am becoming that old man most people like—bearded and giggling.

I am pleased with this direction, even though I likely have no choice.

I seek it. Something in my genetics, maybe. And in the genes of all the men like me.

We’re a jolly kin meant for joyhood.

Job Description: Remind them that real laughter is holy.

What do you want for your holiday/Monday/yesterday? Tell me loud or with a stare. We may not speak it, but we read body language better than most.

Who needs a chimney when you’ve got a round-trip bus ticket?

My sleigh rides the rails. Sometimes it’s pulled by a Greyhound.

Eat your cookies, we’re all diabetic now, I’m sweet enough for the both of us.

None of us are saints. None of us are truly married.

But we’re all born to be this. Joymaking is a universal balance. It’s whispered to us the first time we see the same skill in someone else.

Be merry, it says.

Be merry, indeed.

I was born for this.

Categories
poem/poetry

POEM | My Immortal Beloved

She is always in pain
I am learning to
never be one for her
Were only my kiss
heroic/n