"Mighty" Mike McGee's Electronic Place of Himself.
Typings of a well-traveled, talky, funny, hobo-poet.
POEM FOR THE GIRL WHO HAS LOST HER FATHER (FOR SARAH)
by Mike McGee
November 29, 2010
Dearest, woman
Your life has not ended
but chapters have closed themselves
Yes, maybe before you finished enjoying them
Nonetheless
Keep reading
This is not a collapse, but
it is a completion in which you were not given full authority over
We never are
He was all to one of your halves
Now you must be all to the rest of yours
Use the strength you loved him for having
You cannot finish his life for him
He will move to wherever you believe he should go
Hold onto his voice and hear it in your own
Let his scent linger and notice it in others
Tell them why you stand so close
Remember the times he held you so small
Lift yourself up to that height
at the very least
Do not treat death
like a thing that happens to the few
but the most that happens to the whole of us
Mention him in passing
and don’t ever stop passing
See him in your friends
Know that he is in your family so thoroughly
It usually takes this grand departure
for them to appear everywhere else
Let them hold you now
He taught you
You taught them
It is their turn to hold you
It is our turn to hold you close
If and when you don’t feel him around you
Look into a mirror or simply
pay attention to your own living
and he will appear more a more often
Thank him for the good you are
For the love he taught you
and the time he gave
Name him in new people
if you must
but surely keep his name in ink
somewhere
as reminder and reclamation
Know that he loved you
These cycles are so natural
that there is no reason for us to fight them
We try so desperately to have love returned to us
from creatures so temporary
yet, we give it away to them knowing
it must all end someday
This is the smartest thing we know how to do
So honor his life and
enter him into the ears of those who should listen
Keep him living
in those who are breathing still
This entry was written by , posted on 30 November, 2010 at 12:54 AM, filed under New Poems and tagged for sarah, New Poems, poetry by mighty mike mcgee. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
CRUSHING LONELINESS
Copyright 2010 Mike McGee
(A first draft.)
Fucking loneliness…
Oh, what a laughable, horrible, gnarled loop of sadness you are.
How dare you come around again.
You were told last time you commandeered my bed and my room and my time and my bath towel:
Your service is questionable and ultimately reprehensible.
Most of the time,
I find you not worth the price of saltwater lubrication.
But I am learning that your first wave of attack, triggered too easily — be them songs, commercials, or the face of the one with whom my dreams think match me word for word — you fucking beastly rash, is the conductor that times and tunes me to the key of crying.
They are these wails, for that face or for this world, that are the girders and reinforcements within my chest, keeping you from crushing me to punctuation.
You abhorrent trend. You old English tongue: I just barely comprehend you. You are all too familiar in my ears and throat. I want you out of me and this house.
I will blast you with rock and rap and folk and laughter. I will serenade you with my lung songs that sound more like an abandoned pet at the bottom of my stomach. I will not give up on love or joy just because you have broken into my skull once more with your crowbar sadness. But indeed, you are very good at it. A formidable enemy. You are undoubtedly my truest foe.
I will overcome this crushing. I will crush back and do it in all of its meanings for all those you’ve terrorized. I will stompfuck you with lovefeet, you dancefloor of shit and misery. You ugly bristle. You kanker sore in my love mouth. I pull your teeth so not only will you stop biting, but to ensure your retreat.
You pox on all things sunny and warm. Evaporate your cold from this place. Extract all of this meanworld blood that is not mine.
See how I win? I have these words and hope.
So I win. I win. And you win this bucket of saltwater. Congratulations, fuckhole. Take your ocean pittance and be gone. I have love to champion and peace to welcome.
I hope, therefore, I win.
This entry was written by , posted on 27 March, 2010 at 12:45 PM, filed under New Poems and tagged mike mcgee poem, New Poems, poem. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
CRUSHING LONELINESS
Copyright 2010 Mike McGee
(A first draft.)
Fucking loneliness…
Oh, what a laughable, horrible, gnarled loop of sadness you are.
How dare you come around again.
You were told last time you commandeered my bed and my room and my time and my bath towel:
Your service is questionable and ultimately reprehensible.
Most of the time,
I find you not worth the price of saltwater lubrication.
But I am learning that your first wave of attack, triggered too easily — be them songs, commercials, or the face of the one with whom my dreams think match me word for word — you fucking beastly rash, is the conductor that times and tunes me to the key of crying.
They are these wails, for that face or for this world, that are the girders and reinforcements within my chest, keeping you from crushing me to punctuation.
You abhorrent trend. You old English tongue: I just barely comprehend you. You are all too familiar in my ears and throat. I want you out of me and this house.
I will blast you with rock and rap and folk and laughter. I will serenade you with my lung songs that sound more like an abandoned pet at the bottom of my stomach. I will not give up on love or joy just because you have broken into my skull once more with your crowbar sadness. But indeed, you are very good at it. A formidable enemy. You are undoubtedly my truest foe.
I will overcome this crushing. I will crush back and do it in all of its meanings for all those you’ve terrorized. I will stompfuck you with lovefeet, you dancefloor of shit and misery. You ugly bristle. You kanker sore in my love mouth. I pull your teeth so not only will you stop biting, but to ensure your retreat.
You pox on all things sunny and warm. Evaporate your cold from this place. Extract all of this meanworld blood that is not mine.
See how I win? I have these words and hope.
So I win. I win. And you win this bucket of saltwater. Congratulations, fuckhole. Take your ocean pittance and be gone. I have love to champion and peace to welcome.
I hope, therefore, I win.
Originally published at Mike McGee Town. You can comment here or there.
This entry was written by , posted on at 12:45 PM, filed under Personal Updates and tagged mike mcgee poem, New Poems, poem. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
In thinking of reasons why a woman might not date me, I came up with this silly poem. This is my attempt to recharge the humorous poetry in my brain. This is fictitious, but I think it is a real sentiment. More to come…
HER CAT MUST BE AWESOME
© 2010 Mike McGee
She has to get home to feed her cat and I’m thinking, ‘Your cat is fine. It will survive a night without you.’
She says, “He can’t be alone overnight.”
I tell her I feel the same way all the time. And I actually have something to offer the world.
She says her cat’s special. It sounds like he’s saying ‘Reno’ when he meows.
“Reno?” I ask. As in “Reno, Nevada?”
“Yep.” She says emphatically. “Reno.”
“All the time? As in every time it meows?”
“No, only every once in a while, like when he’s really craving attention or needs to be brushed.”
“Oh.” I say. Oh.
I tell her that when I’m craving attention, I take my shirt off, exposing the Katherine Hepburn-shaped birthmark on my stomach and make it talk: ‘Hello, everybody! Got any more tequila?’
I just met you and I by now you must realize I am human and I have needs and I can love you, actually love you. I’m not jumping the gun here, but I am capable of real love, not this programmed feline, ‘you’re the keeper of the food, so I guess I’ll stick around,’ bullshit.
Does your cat have the ability to make a room laugh without it having anything to do with its own failure? Can it use a QWERTY keyboard? Does it understand how to code even a modicum of HTML? Can it Photoshop images of you to look like you have a handlebar mustache? I don’t thinks so!
I can do half of those things while I have soup cooking on the stove. See these thumbs!? Do you? DO YOU!!? These mean I win.
“You’re right.” She says coyly. And we boned right there at Taco Bell. Nine months later, we had 8 kittens.
They run my website now.
———
Word to the nerd.
Bunny up.
Originally published at Mike McGee Town. You can comment here or there.
This entry was written by , posted on 4 February, 2010 at 11:25 AM, filed under Personal Updates and tagged awesome, cat, funny, humor, ideas, New Poems, poem, silly, writing. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.