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JM McCann Jun 2015
is  well traveled, for a blind deaf spirit it is rather infinite.
A spirit that has stumbled through life so often, can
hear the passing of the torch from thousands of miles away,
can describe the blue pink sky with streaks of orange
as a jet flies unnoticed against the back ground
hidden by itself for eternity or at least until it touches ground.
Love knows the clear deep pool, reflecting a passerby’s face as
love sleeps warm on the mud floor.
Love knows the concrete floor so often skimmed over
yet love is certain of nothing.
Love knows the same nothingness that you and I both preach.
This is a love poem just not to a lover.
An ode to songs sung and songs that are leaving singers mouths
and songs that are yet to be seen.
Love takes up less than space but gives us reason for space.
It passes in the voice of a father telling his father dinner is ready.
The indistinguishable clear invisible force sweeps not
with the power of a truck but with the handshake and a new doctor.
The moment never ends.
Somewhere a long long time ago green landscape bodies strewn, a mother gives birth,
a child is born, life celebrated,
the young boy’s life football, celebrates language singing,
about the game he loves.
The boy’s birth evolves with life.
Somewhere long ago the man becomes a father.
The moment keeps moving with life.
The kids learned love and the moment grows up with his children.
In a peaceful home a little bit ago his body gives out, life is celebrated.
The moment keeps evolving with his family.
This was a poem for my dad written about his dad who passed months ago.
JM McCann Jun 2015
I remember when you were my friend, when we talked about the future
and our plans. I wanted to get one good dose of life and went to the mountains.
You wanted safety of your survival and went to exchange your rights
for extra harnesses.
You began to search for survival and found the highway.
The neon blue signs
advertising just that.
You will feel comfortable, very comfy cause when you see the same
things at 10mph at 100mph what’s the rush?
You will survive for a long time never too long what you claim,
happy to see where the world goes.
The bug on your windshield will be your biggest problem.
Your foot will begin to slip and you will turn off the highway.
Yet the bumps on the exit ramps will be more than bumps,
slowly flattening your tires, destroying the and you leave worse than when you
turned off.
Not the ramps fault it’s just things were designed this way you saywith a shrug.
Slowly your organs will start to show and you will survive for a long time
but nothing more.
You will see how ugly a heart really is, a blob of red keeping you alive.
You will see your mortality in the mirror.
You will feel the harnesses, once so comforting begin to dig into your skin.
The lines from the harness more clear than clothing.
You will have food, water and a place to hang your hat
but it will never be your home but you will survive for a long long time,
too long.  
The suicide nets prevent the last line of control and you will survive for
a very long time, far too long.
You will bounce off the nets and be gently be taken back to the highway.
Hope you enjoy and any feedback is more than welcome!
JM McCann May 2015
Why is it so much easier to be disillusioned
about the lush forest than it is to see the
flowers that really exist?
Why is it easier to feel the vastness of a desert than it is
to feel the vastness of a life/ rainforest?

Sure no **** we don’t live in an oasis but that does not mean
trees taller than building don’t exist,
it does not mean we live in the middle of a desert with
time frozen and sand liquid.
Sure there are snakes in the sand but they are not the only animals.
Monkeys, lizards octopi whales, humans all of us exist.
We live among deserts and oasis’s.
So for gods sake while deserts are big can we not champion the oceans
that are a little bigger?!
Any comments critism is more than welcome!
JM McCann May 2015
This will be no sad song,
I don’t want to overflow the rivers of tears
with a flood of my own.
We have all seen enough to fill oceans,
In dark corners I have seen the fates
sitting around and smile.

Some rivers overflow, and other scrap together every last
penny just to fight another day.

You die, I die, the president will die.
Our voices will not crawl along the edge of
a river rasping at the others to accept the
We will trumpet the tail of the glory of life from the after-party.
Chatting casually with a soldier wearing the wrong colors.
Is there one among us who does not bear the blood of countless souls?

The best champagne will not open to the highest bidder.
Nor will it be enjoyed by one, but by the prostiuite by the cop
by the technician, yourself and I. All of us enjoying each other’s stories,
none shall be left from the table, the best champagne all shall toast
with it.
An epic of a fight with a lion and the wind, of living through time
and the difficulties of never cutting the delicate surface no struggle
greater than either.
The old skeletons will find new life and I will dance freely with them
arm in arm, for a second or eternity.
We will stand proud together singing and dancing before the after party.
Then we shall toast to it all.
We shall toast the ever so careful historians,
did they really think they could fit, even the after party on
any number of pages?
So I'm thinking of cutting from the start til You die I die, thoughts on if I should? And any thoughts are always more than welcome!
JM McCann May 2015
I feel everything is in my control yet I manage to ****
up everything but lying.
**** up at chemistry, at college at racing.
The bullet stuck in the chamber or just never their.
I half want to cry about woe is me, confess
all my sins, get forgiven by a priest, have the priest
give me some direction. Just one problem:
I can’t say I love the god that anyone proposes.

The other half of me wants to sing dance and write kick-*** poetry.
This is a non-issue, I procrastinate.
JM McCann May 2015
A single voice is mortal, a loud enough chorus is immortal.
Striking the symbols and bouncing all the way down
to the sky.
The conductor wildly swings his arm for the audience who pay.
You and I sing for the joy of playing along with the birds,
We are changing nature, singing for the sake
of adding a note to the world.

We can get the thoughts in our head to turn the other way.
An army that charges screaming is scary, an army that charges
laughing would make me **** myself.
Charging at you genuinely happy to fight the
fight they know to be right to be earning ground for
those who can’t buy it.

All shall be welcome no background checks,
the undercover cop will be turned.
I’m not asking you to love every stranger,
Don’t try to make out with every stranger
that’s weird but keep an open mind.
They could be the next
Bush or an angel.

No turns in fate just the world tilted at a new angle.
Prehaps some debate about which way to be turned
after some talk among the universe.
Does this historian really think he can write who we
were? Do they really that some secrets
won’t be buried with the passing second?
They shall discover oxygen and claim it to be new
and new it shall be, the world refreshed at last.

The passing car shall pass with the horse and
the dove overhead cries a white and blue cry,
singing to the stars above
none shall rule out the other all given all. The waves shall
break in neat order, tirelessly! Our heartbeat without an audience
a wave without an audience are we really that diffferent?
Are you, I, a passing stranger and billions of unnamed people
that different?

The rock the couple sits on, the rock that gave
the kid his first ****** nose
that you and I shall sit on, rests contently
not knowing that it fell or if its still falling.
A work in progress part of a larger poem
JM McCann May 2015
Facebook draws at me.
Utube calls for me.
Can’t stop.

The vastness of a single square of whatever the **** internet is made of
horse ****?
Eggs oranges, breakfast falls from the t.v.

interconnected by who knows what?
Not I says basically everyone.
Truer words not spoken.
Engaging poets don’t produce this ****** work.
Regrets, I have nothing also this is me pretending to be clever.
No new nuisanced nittypicky ideas left.
Enough you cry, it will end soon
Told you.
yeah not much to say just bored and a little stressed why is this a diaere?
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