"mcgee" poems
Your tall body has always enticed me
Your long arms have kept me safe
Your scruffy beard makes me smile
And your smile makes me melt
Your hands hold mine and make me feel loved
And wipe away the tears
Enough of these superficial reasons
Your love has comforted me
Your humor has made me laugh
(Until I snort)
Your words have made smile
And cry
But always out of love
Your generosity
Has never left me empty handed
No matter how much I beg you
To keep your money for yourself
Your caring heart reminds me
I'm not alone
Somehow you stopped the shaking trembling in my anxious thoughts
You brought me back to reality
You stopped me from dying
You stopped me from hurting myself
You stopped me from starving
From expelling the contents of my stomach
But most of all you gave me hope
A reason to carry on
A reason to fight my mind
To tell the mirror it's a liar
To throw my blades away
And eat whatever I want
A reason to keep living
And to love myself
I know you don't feel good enough
But look at all this evidence
Change the criteria in your head
The requirement of "good enough"
Should only contain one thing
You
All you have to be is you
To be good enough for me
Because I ******* love you
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
Todd Totally Toad
Finger Smell McGee
E-I-E-I **** You
Captain Sally Potato
Blackhole Sound *****
The Glass Candy Imagination Man
Dew Snot
One-Eyed Duce Leg of the Cement Dimension
The Guy Who Makes Sailors, Pirates and Fisherprice men shake their Buoy.
The Saccharine Snake of Compatibility
Yeti Jenny ******
Johnny Loch Ness **** Deck.
Chicken ***** McGillicutty
Blanket Face
Rev. 3D Trigonometry
The Little Pistachio ****
The Killer Doll That Only Exists in My Alternate Universe's Self's Imagination.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
Strolling down the dusty road
I reached the path of an abode.
The Black Shamrock an Irish pub
I stopped inside for a pint mug.
One mug topped off with ale
That next to Guiness Stout
Looked pale, A Pilsner in the glass.
And down the bar a drunken fool
Sat staring with blurred eyes and drool.
A sassy colleen tended the bar.
And if your hands were free,
They wouldn't get far, for
If they reach to the wrong place.
You'ld a bar wenches Slap.
Across your face, and a spot of red
For all to see, that you got the Hand.
Of Molly McGee, a fiddler Bowed.
An Irish Jig, and a penny whistle.
Carried the tune to the drunken crowd
Within the room, a game of darts is made
While cribbage by old farts is played.
And the pints are emptied by the hour.
As the clock rings out in the churches tower
As drunks are Roused, and doors are closed
Old friends will stumble down the road.
All in an Irish night
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC
Why lame McGee?
Why would you
choose to be,
Lame McGee?
Soon Forgotten
in history,
Only because she
refused a simple plee,
Long Gone,
But not long missed
R.I.P. Lame McGee.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
Tell me, Gentlemen:
while you soared higher than your fears and dreams could ever reach, into the blue crystal infinity,
did you hear the voices of angels echoing off the wings of geese migrating south for the winter?
how did it feel,
fighting for a nation that measured your worth in disheveled water fountains, mop buckets, dust rags, and potato peelings,
defending stars and stripes stained with the same molten white abhorrence smeared on ******** bombers?
did it hit you like a G force?
when you climbed into that cockpit, audaciously red, the blood rushing to your head, was it bitter hand fulls of cherries sweet?
when you returned home through back doors and alleyways to face an Uncle Sam with burning crosses in his eyes,
when you stood curbside at your own homecoming parade feeling confetti and streamers tickle the bridges of your noses,
tell me how it felt, Gentlemen.
will my brothers and sisters who fight only for tennis shoe wealth, understand the worth of those medals on your scarlet blazers?
if I listen hard enough to those jets breaking the sound barrier will I hear your story?
tell me, Gentlemen,
what was it like to fly?
infinite respects,
Curlie Fries Mcgee
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC
With disdain they looked upon one Billy McGee
a boy that promised never to be;
a rep that’s scarred and scratched,
for sure his name’s mismatched
as darker skin ya’ever did see
on blackish hair with reddish flecks of Billy McGee.
A red haired aboriginal boy
matches were only a toy
and he was caught red handed
and always branded
the troublesome fire starter.
Poor boy had no farda
he was stolen in a generation;
trouble, his one destination
for any of his wild-sown seed.
Never had a chance, Billy McGee.
May 15, 2022
May 15, 2022 at 7:55 AM UTC
Little Samantha McGee was climbing up a tree.
Branch by Branch she went further and further up with glee.
Till she got to the top, it was quite a drop.
Poor little Samantha McGee lost her grip on that tree.
Down and down to the ground she went yelling, "oh dear mother please catch me."
But it was not to be, for you see it was all a dream.
Little Samantha McGee won't be climbing in any other trees.
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 12:38 AM UTC
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Quartermaster qualified quaint quaffing quadrilateral Pythons. Pyrex pylons put purdy purposeful puny punsters punching. Pumpkin pumice publicized prudential protean pros properly pronouncing prolific prodigies.
Proletariats professors' problematic. Pro privileges prioritized. Principle primates prevaricate. Preppy pregnant, praying prattler possibly Porgie. Poseidon pooping poodle ponders poppycock. Plum? Polite poison pods ply pitiful pinterest.
Pinhead Pillsbury pillager Pi. Pigskin pierce petsmart pests permanently. Perdition percolates peppered PennState pedigreed PearlJam Patagonian. Pastor pastes passion passably. Papas' paginated orbitz okayed. Nutty node needs money.
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Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
This was the year we
All got our Lost Boys names.
(No, not the vampires...we're Lost.
On Neverland.
In Neverland?)
Pillows McGee first, I think.
"That's mine--you can stick it wherever."
"Awww...I want a Happy Trail."
Or maybe it was
Lucky.
For he truly was a lucky sonofabitch that night.
"It's nice when a guy gives your ****** back when he's done."
What's the most important ingredient to a friendship, Lucky? "Another person."
True dat, Lucky. True dat.
* all nod *
Smokestacked! She smokes! And she's stacked!
Inspirational. Charming.
"I'm always on a quest for a ******
VERY ADAMANT: "I don't like **** Snakes are okay!"
Forking Ariel
had quite a bit to drink. She wanted to know why she wasn't a lesbian.
She wanted to **** on the end...but none of us can remember the end of what, anymore.
We just wrote it down because it sounds filthy.
We like filth.
Forking Ariel lost her box at some point. Probably around the time
she told us
she doesn't **** the end and she doesn't just grab it.
...otter pops?
FLASHER!
"I'll get it with my teeth."
Yeah, you will.
Flasher gave the last Lost Boy their name:
"I'm gonna have to go for Bushless Red."
Lucky: "That sounds like a cigarette. There's nothing I like more between my lips than Bushless Red."
Bushless Red hasn't had a Happy Ending, apparently, but she likes her cigarette commercial. She's
Painful, Feminine, and Appetizing.
"I say we all do it on the bed, because--" ...giggles uncontrollably.
Dear Diary,
Today, I discovered that heaven is in Cillian Murphy's pants. Or Forking Ariel's.
Also, an important ingredient in a friendship is another person.
~Bushless Red.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
Touring the cities of England and the UK
Back of a transit van, rocking up to anywhere that paid
The brothers Grimm and their trusty cohorts
Bonehead on rhythm, McCarroll on drums, Guigsy up to all sorts
That gig at the Wah Wah, King Tuts to be precise
Glasgow you beauty, **** the next show up in Fife
The man that found them, a mister Alan McGee
A Britpop revolution, all great memories
They came and most failed, that one gig on Top of The Pops
Menswear to Mansun and an array of rank haircuts where the seagulls did flock
We had the trendies in Camden all hanging around on their scooters with parka’s
Noel or Liam and that fella from Echobelly, anything to be famous and get on the telly
But then the times must end and it all turned a little sour
A few trudged on with an album or two, the Manics to Cast and the lyrics from John Power
Patsy and Liam had that cover on the front of Vanity Fair
Draped in Britannia, divorce on the cards, strange how no-one now cares
Good times they were without a worry in the world and a now gone era
Euro 96, Southgate’s miss and those goals from Teddy and Shearer
A time well remembered and days I’d love to see back
If not only for the music but for the not caring and the unforeseen great craic
Not to hate the now as times move on
But a day in the past, served at seventeen and to claim you were the one
Not to be asked I.D. and sneakily drink that Stella
laughing at the bar, king of the blaggers, not to be served again by that same fella
Before the phone and the apps, we used to meet face to face
Girl at the bar, a bit of blarney and a home number to suit, always up for the chase
Do you ring tomorrow and who’s going to answer
Her mum might be alright, but her dad could be a ******
I couldn’t imagine doing it all again now
Swipe left to say no or right to give it a go
Seems inhuman to me not to spark up a chat
But maybe that’s just me, stuck in past, I’m just old hat.
JJB
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
This is the tale
of wild hair McGee
affectionatly known
to some as Scotty
Zipping around
the airport with glee
in his big yellow forklift
writing poetry
Many have wondered
how his name came to be
it was hung on his back
by his boss Jeffery
Dumping the bins
in his faithful steed
a machine that is known
as ol' smokey
If you want to judge
the course of the day
just take off his helmet
his hair would then say
A little to the left
no patience left
a little to the right
stayed up late last night
If standing up Straight
you might have to wait
all to the back
your the bottom of the stack
Don't take it personal
it;s not meant to be
all in a days work
for wild hair McGee
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 6:43 AM UTC
Twenty-five brothers
Of Mr. McGee
Not one had eyes of blue
Until one day
A lad was born
Who bore the name of Lou
Sep 30, 2011
Sep 30, 2011 at 4:07 PM UTC
Banjos and vagabond songs
these are your heroes
I don't think you're wrong
but Neil Young doesn't know ****
about the weight of a heart of gold
I wish I could see it all
in that backwards view
of a freight train flying by
and I wouldn't mind
you by my side
like Janis and her romanticized McGee
but I've never been anywhere
longer than a few days
worth mentioning and I'm
covered in spider bites
from the dust and courage
of un-making my bed again
the ache of a blue-collar soul
song never caressed my ear the wrong way
I've got vagabond dreams
but too much of a rebel soul to go
with the flow of whiskey rivers
where flasks don't refill
I meant well but the dog bit back
too bad I still have trouble with
feral friends not ready for saving
cities build you up or down
you're either made
a liar or an idealist
always a cynic either way
you've been thinking
but I've been Janis too long
to think I might have won
I'm starting to believe a heart
of gold needs love
a little tarnished but Neil Young
was wrong
it's the expressions you give
not the mining you did
that remind me
these stale-dust spider bites
don't make a heart any
less gold.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 12:37 AM UTC
Don't be so sure of thee,
Why not try to be a surety.
But if you have an insecurity
Then you should be into a security
Friends, family, and loved one's
will back you to
Eternity
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
by John Gillespie McGee Jr.
Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling
mirth of sun-split clouds, and done a hundred
things you have not dreamed of - wheeled
and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence.
Hovr'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along,
and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up, the long, delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
the high untrespassed sanctity of space,
put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
John Gillespie Magee, Jr., September 3, 1941
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
With disdain they looked upon one Billy McGee
a boy that promised never to be
a rep that's scarred and scratched
for sure his name's mismatched
as darker skin ya'ever did see
on blackish hair with reddish flecks of Billy McGee.
A red haired aboriginal boy
matches were only a toy
and he was caught red handed
and always branded
the troublesome fire starter.
poor boy had no farda
he was stolen in a generation
trouble, his one destination
for any of his wild sown seed.
Never had a chance, Billy McGee.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
Our heros keep exiting the stage,
Leaving us their music, art, film, and literature.
Their athletic accomplishments,
Their political discretions,
And hidden battlescars,
Their scientific and medical wonders.
Our ancestors left us the wheel and fire,
The family unit and our extended compatriots.
A good lineage always starts in the cave,
And helps us make it through the night.
Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 8:30 AM UTC
I KNOW THAT YOU GONING TO DEPART FROM ME FOR A LITTLE WHILE, BUT AS YOU GO REMEMBER ME BY THE SOUNDS OF THE BIRDS SINGING A LOVE SONG,WHEN THE SUN COMES OUT THAT SHINES SO BRIGHT AND WARM, TAKE ME IN YOUR HEART AND REMEMBER ME.
AS THE GRASS AND FLOWERS TRUN MANY DIFFERENT COLORS TAKE LOOK ACROSS THE FIELD AND LOOK UP IN THE SKY AND DON'T FORGET ABOUT ME,BECAUSE I LOVE. LISTEN TO THE SOUNDS OF THE TREES AS THE WIND BLOW SOFT MUSIC TO YOR EARS AND REMEMBER ME, I LOVE YOU.
WHEN YOU HEAR THE WATER ROLLING OFF THE MOUNTAIN TOP, IT'S ONLY ME, LETTING YOU KNOW THAT I AM STILL HERE AND I WILL ALWAYS BE WITH YOU.
WHO AM I;
YOU MIGHT ASK;
I AM YOUR FRIEND AND MY NAME IS JESUS.
SUBMIT BY: BESSIE MCGEE
3-21-92
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
Drunky McGee,
that's my nickname for her,
though lately I wonder
if it doesn't also describe me.
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 11:54 PM UTC
Down in the grassy meadow
in the stump of an ancient tree,
surrounded by clandestine hedgerows,
lived the indolent Ms. Molly McGee.
She was a prickly sort of gal,
with a long, cold, pointy snout.
She rocked all day in her chair,
and sniffed everyone out.
So beady, small, and blackened
her wily eyes fool most anyone,
but only she knew her secret news:
Her eyesight was all gone!
Covered in sharp quills from her head to her ****
she displayed such a thorny demeanor
Under the solitary crescent moon, she sighed,
"I guess I could always be meaner."
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 3:41 AM UTC
Phil McGee
Will you marry me
I want to be your bride
I'm smelling
Cigarettes and Pacorabanne
And ***** on your breath
Do you remember 95
When we crept outside
In the backstreets
Looking for chinese meals
And taxi wheels
in the darkness
No one told me that you passed away
But i found out the other day
In the paper
I was so sad that i wanted to hit my head on the wall
But i threw my iphone on the floor instead
it was better than hitting my head
Phiil McGee i wanted to be your bride
Phil McGee
I try on your clothes and do a pose
In the mirror
I discovered some shirts that you wore
In a charity store
Just near Andover
And when you smiled at me
It tore me up inside
Phil McGee
I wanted to be your bride
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 1:09 PM UTC
HI
JUST
came from hair shop.
Toe man is to come tomorrow.
Diane has an appt for 1:30 tomorrow
so hopefully we can meet outside.
Happy Birthday Sue and Anniversary , etc,
Your card will be late.
Beautiful day today after the rain,
Did you get enough rain?
Lunch is here,
Hope you are all well.
McGee is on.
love Mom
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 1:06 PM UTC