Long Real mccoy Poems
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Whether born a girl or a boy,
a baby's a bundle of joy:
for they are the real McCoy.
See how they shine!
Watch the little children at play,
sharing a sunny Summer's day;
like sparkling stars, in life's array.
See how they shine!
Attending their last day of school
students strut about, acting cool:
and each is a treasured jewel.
See how they shine!
Lovers in a tender embrace
feel their hearts throb and pulses race;
as happy smiles light up their face.
See how they shine!
Aging couples walk hand in hand;
doubt and deceit forever banned:
two hearts linked by a golden band.
See how they shine!
The gingerbread boy
swigged my molasses and stole my fire truck toy,
blasted the siren and drove all through the town
till I caught him and gobbled him down.
The gingerbread boy,
all in his buttons, so coy,
issued a challenge, "Catch me if you can".
He'll never become a gingerbread man.
The gingerbread boy,
resourcefulness, he would employ
as he escaped the oven I put him in.
Too bad he's now in a cookie tin.
The gingerbread boy,
gluten free, might contain soy,
sat by himself, all forlorn.
"No one wants to catch me", he'd mourn.
The gingerbread boy,
his parachute, he would deploy,
as through the sky he dove...
after escaping from the stove.
The gingerbread boy,
believe or not, married Helen of Troy.
She said he was good for a laugh,
and then, she bit him in half.
The gingerbread boy,
a treat to enjoy,
though somewhat sadistic,
and cannibalistic.
The gingerbread boy
last seen in Illinois.
is on the FBI's most wanted.
"Catch me", he taunted.
The gingerbread boy
has plans to destroy
your intentions to diet.
He and his brothers say, "Try it!".
The gingerbread boy,
grandmother said, was the "real McCoy",
as she took another swig of gin,
adding, "though his brain is the size of a pin."
The gingerbread boy -
don't fall for his crafty ploy.
In the oven while he tans,
he makes escape plans.
The gingerbread boy,
never meant to annoy.
He only wanted to have fun,
and now, sadly, his story is done.
He said, "Where ever you break down, call me, and I will come to get you".
One day he picked me up, and I was taken aback when I saw an open can of Beer. When I mentioned it to him, he said to me, "You worry too much".
He told me things in private that I would not repeat, and he said things publicly when we were together that sometimes embarrassed me, but I would not trade my friendship with Al for anything.
It appears that Al had lost faith in Christians and organized religion, but he believed in God, and he believed in me. I was free to let Al be Al, and he was the same toward me. Al was clean, neat, transparent, unpretentious, unmasked, and free.
Al was an opened book easily read and overwhelmingly interesting
to anyone who loved novels. I must confess that I do not like novels,
but I loved every page of Al's true-life story. No, I do not miss Al's foul
language, his heavy drinking, or his bitterness, but I miss some awful
my dear friend Al, vintage Al, the genuine article, the real McCoy. Yes,
I miss his great mechanical abilities which served me well for some
20 years, but I miss his honesty more. Al knew his limits and always
stayed between the lines with me.
Prior to Al's passing, I had never attended a funeral without masks.
In other words, his funeral was also an open book, a mirror reflecting
vintage Al. I tell you, my life was enriched by the friendship of Al.
070220PS
Ha! Please take down
The eyesore
You've mounted atop your head.
You wonder why
It feels much too heavy.
Here's the unvarnished truth.
Because, well, because
One cannot be
A fool
And a king
Simultaneously
Your counterfeit diadems
Hold no weight, or value.
They wouldn't shine beneath
A plethora of suns.
Spare yourself
The world's ridicule.
To rule an empire
Unchallenged,
To someday sit
On a throne, wearing
The real McCoy
To travel so much as
Halfway
The long glory road
To acquire the royal appellation
And prestige you covet,
For starters, deep-six
Your distended ego
And delusions of grandeur
Date written: 04/24/2022
Can remember an ember from being a boy
Off for a trundle little me just a bundle of joy
Dream I am Roy of the Rovers or Rob Roy
Admit never did behave like Lord Fauntleroy
More up for a caper than being a paperboy
Dressing up always more Indian than cowboy
More bow and arrow shun the gun not my toy
Messing up older a bit bolder got first playboy
Each page teenage hormones rage their ploy
Confessing at some stage wore dodgy corduroy
Not a fave gave colder shoulder to sage Tolstoy
More plot thickens heart quickens Dickens envoy
Who's ever told sold better tales of the hoi polloi
Artful dodger that insightful and spriteful decoy
Delightful a bold cheeky and sneaky barrow boy
BUT
Liars & deniers stoking fires while we're choking annoy
Pariahs empires of desires requires knaves to employ
Craves those culture vulture raves which then destroy
Waves stroking cage of wage slaves to graves deploy
Don’t subscribe to tribe’s lust it must just surely cloy
Paths to Mars paves all caves in as did for Helen of Troy
SO
Won’t snaffle the health raffle... folks selling saveloy?
Or crickey chat to that spiky pikey prat yelling “Oi Oi”
We maybe all at sea but lets believe land’s nearly ahoy
Street food snack some heat... pak choi chilli and soy
Suss don’t ever be coy telling us what you dearly enjoy
The fuzzy warmth you feel clearly is the real deal mccoy
True birthday treat got to finally eat yearly at the Savoy
If beset then really never forget the reset for regret JOY
My Dad
By Curtis Johnson
In all appearances, his feet were firmly planted in our southern home town
It seemed clear that daddy’s life was fixed and fashioned on the grounds of Dixie
But I’m also certain, there were times I heard his heart beating a different sound
A hard working dad and a stay-at-home mom: all respectables
A live-in grand mom, obedient children, and a dog name jack, a quiet place for kids to live, grow, and thrive: all commendables
Food, clothing, shelter, and transportation: all predictables
Church, school, work, and information: all expectables
Yes, stability was the real McCoy in my family. Everything and everybody,
Like the steady ticking of a clock, stayed basically the same day after day.
Sameness was a staple; newness was rare; change is what we longed for.
A change of place, to explore the human race
A change of pace, to catch the sands of time
A change of faze, to rise to higher levels
A change of ways, to reach new destinies
A change of plans, to find our purpose
A change of focus, to chart our course
Yes, change is what our hearts were longing for
We knew that ‘sameness’ was always given the more
But we also knew that ‘change’ would someday
Come a knocking at our door
It may be true that daddy’s feet were fashioned, fixed, and planted
Perhaps he was dreaming, and in his mind, he saw something more
It seemed for sure that his soul was charting a different course,
Because we often heard him say, “I’m going out west where the
Eagles build their nest”.
I do not know if my dad was being poetic, or if he really desired
A different land. But I do believe that he was longing for change
And I believe that daddy longed for a fresh touch of God’s hands
And I believe that his soul was uttering, “I’m longing to know the
Master’s plan.
cj06162007
On the bus I pass by a building
We refer to as the looney bin
I can’t help but be looking
I see patients that aren’t locked in
They hang out catching a ray of sun
While smoking with an air of chagrin
They never look like they’re having fun
I think if I were in the looney ward
I’d want to escape the blah phenomenon
I’d want to pretend I won some big award
For being crazy happy with no reason
And I’d be laughing all day as my reward
They could accuse me of flaming treason
I wouldn’t care I’d be spreading christmas joy
No matter what the time or season
In the looney bin I’d whop it up like a real McCoy
AP: 3rd place 2020
Ahab needed shore leave,
And obsessed so on his dream,
Harpooning some sweet harlot
Had become his major theme.
He was just a novice mariner,
His first time far from home.
He’d made his maiden voyage
With his wild oats yet unsown.
Jezebel liked scrimshaw,
Always wore it like a queen.
She loved to dress in style
And had a taste for French cuisine.
She was just another working girl,
Young sailors were her game.
She didn’t dig Jehovah,
But she’d do Him just the same.
Ahab went on liberty
With fifty bucks in cash.
He laid down ten on his first tattoo
And a shot of sour mash.
Jezi smiled coquettishly,
Cooed, Hey there, cherry boy,
For forty shekels I’ll show you the ropes.
I shag like the real McCoy.
Jezebel naughtily lowered her veil
And shimmied her best Bette Davis.
Ahab said, "Baby, lead me astray
Where Elijah’s conceit can’t betray us."
Ahab followed Jezi
To her boudoir’s upper floor,
Singing gayly of Nantucket
Like some salty troubadour.
Ahab put his hand inside
Her open cookie jar.
The moment seemed electric,
Like Saint Elmo lit his spar.
Just then the temple cops burst in
And ruined his crescendo.
Ahab ran; they clipped his leg.
Jezebel jumped out the window.
This story and its moral
Speak of tragic dialogues:
Ahab deflowered a virgin prosthesis,
And Jezebel went to the dogs.
To sing an anthem for doomed youth.
Why did I believe the clergy's untruth
and the politicians who I voted for in a polling booth.
and know i will pay the price in karma's toll booth.
Governments don't worry with arms and the boy.
or the death of a man who just years before was a school boy.
Oh the futility of war its the real Mccoy.
the lords and lady's watch on high as we die, just the hoi polloi.
Lets say no to the next war lets live in peace for ever more.
the only army I am joining is the peace corps.
I'm finished, I am not going to be the politicians war whore.
The last laugh will be mine as I refuse to fight your wars .
comp entry 11/02
poet Wilfred Owen His family once lived in Nantwich ie 5 miles away and it was
his poems that 1st got me interested in poetry.
Bluebells carpeting a shaded wood.
Reading a well written book.
A live band playing all their hits.
all bring joy, The real McCoy.
Holidays in far off lands.
Making party plans .
Meeting up with the one you love.
These all bring joy, The real McCoy
A babe in arms.
A puppy dog.
A kitten with a ball of string.
Simple joys, The real McCoy
A winning bet.
A nice pay rise.
A lottery winning line.
Its all true joy, The real McCoy
No more wars.
Or politics.
Just living life for life's sake
This is joy, The real McCoy
This world is full war and strife
Ignore it live your life
Let others stress and scream and shout
I'm just going to enjoy this life
Signed Mr R McCoy ***