"The magic man"
In the land of lost hope and a dope filled dish,
I met a serpent and his name was wish.
He had a partner with ten thousand plans,
who went be the name of magic man.
Across the grave yard stood a beautiful tree,
that's where the serpent began to speak to me.
" Why are you alone?" "why do you look so sad?"
"What happen to your world and all of the things that you had?"
I opened my mouth because I wanted to speak,
but it was just to much,
I was just to weak.
Then around the corner stepped the magic man,
he taught me his ways and I became part of his plan.
I stepped into the darkness and away from the light,
the day the serpent grabbed my hand and took a bit.
As the venom took over and stole my breath,
I realized a little to late that I was in love with my death.
By: Joan McCue
The Saga of the Lonely Cactus: “Lucky Cactus” Fifth Part
By Miriam McCue
The lucky Cactus is not just one only.
He is no longer sad and lonely.
Now he sits and sweats,
In the desert taking bets.
He works in a Casino they built there,
(Though it blocks him from the air).
Instead of New York’s noisy fights,
His eyes are lit up by neon lights.
Some think the desert is becoming a dump,
‘Cause of the Casino built there by Donald Trump,
But here the cactus stays and does not ramble.
He takes advantage of those who gamble.
He’s wheeling, and dealing, and holding tight,
All though the day and into the night.
So let us give the cactus his due,
When his four Queens beat our lowly two.
Here the cactus has adjusted quite well,
In what preachers may call “the gambling hell”.
At least here the sand does abound,
And other cacti are around.
All are learning to play the game,
And raking in cash, all the same.
So Good Bye to the Big Apple,
Rain and snow.
Hello to the nights of neon glow.
THE END of the Saga of the Lonely Cactus.
( We love a happy ending!)
Saga of the Lonely Cactus: "The Lonely Cactus In New York City" Third Part
by Miriam McCue
The Lonely Cactus in New York City.
He cries ‘cause his life is a pity.
He misses the desert every day.
In New York he does not want to stay.
His tears are so very strong,
So his barrel will not have water in it very long.
The dogs use him for a fire plug.
The street addicts like to give him a slug.
They bother him day and night.
All they ever do is fight.
They scream all night and sometimes day.
The cactus never gets to play.
The police wake him with sirens loud,
This is no place for a cactus proud.
But he hopes and hopes,
And at night he prays,
That someone will come and take him away.
Back to the desert to get some peace,
Away from the junkies and police,
Where the night is so very still and dark,
Three thousand miles from Central Park.
Saga of the Lonely Cactus
Part 2: A Present from Kieran
by Miriam McCue
A present from Kieran came one day,
To Aunt Mikey in Alphabet City, so far away.
It was a cactus from the desert forlorn,
Complete with a red bow stuck on his thorn.
He arrived with a note which did say,
“I came to keep you company today.
I was restless in the desert.
And did want to roam.
So Kieran sent me to Manhattan,
Far away from home.”
Mikey then stated, “This is really great!
Now I’ll not be alone, early nor late.
I’ll go get the Super to help take you upstairs”
An then she ran up, unawares.
Along came a wino with a shopping cart,
He stole the cactus to pawn it,
At the Greenwich Village Mart.
He stumbled and mumbled,
“First, I think,
I’ll go and find a good stiff drink.
He pulled up the cart and put the cactus inside,
And took the scared plant to the Lower East Side.
It was strange and scary.
It fill the cactus with fear.
He cried, “I’m sorry I left the desert for here!
I want to go back to my home far away,
In fact, I want to leave TODAY !
(To be continued)
The “Saga” of the Lonely Cactus
by Miriam McCue
Introduction:
:
Characters in order of appearance:
Lonely Cactus: He is a 6 foot Saguaro cactus with two arms (kind that looks like a man from
a distance.) (In real life these cacti have to be around 75 years old to get an arm.)
Kieran - My granddaughter
Aunt Mikey - My youngest daughter
Alphabet City - Part of the Lower East Side of NYC
Desert - This refers to desert surrounding Phoenix AZ
Manhattan - Name for the island of NYC, not including Brooklyn, Queens, etc.
Super - Nickname for the superintendent of a tenement or apartment building.
Assorted city street characters - Anonymous
Greenwich Village - West of the Lower East Side NYC
Lower East Side - Part of NYC ( name of it describes where it is)
Alphabet City - Part of the Lower East Side of NYC
Assorted city street characters - Anonymous
Central Park - Large man-made park in Center of NYC
Big Apple - Nickname for NYC
U.P.S - A delivery service (In poem pronounced by letters, no as “up sss” )
Casino - We all know what that is.
Donald Trump - Famous prominent business man
RAIN
written by me at 8 years old around 1945. Printed in Philadelphia Evening Bulletin
To me rain,
Is a pitter patter on the window pain.
"But to me"
One man said,
"It means a nasty cold in the head."
(I guess I just was born a bad poet with a attitude.)
By Miriam McCue writer of bad and even worse poetry.
“On the Road to Carolina”
By Miriam McCue - creator of poetry.
dedicated to Bubba, my grandson who is not allowed to do what is in this poem. And Bob
who maybe did.
Warning: do not practice the activities below, unless you are a professional in the field.
This is meant to be sung accompanied by acoustic guitar music.
Verse 1
We’re on the road to Carolina,
Me & Bubba, my best friend.
We’re going to stop in Savanna.
To pick up ole toothless Glenn.
Verse 2
We’re ridin’ in my ole pickup,
The three of us have no fear.
‘Cause toothless Glenn of Savanah,
Brought along six cases of beer.
Verse 3
When it gets on towards evenin’,
We park the old pick up.
We’re all sittin’ on the tailgate,
Drinkin’ all the cases up.
(whoops and whoopies )
Verse 4
When we get to Carolina,
Our heads feel all blown about.
Glen is barfin’ out the winder,
And Bubba has completely passed out.
FINIS
NOTE: TO be more politically correct: I am the designated driver.
“Country Christmas Carol” --- dedicated to my family
by Miriam McCue (creator of flamingo art, & poetry.so far.)
We love to sing Christmas songs,
My Grandson Bubba and I.
And when we sing Country Christmas.
We almost make the angels cry.
A Merry Country Christmas
To all those great Country Folk,
And even to the City Slickers,
Who also love to drink and smoke.
We’ll take a drink for Bubba, Aunt Mike and Cousin Jim,
And hope that this Christmas,
They’ll say a prayer and sing a hymn.
Gather round the still,
Country People all.
And hold up Uncle Bill
So the old coot doesn’t fall.
A Merry Country Christmas,
One full of country joy.
Little Willie wanted a 12 gauge,
But all he got was a toy.