Many things are not explained.
I fell asleep in a sepulchre of words
in my quest for further understanding.
I gathered their meanings one by one
arranging them in patterns
according to colour;
aligning them in rows
according to size.
Some comforted, some injured;
they all tasted different.
Not all of them meant well
and many were ambiguous.
I was bewildered by their variety,
their complex duplicity
and singular simplicity.
Some were sharp and well defined,
others dubious and unrefined.
Although not native to them,
I felt at home in their midst;
and from the time they started
to visit my dreams, I felt accepted
and became one with them,
almost.
You can tell I’m not the real McCoy,
not from the words themselves
but from the way they are strung together:
Byzantine pearls from the Near East
held together by
a Hellenic twist.
An alpha guy, the real McCoy -
my online date gave me such joy
But when his cellphone rang,
he froze from a loud BANG,
Turned out he was some Mama's boy!
Many staked their claim
There were many impostors
I did not choose fame
Steam engines I moved forward
I am the 'Real McCoy'
Which is it? Which will it be?
Which will emerge triumphantly?
Authentic or Artificial?
Which intelligence will become official?
As massive, innovative Aquarius looms...
AI and AI jostle for position in both big and small rooms.
The Real McCoy?
Or just the latest and greatest toy?
Which is it? Which will it be?
Which will emerge triumphantly?
ChatGPT is writing, while school writing is lacking, and it’s an ugly meme.
Could it be that transhumanism is the new gargantuan marketing theme?
Will humans breathe life into their creations with salubrious intent and care?
Or will the artificial ones beam their light into another stratosphere?
Which is it? Which will it be?
Which will stand in victory?
Cutting a rug on the dance floor
They thought they were the bees’ knees
But they were really the hoi polloi
Whereas we tripped the light fantastic
Making us the cat’s pajamas
~ The real McCoy
All these memories,
All the joy,
All we love,
The real McCoy,
A fast paced life,
No time to stop,
Plenty fizz in homemade pop,
We did so much,
We crammed it in,
Somewhere safe,
It's stored within,
My mind is all I have to view,
Those precious moments,
Made with you,
I try to think more of them,
Instead of the trauma which overwhelm,
It isn't so easy I let you know,
Like many bad things you can't outgrow,
Life can end at anytime,
There's no happy ending in lifes pantomime.
Introducing Mark Toney
The real McCoy, not phony
Works hard on accounting and income taxes
Writes poetry and prose as he relaxes
Mark fancied himself a tax expert
Cool pocket protector on his shirt
Touting tax tips he tried
Till terribly tongue-tied
Nevermore will he overexert
Hundreds flocking to Mark’s door
What does tax time have in store?
Mixed reactions to Mark’s beckoning
As they face their day of reckoning
Setting: A parlor with money hanging on a wall becomes the topic.
Characters:
Teen, short boy like to talk down on adult's
Woman, passion for hanging money
Dialogue:
Teen: You've not been in this part of the house, huh?
Woman: I'm not nosey or bottled-up--up on the daily's!
Teen: Nonsense, silly-willy. Yes-no-not you who me?
Woman: Never in a day it'd be you, can't fathom it, aw!
Woman: OMgosh! That cannot be money, on your wall?
Teen: Of course not, it's where we hang funny money.
Woman: Your family, with that money, oh, you go too far.
Teen: Okay, it is the real McCoy, kinda bit like you doll!
Woman: You lie! Me a doll? Really, Money like legal tender?
Teen: A flat board with a couple of cherries on top, hehe!
Woman: Money will paint me up. I'm a real dish-o-licious!
Remember my past now way back
many times felt divine protection
helped me overcome so often
when words were hard to mention
My working life was good and bad
filled with joy and struggles within
warehouse work was my real McCoy
learning the facts brings a happy grin
I enjoy my present life most of all
in retirement, one loves to relax
doing what brings peace and calm
fulfillment felt to the max
No one knows what lies ahead
the future is beyond us all
but thanks be to God He knows
trust in the Lord and His bread
Keep looking to the Lord
makes my future safe and secure
a future that God will bring
for He has the heavenly cure!
(This is written to incorporate the past, present, and future of my life and draw out the highs and lows that made it all it come to be and what's to come. )
876 months have come and gone,
Plus 9 months prior to that.
Never had Fred existed prior to that.
First, conception; that first reception.
Totally unique, the real McCoy, one of a kind.
By parental relations, Fred was linked to yesterday.
God connected him to a linkage that was futuristic.
The Master's stroke was about the future, not the past.
He breathed into Fred a spirit that would last forever.
Not one moment of those 26280 days had Fred known before.
By months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds,
They came with one breathe-in, one breathe-out, at a time.
Although the specifics of Fred's bright future lie in a mystery,
It is clear that he shall not experience another 7 decades in this life.
Although his body will die and decay, a new one awaits him, fit for eternity.
Nevertheless, he is not in any way mystified about the link to his eternity.
Fred is blessed with reasonable certainty and embraced with heavenly security.
081023PS
Cats And Dogs
What are cats and dogs good for?
To eat the chips that fall on the floor.
The ones we do not eat anymore.
Is that what cats and dogs are for?
They cuddle close when we are cold.
A friend to us when we are old.
Chasing mice and acting bold.
Filled with love that is untold.
They run and play with us as a boy,
and even fetch their favorite toy.
With hugs and licks they give us joy.
A friend forever the real McCoy.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
Eugene Bertolt Brecht
with mkral realism had much effect
A poet/composer the real.mccoy
with an intellect to enjoy
Ian, my grandson is quite a lively joy,
Though I admit, he's often a wilful boy,
Study for him is a bore
Homework ever his worst chore.
Football is the game always his eager ploy.
Watch him how fast he runs up and down the ground,
Shooting straight and strong and with fine goals astound.
Never tires running with speed,
But about learning to read?
Results come, will he be caught on the rebound?
The joke is that he is quite a clever boy,
Complicated PlayStation is his best toy,
Often quiet but hears all
Manages total recall,
His intelligence is the real McCoy.
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
Cardinals past sun glazed window, scarlet joy,
Sapphire sparkling in cool waters, ships ahoy,
Crows on reddening skies, an evening convoy,
Bees on quest for gold honey, the real McCoy!
Jeweled hummingbird murmur, bloom to bloom,
And blur of fuchsia motions, one butterfly June,
Dragonflies in rubies, lost to the summer zoom,
As the sun arose to its zenith, at marigold noon.
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