Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Suicide

a yellow breasted bird
on an old fruit tree
fluttered its wings as it left
what a sight to be seen; for a man such as thee
on the tip of his very last breath

alas nothing grew in the garden again,
not a flower; not even a weed
nothing but a stone, and a wreck of a home
and the roots of an old fruit tree
but a day it would come, when as yellow as the sun, fell a feather from a little bird's breast
for above it did flutter; with no quiver or stutter
where the man and the tree lay at rest


suicide ₢2017 c.seanmcgee


Saturday, May 20, 2017

Pé na Cova (one foot in the grave)

"Why wait?" I said. "Why hesitate? "What good is one day from another?"
You just laughed, and slapped my back;
"That's a good one," you said. "That's a real good one, my brother."
And so we drank to all our worries,
And we drank to all the blues.
And the sun it rose in a miserable light,
As we drank to all of the truths.
The truths we had forgotten,
And those we'd rather forget.
To the ones which proclaimed us a villains,
And to those which we owe a great debt.
And so we drank to the end of times,
To love and its inevitable end.
And we stumbled off home in the wee hours of dawn,
Just a prick and his miserable friend.


One Foot in the Grave C.SeanGee ₢2017

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