C. Sean McGee's Blog, page 5
September 9, 2017
Life (a short poem
*** A new short poem about, in general, how life happens:
"Don't fuck it up, don't fuck it up, don't fuck it up.........Ahh shit."
"What?"
"I fucked it up."
Life (a short poem) ₢2017 C.SeanMcGee
"Don't fuck it up, don't fuck it up, don't fuck it up.........Ahh shit."
"What?"
"I fucked it up."
Life (a short poem) ₢2017 C.SeanMcGee
August 27, 2017
Mary, the Butcher of Salisbury
Mary was a drunk,
and down on her luck,
But never was Mary a bore.
With a mouth like a gun,
and boy could it run,
She had every man on the floor.
Though her words they did slur,
It would never deter,
Her love for the drink and a tale.
Be it story or rhyme,
A sonnet or line,
She'd go at it hammer and nail.
And it's fair to be said,
That in truth she'd be dead,
Were it not for her gift of the gab.
For her life it was shite,
but the booze made it right,
and her words, they could pick up the tab.
You see Mary she lived with a cunt of a man,
An asshole that no-one could stand.
A bitter old prick,
As crass as was thick,
And who spoke with the back of his hand.
And Mary she wore all the bruises and marks,
On her face, her arms and her neck.
But the look in her eyes,
When she drank or reprised,
If you'd seen it, you'd never forget.
I can't quite describe it,
except only to say,
that no man was ever the same.
The moment they came to take her away,
With noone but Mary to blame.
You see her husband was found,
all bludgeoned and bound,
Floating in a bag in the sea.
And with a pint in her hand,
And too drunk to stand,
Old Mary was ready to plea.
"No contest, your honour,
for every drink,
and every word i have said.
But as for that prick,
I've no shame and no guilt,
In how he ended up dead."
And so she drank her last pint,
With the hangman in sight,
And the rest of us down by the stairs.
And she told us a fable,
The best she was able,
Considering her state of affairs.
And though history would remember,
Her violence and temper,
For us it was hard to forget.
The way she could drink,
and thoughts she did think,
the most remarkable woman I've met.
Mary the Butcher of Salisbury ₢2017 C.SeanMcGee
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and down on her luck,
But never was Mary a bore.
With a mouth like a gun,
and boy could it run,
She had every man on the floor.
Though her words they did slur,
It would never deter,
Her love for the drink and a tale.
Be it story or rhyme,
A sonnet or line,
She'd go at it hammer and nail.
And it's fair to be said,
That in truth she'd be dead,
Were it not for her gift of the gab.
For her life it was shite,
but the booze made it right,
and her words, they could pick up the tab.
You see Mary she lived with a cunt of a man,
An asshole that no-one could stand.
A bitter old prick,
As crass as was thick,
And who spoke with the back of his hand.
And Mary she wore all the bruises and marks,
On her face, her arms and her neck.
But the look in her eyes,
When she drank or reprised,
If you'd seen it, you'd never forget.
I can't quite describe it,
except only to say,
that no man was ever the same.
The moment they came to take her away,
With noone but Mary to blame.
You see her husband was found,
all bludgeoned and bound,
Floating in a bag in the sea.
And with a pint in her hand,
And too drunk to stand,
Old Mary was ready to plea.
"No contest, your honour,
for every drink,
and every word i have said.
But as for that prick,
I've no shame and no guilt,
In how he ended up dead."
And so she drank her last pint,
With the hangman in sight,
And the rest of us down by the stairs.
And she told us a fable,
The best she was able,
Considering her state of affairs.
And though history would remember,
Her violence and temper,
For us it was hard to forget.
The way she could drink,
and thoughts she did think,
the most remarkable woman I've met.
Mary the Butcher of Salisbury ₢2017 C.SeanMcGee
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August 26, 2017
One Wednesday in July
A miserable old prick in a house made of sticks,
and the lady who smoked were a bore;
for both of them sat in the idleest of chat,
on a corner, in the cold, by a door.
One of them coughed, and the other one smiled,
but neither was getting along;
Not a thing to be said, not an inch or a mile,
not a story, a rumour, or song.
It wasn't until the man had been killed,
that the lady who smoked seemed to care;
for his body it lay in the shallowst grave,
on the corner, in the grass, by the stairs.
The nieghbour's complaints and the copper restraints,
and her heels were the worst of it all;
While the body of a man and her fingerprints can,
confirm she was partly at fault.
One Wednesday in July ₢2017 C.SeanMcGee
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and the lady who smoked were a bore;
for both of them sat in the idleest of chat,
on a corner, in the cold, by a door.
One of them coughed, and the other one smiled,
but neither was getting along;
Not a thing to be said, not an inch or a mile,
not a story, a rumour, or song.
It wasn't until the man had been killed,
that the lady who smoked seemed to care;
for his body it lay in the shallowst grave,
on the corner, in the grass, by the stairs.
The nieghbour's complaints and the copper restraints,
and her heels were the worst of it all;
While the body of a man and her fingerprints can,
confirm she was partly at fault.
One Wednesday in July ₢2017 C.SeanMcGee
cseanmcgee.blogspot.com.br
www.goodreads.com/c_sean_mcgee
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The Art of Letting Go (an impromptu discussion)
Of everything; and anything
To have ever been, to ever come, and to all which will one day come undone
Of everyone; and anyone
That ever was and will ever be; and to those that came undone.
Of clocks and candles; of time and age
Seamless is the transition; and nary a break in the day
Of ego and name; of pride and shame
On how you fucked, how you looked, and how fast you could run
All of which will either soon or have long since come undone
Of broken hearts and broken toys
And the pieces of which are all scattered on the floor
Of we and they; and of you and I
One of us is bound to come undone
Of love and the courage to suffer and yearn
Let your children leave you, no longer need you; and never return
Of being loved or living alone;
Whether walking on eggshells or the silence that fills up a home
Of being unheard of and forgotten; or of love that grows distant and cold
For all that you gave up or lost; and for that which you never will hold
Of me and my name.
The Art of Letting Go ₢2017 C.SeanMcGee
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To have ever been, to ever come, and to all which will one day come undone
Of everyone; and anyone
That ever was and will ever be; and to those that came undone.
Of clocks and candles; of time and age
Seamless is the transition; and nary a break in the day
Of ego and name; of pride and shame
On how you fucked, how you looked, and how fast you could run
All of which will either soon or have long since come undone
Of broken hearts and broken toys
And the pieces of which are all scattered on the floor
Of we and they; and of you and I
One of us is bound to come undone
Of love and the courage to suffer and yearn
Let your children leave you, no longer need you; and never return
Of being loved or living alone;
Whether walking on eggshells or the silence that fills up a home
Of being unheard of and forgotten; or of love that grows distant and cold
For all that you gave up or lost; and for that which you never will hold
Of me and my name.
The Art of Letting Go ₢2017 C.SeanMcGee
http://cseanmcgee.blogspot.com.br
www.goodreads.com/c_sean_mcgee
www.issuu.com/c.seanmcgee
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August 2, 2017
"Monday" - a poem or a short rant about life and death
I can feel that metal buckling
And I’m not sure where or when,
Maybe now or maybe a little further on down the line.
Well that bend she’s fast approaching
And you’re running short on time,
And don't you know as luck would have it, baby so am I.
So to all the girl’s I’ve kissed
And the friends with whom I’ve drunk and reminisced
It’s never easy – not when time keeps passing by
And the end ‘aint very fair
(It's) Not like we’re ready – we’re barely there
But that don’t mean this wasn’t a heck of a ride
To all I’ve loved
And all I’ve fought
And all I’ve learned
And all I’ve taught
I’m just so fucking grateful for having been alive.
And a second, a day, a week or a year
It’s all the same to me, my dear
I’m just so glad to have had you in my life
And to all the drunks and all my friends
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again
I’d fight for every one of you till the end
But I’m sober now, and I must reflect
For Time she's come to collect her debt
I was never much good at cards or making a bet
I laid it all on every hand
Said “Fuck the rules, I don’t understand”
For as long as I remember I guess I did quite well
But at the dead of night, she’s at my door
As pretty as a flower and as mean a whore
And I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t just a little bit scared
But death she comes for one and all
When you’re half way through a book or in the middle of a song
And all that you can do is………
Monday ₢2017 C.SeanMcGee
And I’m not sure where or when,
Maybe now or maybe a little further on down the line.
Well that bend she’s fast approaching
And you’re running short on time,
And don't you know as luck would have it, baby so am I.
So to all the girl’s I’ve kissed
And the friends with whom I’ve drunk and reminisced
It’s never easy – not when time keeps passing by
And the end ‘aint very fair
(It's) Not like we’re ready – we’re barely there
But that don’t mean this wasn’t a heck of a ride
To all I’ve loved
And all I’ve fought
And all I’ve learned
And all I’ve taught
I’m just so fucking grateful for having been alive.
And a second, a day, a week or a year
It’s all the same to me, my dear
I’m just so glad to have had you in my life
And to all the drunks and all my friends
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again
I’d fight for every one of you till the end
But I’m sober now, and I must reflect
For Time she's come to collect her debt
I was never much good at cards or making a bet
I laid it all on every hand
Said “Fuck the rules, I don’t understand”
For as long as I remember I guess I did quite well
But at the dead of night, she’s at my door
As pretty as a flower and as mean a whore
And I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t just a little bit scared
But death she comes for one and all
When you’re half way through a book or in the middle of a song
And all that you can do is………
Monday ₢2017 C.SeanMcGee
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
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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
http://cseanmcgee.blogspot.com.br
www.goodreads.com/c_sean_mcgee
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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
http://cseanmcgee.blogspot.com.br
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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
http://cseanmcgee.blogspot.com.br
www.goodreads.com/c_sean_mcgee
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March 4, 2017
SIngularHilarity
If i have learned anything from Neil deGrasse Tyson it is this one simple piece of advice, as a writer, get your science right ! So in the spirit of picky sciencey folk, and in preparation for my next novel, I am now immersed in a 7 week 'Artifical Intelligence in Robotics' course. Suffice to say new book will be about robots - and quite possibly hookers and religion too.
December 8, 2016
{ism}
Any woman who claims she has less basic rights than a man has never been a father fighting for custody of their children.
November 4, 2016
Cocks and Thistles
And so it begins. A new story.
Into the darkest recess of my mind i go. A place where not even old and toothless whores would dare flip a trick. Into the blackness i go, in search of the most infinitesimal flicker of light.
And i go alone.
There is no greater comfort and no better company the demons that inhabit my mind. There has never been anyone who as ever treated me as kindly as they have.
And so back into hell i go, to dance with the devil.
Calleighya is her name.
So long motherfuckers !!!
Take Risk, Take Care, and Take Cover,
C.SeanMcGee
Into the darkest recess of my mind i go. A place where not even old and toothless whores would dare flip a trick. Into the blackness i go, in search of the most infinitesimal flicker of light.
And i go alone.
There is no greater comfort and no better company the demons that inhabit my mind. There has never been anyone who as ever treated me as kindly as they have.
And so back into hell i go, to dance with the devil.
Calleighya is her name.
So long motherfuckers !!!
Take Risk, Take Care, and Take Cover,
C.SeanMcGee
