Lyrics By Michael McCoy
Written for the Rolling Stones Contest
If you May not get the name?
WHO YOU ARE?
DO YOUR DEEDS
YOU KNOW WHO AM I?
The wedding venue burnt without flame
the moment we stepped in.
You and I, hand in hand, step by step—
we laughed till our facials started aching,
we danced until the floor grew tired.
That was the story of our first day in love.
Twenty five years after marriage~
we now hardly speak,
our children hardly know us.
We rise too early, return too late,
stealing only minutes for
good morning
and how was your night,
before the routine begins again.
Nannies cradle our children in their arms—
they bathe them, clothe them,
and sing them lullabies meant to be sung by us.
Last night I saw your first gray strand,
glinting as you hurried into your car.
I smiled—you’ve joined
my five-year-old company of grays.
Darling,
how many more years
will we remain strangers tied by rings?
When will our children truly be ours?
Forgive me for leaving this note in your shoes,
but I wanted you to find it
before leaving for work this morning.
A world stabilized by signature
Completed comprehension of letters
Leaving of all accounted
To begin work without support
Endowing the mind of all alive
Without distraction
The treasury note
Bill is paid
I spoke nothing in tongues
Check is written forth
Before failure begins a new
Annuity is gained interest from slovenly designed
Augment of an unhoused mind
Redaction of treasury note
Labor has de fine as wage
Add of time in coursed labor
Constriction of appendage is resignation
Did you cry for me
when none but the crows
were both black and free
in them cotton rows?
When you saw me hung
did you cry for me
as my body swung
from yon lynchin' tree?
Such prosperity
must've tasted sweet
Did you cry for me
when I didn't eat?
You been gone for years
dead of poverty
I shed you no tears
Did you cry for me?
We don't know it all
But we can never be late
We don't have it all
But we can never be liabilities
Because we believe in our agility
Showcasing our abilities
Paving ways for possibilities.
We're not the most powerful
But we're not preys
We live with humility
Doesn't mean we're timid
We show love
Doesn't mean we're fearful.
We're silent
Doesn't mean we're weak
We're generous
Doesn't mean we're foolish
But we always expect anything to happen
Due to our uniqueness
You're not responsible for people's actions and more.
And I loved him at that
March midnight, the one when spring was
late. They say she was caught up
in a reminiscent movie
—even love was black and white back then
What I wouldn’t give
for those days, side by side in
July's bliss, brewing
summer coffee. It had a hint of
tangerine. Isn't it miraculous? How
the bitter umber can carry
a note so refreshingly sweet—
Yes, dear, I know it's
utterly still bitter, but even he will agree:
After sips of numbing acrid
we were less sour than sweet
There's a plaque at number 1-0-5
'Twill be there for some years
And anyone who looks at it
Will just see what appears
But they won't know the meaning
What lies behind the word
All they'll see when reading it
Is simply this, "Bluebird"
A testament to something?
A nickname for someone?
No one will have an inkling
They'll just think it's fun
But two out of eight billion
Do know the secret of
What lies behind that little plaque,
A token of one's love
But tell my friend, you must have moved a lot.
Oh sure, I’ve been in a constant journey:
To a beggar for a few biscuits bought,
With a child thrilled as if with a trophy,
On pilgrimage, or in some wishing wells,
In temples, helping with a layman’s faith,
A rupee coin many a tall wall scales,
In constant motion, often out of breath,
And still, my life was truly well its worth
As measured by how useful really is,
High birth nor ever large acres of girth…
The note’s eyes were nigh moistened hearing this.
As I woke, thoughts took me to my childhood--
What pennies and pies could give-- thrill so good!
_____________________
Sonnet | 29.07.2025 | money, journey
Note: Pennies and pies: a rupee then had 64 old paisa, and each of which fetched three pies, and they all ran a long distance for me, every single pie was valued, which today even a rupee fails to fetch. Today’s paisa (all the hundred of them) is accounted for only by accountants on paper. Two-thousand rupee note no more in currency.
Last night I dreamt I was one-rupee coin
Who met a two-thousand rupee crisp note
In a rich man’s pocket, looking so keen
At the exalted worthy of my vote.
The note asked: you find anything funny?
No, but you must have moved many a miles,
Which, a penny like me cannot any,
The coin wondered. No, caught I was on isles
All along, detained as if in dark land--
In lockers, safe from prying eyes of law,
Until given was to a corrupt hand,
No, there’s nothing in me to inspire awe.
All life I’ve spent oh in utter darkness,
Relieved I feel at last this to confess.
_____________________
Sonnet | 28.07.2025 | money, journey
"Cake and Jingle"
Written by
Aria Sooth wants
And
"Groovy" A. Staves
She's the "Glam"
Gotta say she's glamorous
Soothing and sexy
Charismatic
Yeah she's got charm
She's the "RIZZ"
You know what I'm saying
With style and class
With main character energy
I love her smile
You know she ain't playin
attractiveness
We all agreed
she got that
Type of popular appeal
The soft launch
We got something
Going on
New to you
She and been dating
For sometime
Is it delusional
To say I am
Her only one
Am I crazy to say
I am her man
It’s great
that they read us
a joy
when they say
“I loved your
last poem
the best one
today”
We post
and we thank them
for all
that they give
Refilling
our pens
with more reasons
— to live
(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)
This is a list that could go on and on
From sandy beaches to bourbons
Every little thing can make me smile
Dogs and cats and little fishies too
Teddy bears, puzzles and painting
Bring joy without compare
Family and friends bring joy and laughter
But what really makes me smile true
Is you
Create your lines,
Both soft and strong
Make them intuitive
(yet not too long!)
The spectators require
The reader needs!
Tactile verses …
Responsive languor..Yet with speed.
If you aim to please
The human judge. You will only miss.'
To be later lampooned
O’er the slightest smudge..
Instead to prevail
Load your ballista with fudge.
To smother those and their p’etards
Also their various other senses
(until they can’t bloody budge).
©Joe Maverick 21 June 2025
"You can’t always get what you want,"
said Angie, in that style she loves to flaunt.
It isn’t what I want, you silly shrew:
the tumblin dice have told me what to do.
My fate’s decided, like I was Iraq:
That photo that I gave you? Paint it black.
I regaled you with the ruby, Tuesday night –
but that’s all over. This Olympian height
(the roof bar of The Rolling Stones Hotel)
is where I’ll jump from (tell them that I fell,
if that’s what you prefer). I will succumb
to gravity – you can’t say “Under my thumb,”
like in the past. You’ll think of something lame
(you Honky Tonk Women are all the same!)
Wild Horses won’t prevent me learning to fly.
And I’ll be counting down, as tiers go by.
Related Poems