William McGehee Poems

My gloves are stained with the dripping of sap
The sweat has soaked through to the brim of my cap
The sun has cut through the clouds of the morning
The chain saw is reving, and ripping, and roaring.
...

Am I a Writer? How can I know?
A dreamer, maybe, who casts his dreams upon the page
And in my dreams my thoughts are free to go:
They slip away from waking's timid cage
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Dear Vivian,
Happy birthday to you.
You're such a good girl
And you've grown so much to.
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Though light years lay between us
And planets block my path,
Where black holes swallow matter
And spit out in the past;
...

I left you there
Standing at the edge of your world.
I don't know where
But I'll be gone long past tomorrow.
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I don't play with fire.
I don't write in stone.
I don't mess with God's afairs, I leave that stuff alone.
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Always follow music if you hear it
For the easing of the mind or the caliming of the spirit.
Do not fear the narrow twists or bends.
Just listen close, you'll find the music at the end.
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Missed out on all your chances.
Left out on all my plans.
Forgot I gave up on you.
Came back, thought I'd understand.
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It excites because it is unknown.

We cannot see the future, but with the gambler's anticipation we can sense the possibility of a better tomorrow at each role of the dice or turn of a card.
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We're board today, not much to do.
Can't go outside: no point in shoes.
We're stuck indoors, we're feeling blue,
The dog's asleep, and daddy too,
...