Poems by McFester
On this page, you will find a list of poetry written by
McFester. Click a category and enjoy! Also, be sure
the leave a guest book signature if you like
something you see.
McFester. Click a category and enjoy! Also, be sure
the leave a guest book signature if you like
something you see.
My happy place is on my bike, high up in the air,
about to hit the hard ground and hope I make it out
okay.
Or, in the rain, laying on the itchy wet grass, next to
somebody I truly adore, in my own peaceful bliss.
Or, maybe it's sitting in my pink UFO chair, guitar in
my arms, pressed close against my body, fingers
moving wildly about it, creating sounds not easily
made.
Perhaps my happy place is early in the morning,
when I haven't a soul to talk to, but I look beside me,
and, sure enough, I always have my teddy bear-- My
best friend.
Maybe it's when I'm out on a hot day, skateboard
wheels buzzing as they go through a shallow puddle
in the sidewalk, listening to the chk chk chk my
wheels bestow for all and myself to enjoy. The wind
combing through my pink hair, throwing it in my
face.
Maybe I'm happiest in the arms of one I love. Like
when my mom is saying goodbye, or goodnight.
Surely the safest, happiest place for me is being
embraced in my mom's arms, where nothing is amiss.
Or surely when it's writing. Writing about nothing--
Everything. Nonsense, and things that mean a lot to
me. Maybe it's when I rhyme, and flow, and my
words seem to dance with each other in perfect
rhythm to a perfect song.
Perhaps I'm happiest when I'm up too late, only
because I wish to speak to a friend who's special to
me. Who listens to me, who helps me out, and who
loves me.
Maybe anything else could really give me my daily
supply of bliss.
Life is my ecstasy.
about to hit the hard ground and hope I make it out
okay.
Or, in the rain, laying on the itchy wet grass, next to
somebody I truly adore, in my own peaceful bliss.
Or, maybe it's sitting in my pink UFO chair, guitar in
my arms, pressed close against my body, fingers
moving wildly about it, creating sounds not easily
made.
Perhaps my happy place is early in the morning,
when I haven't a soul to talk to, but I look beside me,
and, sure enough, I always have my teddy bear-- My
best friend.
Maybe it's when I'm out on a hot day, skateboard
wheels buzzing as they go through a shallow puddle
in the sidewalk, listening to the chk chk chk my
wheels bestow for all and myself to enjoy. The wind
combing through my pink hair, throwing it in my
face.
Maybe I'm happiest in the arms of one I love. Like
when my mom is saying goodbye, or goodnight.
Surely the safest, happiest place for me is being
embraced in my mom's arms, where nothing is amiss.
Or surely when it's writing. Writing about nothing--
Everything. Nonsense, and things that mean a lot to
me. Maybe it's when I rhyme, and flow, and my
words seem to dance with each other in perfect
rhythm to a perfect song.
Perhaps I'm happiest when I'm up too late, only
because I wish to speak to a friend who's special to
me. Who listens to me, who helps me out, and who
loves me.
Maybe anything else could really give me my daily
supply of bliss.
Life is my ecstasy.
Ecstasy
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