Rich McCoy
Artist & Digital Creative Director


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The Writings of Louise McCoy

A tale of Gabriel


other recent writings

A small selection of other writings and musings.

Plight

Fear not that frail disease,
that has thus marked my heart,
the very beginnings of it,
the cravings at its start.

Fear not the endings that twist and turn on the hands,
now lay rigid and ready to grasp all demands.

The earth has parted to take me down,
my face the parlour of babe,
my head of thorny crown.

The earth stuck tight,
hardening around my six feet down of volatile living.

No man will put us under,
no child would be forgiving.

Sea Tales

And the sea had whisked away the sadness of time,
forgotten in its motion,
submerged in its salty brine.

Curled back behind the ears of a current,
widely smiling at the sun,
the treasure cast out,
over the rocks,
it had spun.

The waves swooned over the rocks.

The salt they did crave,
and crashing around in a deported cave.

The coils of tentacles closing tightly around the neck,
pulling us under and away from the deck.

Trees and the Seas

The small spaces between the trees,
that house the leaves,
and upon them rest the hands of thieves.

That brush the branches,
with stubbornness and stagnant ease.
As faces appear as creatures to appease.

The past high up in the canopy,
talking fast.

And from their mouths the fire and moss that bleeds,
deep and green into the ground,
soiling the remains that we have found.

The day has gone,
whipped us up with its incessant screams,
and cold chills of ice-creams.

With it roll in the waves and out the pearls of the sea,
they clatter like marbles,
they float away free.

Somethings fishy

Something's afoot,
someone's in trouble,
the fish swam in circles
in a goldfish bubble.
He'd drunk too much of his bowl,
it has packed quite a punch,
he'd forgotten himself,
swimming around in his lunch.

His fins were shaky,
his mind turning to fudge,
luckily for him,
old sucker fish could clean up the sludge.

He wanted to scream,
" beer battered with chips!"
but one word of that
and he would fall to fish bits.

He was seeing floaters,
black spots in front of his eyes,
his paranoia had led him to think,
not long now until his watery goodbyes.
He would soon be cat food,
mixed in with some liver,
the thought of which made this goldfish shiver.

Clearing his head with fresh water in his tank,
he would solve all his problems
if he could just get to the river bank.

Then he remembered,
his home was small but cosy,
and in river's you share with others,
others can be rather nosey.

Yes something was afoot,
something was a wonder,
but you can't do much about it
when your ten fathoms under.


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