Lonely

Life can't be worth living,
When you live it all alone;
A haunting, mystic, emptiness
Prevails throughout your home.

The house that you live in is clean and neat,
The things that you have seem to fit,
And yet there's something missing,
Which you'll readily admit.

Could it be that's it too quiet,
Could there by an edge of gloom,
Or could it be the cheerlessness,
That you feel within each room.

There's just one good solution-
To make your home just right,
It has to do with little voices,
Squalling in the night.

Little hands and tiny feet,
Little laughs and cries;
Curly hair and rose red cheeks,
With deep blue sparkling eyes.

And now the missing link fits in,
There's lasting cheer within your home,
For the Lord has given joy itself,
To call your very own.

Oh, Lord, how can you love it so-
Worth a million dollars, more or less,
You have found the key that fits the door,
To peace of mind and happiness.

©Mack McGee

The Black of Night

Night settles in with a blanket of black,
That obliterates all in the sky,
And the stillness creeps in like fog,
As the eerie night birds cry,

Shivers run along your spine
And a coyote howls on a distant hill;
And the rustling wind makes music
In the night, and all is still.

For night is black and black is death,
And death comes stealing in the dark;
Where eyes can't see the strong, lean fingers,
Clutching for their mark.....

A phantom shadow fading in,
To cloak you in it's gloom;
You quake within as you feel the 
Presence of impending doom.

A doom as black as Satan's heart,
That comes unseen, unheard,
To lead you into shadow and,
With nary a spoken word.

My God! Oh No! Oh No! you shout,
Immobile in your fright,
Just a retching, coughing, strangled cry,
And a huddled shape within the night;
All is quiet, all is still,
As the coyote howls on a distant hill.

©Mack McGee

The Dawn

Greet every dawn with a cheery hello,
Stride into the day with a zest;
Ignore the gloomy clouds that roll,
And look for the things that are best.

Look for the laughs and the handshakes,
Meet all of your friends with a grin,
For any move that the clock hand makes,
Can't ever be called back again.

Live each day a little life,
Be born with the morning sun;
Bloom with the warmth of life itself,
And die when the day is done.

There is no room for solemn gloom,
For you, for me, for all of mankind;
Our span on earth is the flick of a lash,
In the face of Father Time.

©Mack McGee

Spot

He was just a mongrel terrier,
Not worth a cent in worldly wealth,
But he filled my days with love,
Happiness and health.

His origin was uncertain,
Some unknown breed mixed in between,
But a better friend on God's green earth,
Has never yet been seen.

Faithful, loving kindness,
No matter what his treatment be,
And more than once, in staunch defense,
And offered all he has, for me.

I can see him now with his nose pressed flat,
Against the square of the window pane,
With trembles and with wagging tail,
For he knows his master's home again.

Big, brown, solemn pleading eyes,
When some small mischief comes in view,
And a little doggish whine of thanks,
When his punishment was through.

With lowered ears and thumping tail,
He'd stand in sympathetic charm-
Hesitate 'til I called his name,
then bound into my arms.

He would quietly slip into my room,
In evenings fading light;
A lonely sentinel of faith,
Keeping vigil through the night.

And then came war, I went away,
He must have thought that I'd be home;
For weeks he watched and waited,
In blissful trust, and all alone.

I can't believe he really died,
No matter what they say,
And though he's gone, I try to think,
That he merely went away.

There must be a part of heaven,
In the realm of blue above,
For canine curs of lowly breed,
With hearts so full of love.

When my time on earth is done,
And I grace the halls of God;
We'll meet again, in death,
Just a sailor and his dog.

©Mack McGee

Find the Sunshine

There is nothing to me as distasteful or sad,
As foreboding--it fills me with gloom,
As the thought that I must, at the end of the day,
Go home to a cold, empty room.

A cold empty room without color or life,
Without cheer, without friendship to give;
If I had to go home to a room such as this,
I think I would prefer not to live.

Give of yourself to a world full of friends,
A world full of sunshine and cheer;
Don't sit in the gloom of a cold, empty room,
When the joy of the world is so near.

Life is a lot like that cold, empty room,
Sometimes filled with misgiving and doubt;
Why live your short span, along and within,
When the best things in life are without.

©Mack McGee

Vagabond Blood

I have wanderlust blood in my veins,
Blood that churns, and boils, and foams;
It's the thought of far off distant lands,
That makes a man leave home.

A Man finds life as he wants it,
Domestic, athletics, adventure and more;
I long for the knowledge of strange, new lands,
On a far off distant shore.

Who knows for sure what the future will bring,
How much can you learn, in life's short span;
I'll live my life on a ship at sea,
And in romantic, exotic, far off lands.

Who can best define romantic,
Exotic women, beautiful girls,
Or is it the thrill of a strange new port,
As you sail around the world.

You meet new friends and learn new tongues,
As you wander far and wide-
You are just one pea in a gigantic pod,
As you mill in the surging tide.

You learn each day many new things,
And see more than one new sight;
Each day you learn, and see, and live,
And watch the heavens in the shade of night.

You rise each day at dawn, and start your life anew,
To conquer the tasks of another long day;
Who knows what adventures are waiting,
As you sail along your way.

It might be a girl in Samoa,
Or a swim in a sleepy lagoon;
You might sit on the beach, beneath the palms,
And gaze at the silvery moon.

Oh, for the life of a nomad,
A traveling , seagoing tar;
Flop on the fantail late at night,
And sleep with the glittering stars.

I love to be on a ship at sea,
Without a worry or care,
And battle a furious, hell bent storm,
With seventy foot waves in the air.

How the deck 'neath your feet, rolls and heaves,
While the bulkheads grind, rumble, and groan;
You lay down below and wait out the squall,
And, perhaps wonder just why you left home.

With the hatches secured and the weather decks clear,
You pitch, rock and roll in remorse;
When the storm passes over and forges ahead,
You can be  fifty miles off your course.

But when you go topside, on the deck once more,
You feel like a prisoner just set free;
You look at the blinding sun again,
And at miles and miles of tranquil sea.

I long to go to sea, once again,
With the wind, the waves, and the sky-
And search the east, and south, and west,
'Til Davy Jones calls and I die.

©Mack McGee

Door of Death

Have you ever been at the door of death,
Alone, afraid and ill,
Afraid your key won't fit the lock,
Or afraid, perhaps, it will.

Which door of life will your key fit,
The one of joy and life-
Or will it be the fires of hell,
And ever after strife.

It takes a firm foundation,
To pass the last exam;
Succeed, eternal life is yours,
And fail, forever damned.

So build a firm foundation, friend,
Solid - like a rock;
If you should die tomorrow,
Would your key fit the lock?

©Mack McGee