The Care Giver
The face that spoke of suffering
is now, forever, still
The torture done,
Her race is run,
Her effigy serene.
Yet as she lingered by death's door
your kind voice could be heard-
Your gently spoken words of Love-
She cherished every word.
If there is life beyond this life
its far beyond our ken.
At least she knew your gentle touch
at this journeys end.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Chapel of Love
She was likely in a drunken daze
when she wed, unknowingly.
A Vegas drive in chapel
Was the spot they did the deed.
Twenty years or so would pass
Ere she would finally see
That when she said "I do" she did,
Albeit witlessly.
Now Janeane has got divorced,
her single life to resume.
It seems nuptials last longer
When you don't know there's a groom!
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Lucasta, I 'm off to the Whores (Parody)
Nag me not (shrew) or begrudge my time
That from the Nunnery
Of thy Chaste breast and ice cold bed
To whores and bars I fly
True, the new waitress now I chase
And hope to “cop a feel”
And with lascivious eyes undress
She who, for cash, will yield.
Yet all my infidelities
Are easily ignored-
You go to bed at nine o’clock
And, what is worse, you snore.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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In The Moment
In the empty stands
Our champion sat.
Sans fans
and sans applause.
He mulled over
The match just past;
Its aces
and its flaws.
To have come so close
And not prevail-
A lesser man might cry.
But Murray knew the glory
That comes when Mortals vie.
He thought:
'I'm getting closer,
Than I ever have before'
A silver cup
At Centre court
Was the vision
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Diary of an Old Woman
In my mind's eye
I can see her;
Her dark hair now silver grey,
He smooth child's cheek
now wrinkled
by the light of many days.
Such days as those
she never saw.
Informed upon
and dammed.
Anne Frank lies in
a common grave,
No tombstone bears her name.
Imagine, in a better world,
if her family had survived.
Somewhere, in anonymity,
she might still be alive.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Law Regarding Love
In New York, the Empire state
There is a law
men would do well to heed.
This obscure statute bears upon
A gentlemen's carnal need
To ask a lady to yield her love
at first, is not a crime.
Should she demur and you insist
you'll wind up doing time.
Be sure to ask her love just once
if state law you would heed
If you persist a second time
just be prepared to plead.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Cancer Ward
Antiseptic… white… clean….
Instruments of Stainless steel
.A lazy oscillating light
tracks my heartbeat on a screen.
A long thin needle on the tray
Fascinates my captive stare
Like the cobra with its prey
It will strike me deep this day
The air is institutional
the smell of fear and doom
My king pursued by the pawns of Death
we play my endgame in this room.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Almost Perfect
Eight Thousand and twenty games it took
before Howie could put it in the books.
There was, here and there,
a base on balls.
One desperate catch against the wall.
One possibly disputed call,
but Johan Santana got them all..
Bob Murphy would have loved this night
The Park in Queens alive with cheers.
Fans walking out in a gentle rain
with his happy recap in their ears.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Now and at the Hour
We entered in the hospice room
where Mother lay alone.
By the scourge of this last illness
she'd been reduced to skin and bone.
Now at peace from suffering,
Her visage fairly shone.
The well worn beads
clasped in her hand
had helped her journey home.
'Now and at the Hour..'
a fragment of a childhood prayer.
Now and the hour
were joined together
in She for whom I cared.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Bough Breaks
The tree boughs bend
Beneath the weight
Of chilling crystal
Icicles.
I pick my way
a random walk
Headed to
Tommy's up the hill.
A branch breaks off
And hurdles down
It barely missed me
on the ground
“God sure must love you! ”
said the sister of my friend.
“You just escaped
A tragic end”
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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