John F. McCullagh Poems

From long time friends to bitter foes
From boon companions to friends estranged
The cute little redhead accomplished that
but it was nothing she'd prearranged
...

The moans and screams of dying men;
a scene and sound surreal.
The flower of French Chivalry
cut down by English steel.
...

When she saw brown dots upon the rug,
and more upon a chair.
The poor housewife was certain
several mice resided there.
...

It was quiet in the park,
after lunch, the crowds are few.
Here the statures live in terror
because of what we pigeons do..
...

The Sound of their laughter
in the dream, I still hear.
...

It begins, of course, in the Spring.
The evenings grow lighter
The air sweeter
and all the world is filled
...

When they walked along the trail of tears
The freedmen toted gear.
These blacks, who once were owned as slaves,
would be tribesmen, it appeared.
...

Father Mychal Judge bent down
to the woman on the floor.
His right hand made the cross in sign
like oft he had before.
...

It’s that time of the year
When commercials appear
to implore us to buy this or that.
...

For Forty years he’d played and coached
and referred the game.
Now Alzheimer’s stolen
nearly all except his name.
...