John F. McCullagh Poems

The face that spoke of suffering
is now, forever, still
The torture done,
Her race is run,
...

The 'one percent' are tired
dealing with the unwashed masses
who harass them on Wall Street
while mostly sitting on their asses..
...

Every drop of blood slaves shed
beneath the lash and rod
was repaid in kind at Sharpsburg
by the terrible swift sword.
...

When he rose to speak, I pitied him,
that tall, ungainly, man.
His speech was high pitched, regional,
but clear to understand.
...

They finally did it,
so often they'd tried.
The whole Human race,
dead, a suicide.
...

Love is Love
So do not tarry.
If Tom loves Dick
Then they should marry.
...

Back in the days of Vietnam
We said: “Make Love, not war.”
No matter how many Cong we killed
Like Doritos, they made more.
...

Dappled light through sheltering leaves
on a perfect summer’s day.
My lady love lies on the grass
Alas to pray, not play,
...

There are loves that are inseparable,
loves that never leave.
Loves that can define us
This much I do believe.
...

The onset was a subtle thing;
a clumsiness, a loss of grace.
She who had been strong and proud
was, suddenly, listless, out of place.
...