John F. McCullagh Poems

In my youth I was often told
That confession is good,
good for the soul.
In a darkened wooden booth
...

Young Liam loved Orange
and liked to wear ties.
To his firehouse friends
He was one of the guys.
...

The Virgins lay supine
unable to protest.
There would be no escape for them
from what would happen next.
...

I’ll sleep within these woods tonight,
That much, at least, is plain.
I’d hiked for several hours
And not much day remained.
...

She may wear a Tux or
she may wear a dress.
They may write their own vows
for the love they confess.
...

A word was born, some years ago,
Perhaps from Mister Marlowe’s pen.
Will Shakespeare stole it for his play.
The groundlings picked it up that way.
...

I looked up at the bowl of night
And saw Orion’s form,
But several stars were missing
And the poor hunter looked forlorn.
...

We're headed for Ipocalypse!
June eighth will soon be here.
IP addresses running out.
What will we do? Oh dear!
...

Lilliana was quite beautiful
in most peoples'estimation.
Even her name was musical
Her proportions were perfection.
...

On the flight path down from Quebec
in the recent past, they say,
The lead goose saw a foursome
on the fairway, hard at play.
...