John F. McCullagh Poems

The Bells ring out great Peals of joy.
The war is won, Great Albion.
It merely cost a million dead,
a generation lost and done.
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The Man in the Arena
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It's the week before the Super Bowl,
where the Patriots and Sea hawks will meet,
and all that folks are talking about
is Bill and Tom's softball deceit.
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The people crowd the entrances
at Malls all over town.
To seize the choicest bargain deals,
They'd gladly knock you down.
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It’s strange, there was no pain.
The atom moves too fast for that.
It left my shadow on that wall,
There’s nothing else intact.
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Remember, the firemen are rarely necessary

When books are replaced with Kindles and Nooks,
and content resides on the cloud.
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A child this day was born in Britain
but no camera men record this birth.
He's not the child of Kate and William.
He's common clay of humble earth.
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It’s the 21st day and there’s snow on the ground
It covers home plate and it’s piled on the mound.
It’s dumped in the infield; it’s heaped on the seats.
The ballpark is silent, not even a tweet.
...

For years she took the morning train
from Auburndale to Penn.
Now the economy had turned cold
And her long run neared its end.
...