John F. McCullagh Poems

July eighteenth in 64’
Of the Common Era
Play Nero, play upon the lyre
While Rome Is fed into the fire
...

Thank you, friends, for coming here,
and sitting quietly,
While I read the sixteenth draft
of my apology.
...

The gates of hell were opened wide
and beckoned me within.
Alas I can’t read all the signs
Because my name’s not “Chin”
...

Twenty miles, then twenty miles,
then twenty miles again.
We’ll keep on walking, day by day,
towards breast cancer’s end.
...

I think that I shall never see
a better Carbon Sink than M.I.T.’s

It helps keep green house gas at bay
...

Thank you, Lord, for the simple pleasures of this autumn day.
My morning coffee's aroma still lingers in the air.
I sit and watch as a troupe of skiffs navigate the windy bay
And the mighty oak beside my house begins to shed its care.
...

It was the role of a Lifetime, but she couldn't accept.
She passed on the chance with a twinge of regret.
It was clearly off Broadway but it would have run long.
A role some would die for, but the timing was wrong.
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The chessboard is patterned in onyx and white.
Yellowed ivory are the pieces she plays.
The King is in Jeopardy; her options are few;
Death's Jet pieces are against her arrayed.
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I wasn't meant to be like this.
I wasn't born this way.
I started out an optimist,
Not one draped in shades of grey.
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Karma finds you eventually,
Sometimes while drinking a fine Chablis.
George Zimmerman is back in the news,
with sour grapes that left a bruise.
...