The Thief of Honor
The Thief of Honor
The Phony Hero, the fake marine
with their stolen valor, bemedalled chests.
These are the lowest of the low
Who steal the honors of our best.
Those who never took the field
Never came face to face with death.
Presume to wear the highest honors
And campaign ribbons on their chests.
True heroes lie in Arlington,
Or in a hundred foreign fields
Or else live quiet private lives’
And never boast about their deeds.
The thieves of honor think to gain
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
One Taken, One Left
They were brothers born a year apart,
the elder just nineteen.
Folks said they were inseparable-
Unbeatable as a team..
But elder brother went to war
in far off Vietnam.
His brother vividly recalls
The day He heard Jim's gone.
Never again to take the field,
Or hear his voice again.
A Lifetime's conversation
brought prematurely to an end.
One was taken, one was left,
Both forever changed.
One brother is forever young-
There in the picture frame.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Transient Immortal
Tommorrow is on my calendar
as is every day next week.
I have interviews, appointments,
Dinners at which I'll speak.
I'll make some time for family
and writing, I suppose.
I may find time to barbecue
and to launder my work clothes.
When evening comes I'll settle back
with a glass of Pinot noir.
I'm a transient immortal,
I'm on loan here from a star.
The future is a game;
against ourselves we play.
We act as if we still have left
forever and a day.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Love's Death (Pt 3, Catullus and Lesbia)
If we had never done the deed
and soiled the sheets together,
Lesbia we might have had
a love that lasts forever.
Instead, you lay back, wantonly,
inviting me to sin.
Our cries and whispers mingled
as I spent myself within.
Lust comes with an expiration date
and I was cast aside;
Some other noble Roman
now mounts my favorite ride.
Caesar too, will come and go;
Veni, Vidi, Vici.
Some label you promiscuous
your morals are thought dicey.
Yet you're not indiscriminate
in choosing your next partner;
The distinction is that you lie down
and do not stoop to conquer.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Life in the Theater
There are faces in the darkness
There to see and not be seen.
We are players acting out
“A Midsummer night's Dream”
I am a minor player-
An inconsequential part
Think of me as of a wall
Between two loving hearts
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Baseball (revised)
It begins, of course, in the Spring.
The evenings grow lighter
The air sweeter
and all the world is filled
With sweet optimism.
It continues through
the long hot summer
Humid evenings
and long hot afternoons.
It is a marathon
not a sprint.
Only one team each year
wins the ultimate game
It leaves us in the Fall
as Winter’s first foul
Imprecations
chill us to the marrow.
Days darken
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Galatea
Pygmalion beseeched Aphrodite:
goddess, please answer my plea:
“Give life to my dear Galatea,
that she may live always with me. “
The goddess, in a generous mood,
animated your figure Divine.
Your breasts, generous in proportion,
Your bubble butt one of a kind.
Your skin is a fine alabaster;
Like marble, but warm to the touch.
Could your sculptor have done any better?
No, I’m sure there is only one such.
With golden, shoulder length tresses
and lips, apple red, candy sweet.
It’s not much of a mystery, really,
That Pygmalion was swept off his feet.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Little Black Dress
Every woman has one in her closet,
Although some are loathe to confess.
It’s perfect for many occasions.
It is known as the little black dress..
For Women who seek to entice,
or have men they want to impress.,
There is nothing terribly virginal
concerning that little black dress.
Its of Spidery inspiration and,
oh, what a web they can weave.
They use it, some say, ensnaring their prey.
It comes out again when they grieve.
In Wedding, our Ladies wear white.,
A Little black dress when they keen.
They dress in subtler shades of gray
on all the days in between.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Autobiography Of A Snowflake
In a Nimbostratus cloud I formed.
a trooper of the coming storm.
From a droplet, cold, alone,
my Starry crystal flake was formed
Expelled from my Eden by the wind
Thus did my descent begin.
Swarovski can’t produce my equal.
I’m unique- they’ll be no sequel.
Perhaps I’ll help cover your grass
Or, with the others, clog your paths.
On roads I’ll make your rear wheels slide
And make you wish you’d stayed inside
I glide in, glittering, past street lights
The earth already wrapped in White
Surprised I am to melt so young
captured on your daughter’s tongue.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Stranger
There’s a stranger in my house
I have seen him mope around
In some fuzzy bedroom slippers
and a faded dressing gown.
He somehow seems familiar
Though I cannot place the face
My memory retrieval seems
lost without a trace
Every time I see him
He is staring back intently
As if he too is searching
for a clue within his memory.
This morning he was back again
In a faded emerald robe-
You know, I have one like it-
Did he steal it, you suppose?
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!