nixon's the One!
Though born to a Quaker
Who would use “thee” and “Thou”
Nixon swore like a sea cook
fresh off some garbage scow.
Named for King Richard
Of dubious fame
He too was “deposed”
at the height of his game.
He was great at “red” baiting
and exploiting the scare.
He served on committees
That McCarthy would chair.
He was chosen as backstop
for likeable Ike
When incipient scandal
forced him to the mike.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Earthlight (sexual situations, microgravity)
Once upon an Earth lit night,
On NASA Moon base two,
I chanced to spy a cute Brunette –
A space Cadet named Yu.
Her eyes were dark and beautiful
Deep as a lunar mare-
And, free from bra and gravity-
her breasts beyond compare.
Love in Microgravity
Is a curious affair
She brought me to her snuggle tube
And she restrained me there.
She straddled on the launching pad
And docking was effected
And after a few awkward strokes
Our cadence was perfected.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
In His Corner
The Cut man and the manager
had seen this scene before.
Smoking Joe was staggering.
He looked destined for the floor.
His left eye badly swollen
from where a cut had bled.
For Fourteen Rounds
He'd matched his foe,
the greatest, many said.
Now it seemed he's have to yield
to this implacable foe.
Eddie reached and grabbed the towel
he was prepared to throw
Frazier glared with his good eye
to tell his corner ' NO'!
The minutes seemed forever.
He gave his all, they said
The fifteenth round has ended
and smoking Joe is dead.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Cup of Tea
A cup of tea, some soda bread,
Would you take some milk and sugar, friend?
Sit here by the fireside
And share with me the daylights end.
You show your photos with just pride
This one of your eldest, a blushing bride
Wasn’t it just yesterday
she was a toddler hard at play?
Here are prints of Bob and Fred
Your two boys, both Ginger heads
Bob’s at University
My Henry used to work with Fred..
.
I had a letter yesterday
From our friend, Mary, at Black Bay
Her son is fighting in Iraq
She counts the days until he’s back
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Dementia
My mother forgot how to swallow.
Before that, she lost my face and my name,
erased from her memory by sickness and age.
Her nurses complained she took too long to feed
They wanted a peg and a tube for the deed
My mother forgot how to swallow
She forgot her late spouse, disremembered her vow.
With the loss of the past there is no here and now.
Once she read to my child, then my girl read to her-
Until all the sounds were a meaningless blur
My mother forgot how to swallow
Jesus and Mary and her patron saint
would loved to have helped her, so weak and so faint,
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Heaven on Earth
The problem with “Heaven on Earth”
As those who've survived it can tell
Is that the purveyors of Heaven
Wind up like the ruler of hell.
Remember the Bolshevist State
That was going to “Wither Away”?
Once secret police displaced orthodox priests
It didn't quite work out that way.
Consider our “Golden State” neighbors
they take pride in “leading the way”.
I'm too old to “go West” so I'll send my “regrets”
As they sink under debts they can't pay.
There are those who would rouse us to envy
And tell us the “rich” have to pay
But postpone your bliss; they'll define you as “rich”
As they tax all your money away.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Farenheit 451
Remember, the firemen are rarely necessary
When books are replaced with Kindles and Nooks,
and content resides on the cloud.
It is relatively easy to delet certain works
at the whim of the haughty and proud.
If libraries falter, wither and die
The poor will lose access to the printed word.
Ten percent of the market will quickly dry up
and the price of a book gets absurd.
Remember, the firemen are rarely necessary.
The pleasure we had in turning each page
as our minds raced ahead to the end.
Short battery life never hindered our quest
when Dick, Jane and Spot were our friends.
A storm on the Sun bringing ionized rays
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Dylan Thomas
The first time that he saw the girl
he proposed right on the spot.
It helped to get his courage up
that he'd had many a beer and shot.
Theirs would not be a summer's love
that flares and quickly fades away.
It was a fifteen round affair
where shadows lengthened with the day.
Fidelity, not their chief concern.
They had three children and many a glass
The artist was consumed by drink.
He chased skirt at every chance
He was drowning in encouragement
though no one ever needed less.
Some say he was consumed by fears
of the shadowy unwelcome guest.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Trials of Charlie Rangel
Twenty terms in Congress’ halls-
Our Charlie doesn’t lack for balls!
His pay and pension are the best.
Still he needs feather his own nest.
Rent stabilized apartments are
intended for the working poor
Can somebody explain to me
why Charlie Rangel rented four.
As chairman of the Ways and Means
He ran it like a den of thieves
His own tax he fails to pay
then burdens us to save the day.
His vacations are among the finest
Lobbyist paid- but don’t remind us.
He has a grand vacation home
Don’t ask whence he obtained the loan.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Conductor Of Souls
I boarded the train at the rush hour peak.
like hundreds of others at. the end of the week.
Darkness came quickly at this time of year
It was Pearl Harbor day and Christmas was near.
Dark was my skin and dark was my heart
and dark was the drama in which I’d play my part
In a brown paper page I carried my gun
with enough ammunition to kill the white ones.
Out near Merillon Station, I stood up from my seat.
Whites had ruined my life and revenge would be sweet.
Like a deadly conductor I walked down the aisle
punching everyone’s ticket, high caliber style.
Their screams were my music, their fear was my meat
I served it up raw with blood on the seat.
It took three to subdue me once I emptied my gun
If they hadn’t overwhelmed me I’d have killed everyone.
Six dead, nineteen wounded, some trampled they say.
as the whites in the car started running away.
I sit here in prison with no hope of parole
in this place I am known as the conductor of souls
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!