I lost that Loving feeling (song parody)
You never Lift the seat any more
When you have to pee
And when we’re making love
You always finish before me
it’s getting hard not to notice, Hubby
That weekly you get more and more chubby
I've lost that loving feeling
while staring up at the ceiling
I've lost that loving feeling
Now it's gone, gone, gone
Whoa-oh
Now there's no tenderness
In your eyes when you reach for me
You seem more interested
In our wall mount LCD
I’m depressed and inside I’m dying
Cause Baby can’t look beautiful crying
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Yes we Can
The people massed at Lincoln Park
upon election Eve.
It was a night not to forget
Dice cast with no reprieve.
Torches shed an eerie light
upon the platform there.
The People's hero climbed the steps
the answer to their prayer.
Like Reagan in a different age-
That dark horse of the Right-
The President-Elect spoke to his base-
He played Left field all night.
His campaign based on “Hope” and “Change”
Had left the Right confused
Armed with twin majorities,
It was bound to be bad news.
A high school Student council race
Could hinge on Hope and fears
Barrack’s had borrowed his campaign
From Cliff, the guy on “Cheers”
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
At the bottom of the Stairs
They found her in the darkness
at the bottom of the stairs
She had, for some time, lived alone
-three days she had lain there.
Her skin was clammy to the touch,
pulse irregular and weak.
In and out of consciousness
She’d drift, but could not speak.
The nine eleven call was made
And the paramedics. arrived
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Lights Out
I looked up at the bowl of night
And saw Orion’s form,
But several stars were missing
And the poor hunter looked forlorn.
Alnitak was missing
Betelgeuse was all but gone
Rigel’s star was fading
and would not survive til dawn.
Look there, in Canis major,
A nearby constellation group
Sirius seemed rather dim
The Dog Star began to droop..
Was something tragic happening?
Or was I going blind?
Mother warned about that-
I disbelieved her at the time
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Murder in Chatham
St. Patrick’s Church was sparsely filled
For Friday morning mass
The seniors getting restless-
the clock read a quarter past.
It wasn’t like the pastor
to leave them waiting there.
Father Hinds was not the kind
to miss the call to prayer.
The usher and the janitor
Together went next door
They both recoiled in horror
at the blood upon the Floor.
The police came with the coroner
To the Parrish rectory door
And saw Jose the Janitor
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Redemption
He thought that he would die alone
when he entered hospice care.
Folks wind up in Calvary
who haven’t got a prayer.
Long estranged from his first wife
And the two children that she bore him.
He only sought a refuge
from pain and death before him.
The nurse on duty saw his name
And hope combined with fear.
Could this be her father that was lost?
Could fate have brought him here?
She asked the patient if he had
some family about.
He mentioned his two daughters’ names
“-but they must be grown up now.”
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Watson at the British Open
The aging champion kissed its stones
and waved to all his fans.
At Swilcan bridge across the burn,
As twilight fast descends.
No claret Jug for Tom this day.
His Open at its end
Just this final hole to play
As twilight fast descends.
Five times past champion and beloved
He'll not play here again.
He'll cross this bridge for one last time
As twilight fast descends.
His ball arcs up into the sky
And settles on the green
Near Swilcan bridge across the burn
As twilight fast descends
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Das Meter is running
Bonn Prostitutes working the streets
now pay twice for displaying their treats.
They already pay substantial income tax,
for plying the world's oldest profession.
Now Politicans, also whores of a sort,
want more money despite the recession.
Now to make the sin tax yield sweeter
Certain streets now have Prostitute meters.
Six Euros a night is the rate
for these girls who have more than one “date”
So if your “dame des abends” says “Antreiben! ”
as the clocks ticking down on the evening.
She has a legitimate worry
in telling her patron to hurry.
In Bonn, the meter is running
and only the meter maid’s coming!
(The city of Bonn, Germany has installed street meters for Prostitutes. They must purchase (and display? ?) a ticket to solicit on the street. Meter maids enforce payment and collection. I envision the meter maids being like the 400 pound female gorillas Mayor Bloomberg employs here in New York. It's like easy pass for an easy lass.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
At Olduvai Gorge
Some time had passed already
since we’d come down from the trees.
We still walked with an awkward gait
Sore backs and aching knees.
Lar still might be alive, old mother,
if he hadn’t pawed my mate.
When I saw him mount her
in the brush
All I felt was rage and hate.
The jawbone of an ass was near
I took it in my hands.
I brought it down upon his skull
I killed with these two hands.
I wouldn’t let the Jackals have
the body of my friend.
I covered up his corpse with stones.
this is where it ends.
As a tribe we are too small, too few.
to let the blood lust linger.
We must keep moving further north
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Farewell my Michelob
Americans, in general, are still fond of their beers-
consuming many million twelve ounce cans.
Still, when you get right to the bottom
some famous brands have been forgotten
and soon they’ll fade away like Schlitz and Piels.
Folks these days prefer the” crafts”, served in pitchers
or on draft. Low calorie is the order of the day.
While some people live the High Life, it matters not to my life.
Old Sam Adams smiles when I say cheers.
Budweiser, in dismay, sees its sales flat
then fade away -down seven million barrels in one year
Old Milwaukee’s running dry, they are barely getting by
Michelob has been forgotten, it appears.
Do you remember Schaeffer beer and
Rheingold in a can- mass market in the
golden age of brew.?
Those names fell by the wayside
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!