Cheep Thrills
This Voyeur with binoculars
sits waiting in the blind,
half hidden by the rushes
That grow tall on either side.
Perhaps I’d spot a Peregrine
or a hawk on the attack.
My camera is beside me, and,
should I catch one in the act.
I’d photograph a mating pair
(but artfully, with tact.)
So far there’s just a flock of wrens
Not much this day I see.
I start to get the strange sensation
that they’re here observing me.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Whale Song
The seas of home
Once teemed with life
But now I drift for miles alone.
I sing but there is no reply-
Have the human’s killed us all?
Am I the last beyond recall?
No, I hear the answering call
Echoing out from miles away
A friendly voice above the storm
From without the depths
The answering songs
are fainter now than ere before.
We live amidst man’s detritus
The heavy metals poison all
Thus our proud line falls.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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One Night with You
Within your arms
I find myself.
The hour late,
the house asleep.
Lips conjoined
In fair affection
No need for sleep,
We’ve reached perfection.
Within your eyes
I lose myself.
The hour late,
the house asleep.
Hips conjoined
In fair affection.
How fortunate I
brought protection..
Within your room
We find ourselves.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Comes a Horseman...
Short is our tenure
on this beautiful Earth.
As brief as the grass
In winter's cold breath.
Death, the implacable foe,
Bids us yield.
Faith is our Armor,
our blocker, our shield.
Denial, our method
of avoiding the shroud.
When Donne is not done,
Death be not proud.
A tenuous tenor may
Give voice to fear.
Yet, turning to face him,
No one is there.
The prize is our self
And possession is all.
All else is but vanity
To hang on a wall.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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To the People of Texas & All Americans in the World
The blank parchment is wordlessly taunting me
Shall I write out a Will? Or a Plea?
The troops of Santa Anna surround us,
Should I surrender unconditionally?
No! I've replied with the cannon!
I'm determined to here make my Stand.
My life and my honor for Texas,
My beloved adopted homeland.
Their red flag of no quarter is flying.
So far I have not lost a man.
Ceaseless is their cannonading,
"Victory or Death! "- My command.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Drive time
Double nickel in the rear view mirror
Lane lines ahead of me converging fast
keep eyes peeled on the road at all times-
not the scenery as it goes past.
Double Nickel in the rear view mirror
Lane lines ahead of me converging fast
A.M radio my true companion
A bunch of ditto heads that make me laugh
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Spice Girl
Bland and ordinary will not do,
They’re much too dull for the likes of you.
Plain Vanilla makes you snooze,
even chocolate is yesterdays news.
You’re a bit of a nut, Meg, it appears,
a bit hung over from ginger beers.
Your racks ‘well stocked with exotic favors.
Cinnamon stick your favorite flavor.
Cloves and garlic, Tarragon too
You’re a saucy wench, and tasty true.
But of all the spices on your shelf
I first reach for you, yourself.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Unfinished
Schubert’s hands have grown cold
Their mission unfulfilled
His symphony unfinished
His voice forever stilled.
Some notes were left behind him
A partly finished score
Two terrific movements
Left orphaned ever more.
Those who’ve made the effort
To finish out the piece
Have only met frustration
Channeling the deceased
His symphony was like his life-
The interrupted kind
Both haunted by a melody
Unfinished in the mind
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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In the Shadow
In the shadow
I live in the shadow
the shadow of the mountain
Vesuvius.
the days are warm
The soil is fertile
I grow olives and I grow
rich.
Long ago the mountain rumbled
spewing lava, pumice stone
Pliny told us of the horror
Pompeians dying in their homes.
the days are warm
The soil is fertile
I grow olives and I grow
old..
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The only way is through
I stand beside your open door
And look into the room.
A moment’s hesitation, just,
a chill of pending doom.
I confess I’ve feared this day,
And hope my sight proves wrong,
but you still and quiet lay, -
a pause within a song-.
Your body covered with a sheet
No stir, no breathe of air
Waiting, patient, for the boatman
with nothing to declare.
I hesitate a moment there
Unsure of what to do
Then quietly remind myself
my only way is through
poem by John F. McCullagh
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