My Pesky Pecker
Each morning I'm awakened
by my annoying little friend.
As long as he has wood
he will be at it once again.
'Woody' has been with me now
for days beyond recall.
A Persistent little Pecker,
the little bugger gives his all.
For a month now he's been tapping
on the tree outside my den.
On weekends its annoying
cause I like to sleep till Ten.
I so wish someone would eat him,
perhaps the neighbor's cat,
and end his constant tapping
by putting paid to that.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Empty Chair
an empty chair
that none will take..
A man in jail
for Freedom’s sake.
The honor of a Nobel prize
was viewed by China as offense-
They boycotted the Oslo fete
in honor of their dissident.
His wife is under house arrest
He is in his prison cell.
Why is China so afraid
Of what the prisoner might tell?
An empty chair
An unheard speech
A man imprisoned
For years, not weeks
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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A Brewed Awakening
4 A.M.- it’s much too early
It’s no surprise I’m feeling surly.
It’s cold outside and lacking light.
It feels like the middle of the night!
(When you’ve been out late and had a few
Mondays are no friend to you.)
Villainous clock that chirps and chimes
I’ll hit your snooze button one more time.
Its cold, and someone stole the covers
I reach for them as for a lover.
Alas, my larcenous spouse has taken them
I guess I’m in for a brewed awakening.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Doobie or not Doobie
Doobie or not Doobie-
What was Prospero smoking?
Up on the ramparts of Elsinore
What was our Hamlet toking?
Did fair Ophelia steal his stash
and roll herself a Doobie?
Did she go off the deep end then
because she was a newbie?
Cannabis was to Shakespeare known
as a potent source of Hemp.
It may have made a dancing fool
out of old Will Kemp.
But please do not disturb his bones,
beware the potent curse.
The Bard of Avon had wit enough
without inhaling first.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Moment After, a poem of Hiroshima
It’s strange, there was no pain.
The atom moves too fast for that.
It left my shadow on that wall,
There’s nothing else intact.
It’s strange to die so quickly
I had no time for fear.
Swept up, as in a rapture
Less than a leaf, more than a tear.
My conscious self dissolving
Like a sugar dropped in tea.
No body left to bury
You incinerated me.
Elsewhere in the city
They’ll unearth a murdered clock-
It’s hands forever frozen
on the moment I was not.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Empty Tomb
In Arlington, where valor sleeps,
there is a marble Tomb
where heroes rest whose names are known
to God and God alone.
From Korea and the fields of France
Brought here to hallowed sleep
The unknowns of our nation's wars
Are honored with a wreath.
One body from the tomb is gone-
He served in Vietnam.
The mystery of identity
Found in a shard of bone
Rededicate his empty crypt
To the missing of that war-
To honor and keep faith with them
who never have come home.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Landscape Painted Red
Every dropp of blood slaves shed
beneath the lash and rod
was repaid in kind at Sharpsburg
by the terrible swift sword.
Twenty three thousand Sacrificed
in joint sanquinity
to debate the principle
that all men should live free.
At Burnside's bridge,
on the sunken road,
The Landscape dripping red.
The wounded called for water
as they lay among the dead.
At the Whitewashed Dunker church
the Dutchmen stood agog
as the fearful toll was paid
by brave souls on either side
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Robert Emmet
“Let no man write my epitaph.”
The defiant rebel said.
'Let no woman eulogize me
After I am dead.'
'I give my life for Ireland-
An Ireland strong and free
An Ireland that‘s united,
One free of tyranny.'
'When my country takes its rightful place
Among nations of the world.
That day I will not live to see
When our banner is unfurled.'
'On that day, and only then
Let my suffering be recalled-
and that I died for Liberty-
The sweetest death of all.'
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Gravity
I would be a lot less heavy
if you would just lighten up!
Running up a flight of stairs
With you in tow, that's tough.
You are the fore-sworn enemy
of a woman's perky breasts.
Nor are you any friend of knees
Or lower backs, I guess.
It's true you do some useful things:
You keep the moon in tow.
You've set escape velocity
To keep me here below
All who would rise resist you,
All who yield must fall.
You're the bete–noir of existence
For Humpty Dumpty on his wall..
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Cindy Perl, Thanks for Nothing
Thanks for nothing, Cindy Perl.
After five long years of dating-
Movies, concerts, masticating-
You decided David Tepper’s not for you.
You needed one who'd make you smile
And provide for your lifestyle.
So you went and wed a dentist-
Good for you.
All that Tepper’s managed since
is Four Billion more or le$$.
He has a mansion in the Hamptons
by the shore.
Cindy, you backed the wrong horse-
But don’t go getting a divorce.
Your dentist fills your cavities
For you
poem by John F. McCullagh
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