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John F McCullagh Aug 2014
X
X used to mark the spot
where two hearts intersected.
X used to mark the spot
On a map where  treasure was hidden
X used to be the variable
For which I sought the solution.
X turned out like all the rest
which explains why I’m disillusioned.


Nowadays X marks the spot
Where love found its conclusion.
For all you "X"s out there who are still wondering "Y"
John F McCullagh Aug 2014
Oh, Rahm oh Rahm Emmanuel,
the mayor of our fair Chicago town
The people here are stuck with you I fear,
Unless another candidate appears.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
one in three still think you’re doing swell



You came, so well connected from on high,
and never let a crises go to waste;
To us the path of knowledge show,
by closing schools and letting teachers go.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
one in three still think you’re doing swell

Oh, Rahm oh Rahm Emmanuel
the homicides are rising by the score.
Guardsmen called to enforce civil law
In places where police will go no more,
Rejoice Rejoice Emanuel
one in three still think you’re doing swell

Oh, come Barrack Obama’s right hand man,
From prosperity you will deliver them
That trust your mighty pow'r to save;
They’ll re-elect you with votes from the grave
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
one in three still think you’re doing swell


Oh, come, our Dayspring from on high,
And cheer us by your drawing nigh,
In Chicago folks stay home at night ,
for fear of death and that ain't right
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
One in three still think you’re doing swell

Oh, come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
don’t deviate from the party line
til all Chicagoans are left behind.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
One in three still think you’re doing swell
Rahm Emanuel is mayor of Chicago where homicide by firearm is very common, where schools are failing and corruption is a way of life.

The parody is to the tune Oh Come Oh Come Emanuel a Lutheran spiritual
John F McCullagh Aug 2014
We were west of the Azores,
Five days out of New York,
when we spotted the Mary Celeste.
She was listing to Leeward
But still under sail
with no obvious sign of distress.

Briggs, Her captain, I knew
as a man good and true
And his shipmates
were capable men.
We hailed, but no answer,
So I send men aboard
To find out what had become of them.

Her cargo intact, just one lifeboat gone
And a rope that trailed aft in the sea.
Something had caused them
To abandon their ship
but why was a mystery to me.

There are storms on the Ocean
As winter draws near;
A sea grave was his crew's likely fate
Or else they were drifting
Ever farther from shore
with nothing to eat on their plates.

I gave thanks to God’s grace
that cold, indifferent Fate’s
bony fingers had not touched on me
and I wept for my friends
of the Mary Celeste
who would never
come home from the sea.
A tale of the ghost ship, Mary Celeste
John F McCullagh Aug 2014
Consider the plight
of the poor young black male
with only a mother at home.
He has no role model,
No Father to love,
Poverty darkens his home.
The school teachers care
for their pension and pay,
they let these kids slip through the cracks.
“ If their parents don’t care,
Then why should I care?”
Their attitude, I think, sadly lacks.
When you don’t have a job and you
Wander the streets
And the “dealers” won’t leave you alone
Is it any surprise when a young black male dies
or makes jail his permanent home?
We have more kids in jail than the rest of the world.
More die here than died in Iraq.
Wall Street is flying and young blacks are dying.
They’re not doing as well as Barrack.
Inspired by a column written by John Ransom
John F McCullagh Aug 2014
Lonely are the brave on this night before the slaughter.
Santa Anna’s troops surround us and they promise us “no Quarter.”
We are buying time for Austin that’s what Colonel Travis  said.
I hope these thirteen days suffice, for tomorrow we’ll lie dead.
Colonel Bowie is with the infirm, our round shot is nearly gone.
The long guns of the Mexicans will be limbered up at dawn.
A mournful serenade is playing, just beyond the wall.
They play the music of the dead hoping  to unnerve us all..
When morning comes we’ll hear the cry of two thousand charging men
And when they finally breach the walls then will our struggle end.
Until then we stand ready before Texas and the world
to fight them for our Liberty beneath a lone star flag.
When the last of us has fallen all will have earned an honored grave.
For the Alamo we give our lives. So lonely are the brave.
It is the night before the Alamo falls to the army of Santa Anna and one of the 186 defenders is honest with himself about the likely outcome of the fight
John F McCullagh Aug 2014
Look into her eyes where kindness keeps
Or else a jealous dragon sleeps
Her eyes will tell if she’s true and fair.
Are you saved or dammed? The answer’s there.
Her words may dissemble and lips oft lie.
Those curves may distract as does her smile.
No, her eyes are where true beauty lies.
The sooner you learn this the sooner you’re wise.
John F McCullagh Aug 2014
It goes back forty summers to a hot August night.
This cold case I’m working with no end in sight.
The girl, Leslie Zaret, was last seen alive
At the Pioneer tavern, she was standing outside.
Main Street runs North- South on Queensboro Hill.
She was ten blocks from home on that night she was killed.

She accepted a ride- was it someone she knew?

A Janitor found her- cold naked and dead
In a schoolyard in Bayside, the old reports said.
She was ***** with a hairbrush, no ***** was found.
The girl had been strangled, but hadn’t been bound..

If the killer was male- was he impotent too?

The victim was pretty, with long Brunette hair.
She never came home and her parents despaired.
My cops cleared the boyfriend, her ex- boyfriend too.
Still we always believed it was someone she knew.
She attended  John Bowne, a high school nearby.


Was the killer a classmate? She was too young to die.

Her class graduated, now grown old and gray.
Most stayed in town although some moved away.
Some have passed on and are taking their rest
But none died liked Leslie with her neck tightly pressed.
People will talk, surely some must suspect
I think someone knows something
about poor Leslie’s death.
Please come forth from the shadows, help me solve this crime.

Leslie’s waited for justice for a very long time.
A cold case ****** from August 1974. The P.O.V. is of a detective working the cold case file.
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