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John F McCullagh Jul 2012
sunset in oahu by ginkguygagoogank



The Sun sank in the Waters off Oahu
as the old man raised the cordial to his lips.
The perfumed air was just as he remembered,
The sky was golden with the sun's last kiss.

He recalled that day they'd climbed up Diamond Head
and imagined red ball zeros in the sky.
Looking down on Ford's Island in the harbor,
imagining grim scenes from time gone by.

The restaurant was much as he remembered
when first they'd dined here fifty years ago.
It had been a special anniversary,
Still vivid in his memory, ever so.

He thought of something funny he could tell her,
an incipient smile was forming on his lips,
but his dear lost love would never get to share it-
he dined alone with the memory of her kiss.
John F McCullagh May 2015
Keep us out of the ballpark.
Keep fans out so no crowd.
Instead Steal Doritos and grab free beers
There's no stretch in the seventh
cause nobody's here!
Oh it's loot, loot, loot from the storefronts
If we get caught its a shame!
and its one, two, three cops knocked out
at the old brawl game.

Keep us out of the ballpark
ban the fans from the stands
The vendors laid off cause there's nobody here
he's out of a job cause no one's buying beer
Oh its loot, loot, loot from the storefronts-
that Freddie Grey's dead -it's a shame
and it's one, two, three cops knocked out
at the old brawl game
revising an old classic in honor of Baltimore's game with no fans,
John F McCullagh Aug 2015
One more big score in a life time of crime,

One more  big heist and he'd retire this time.

His friends were in prison, the others were dead.

Jessie James was in hiding with a price on his head.

Once more in the saddle, take the reins Jessie James

You fought for the South, and your anger remains.

This Earth taught you violence and the lessons  well learned.

The Yankees taught arson when your family farm burned.

He's a cold blooded killer, this preacher's young son,

with no hope of Heaven with the deeds that he's done.

He's a hero to some and a villain to others

This man who robbed trains with  those two Younger brothers

There's a price on your head and Bob Ford's taking aim

as you climb up to straighten your wife's picture frame...

Once more in the saddle take the reins, Jesse James
Robert Ford shot the outlaw Jesse James in the back of the head  as Jessie had his back turned and was attempting to straighten a picture frame in his home. There was a reward offered for Jesse dead or alive that was too tempting for Ford to resist.
John F McCullagh Jul 2019
Mel Stottlemyre walked out to the mound,
where Jim Bouton nervously kicked the rubber.
“Bulldog, the manager sent me to take you out,
You’re headed for the shower.”
“One more batter and I’d have earned the win.”
Jim Bouton said with sorrow.

“You’ll have another chance real soon”
Mel told him as they were departing,
“There’s a doubleheader tomorrow at Elysian Fields,”
“and I heard we’ll both be starting!”
"You spend a good piece of your life gripping a baseball and in the end, it turns out that it was the other way around all the time."- Jim Bouton in "Ball Four"

R.I.P. Jim Bouton pitcher, author, and iconoclast.
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
The Polo Grounds, when first seen,
are a most magical shade of green.
Hand in hand, me and my Dad
head for our seats in the right field stands.

It’s the Cincinnati Reds in town
to play the New York Mets.
There’s a double header scheduled,
How much better could it get?

Cincinnati took the first game
by a score of three to nil.
My hot dog was delicious
Dad had a beer to swill.

The nightcap was a wild affair
The Mets won thirteen- twelve.
You could look it up, as Casey said,
if you should care to delve.

We rode the subway home that night
side by side, me and my Dad.
We reminisced about the game
Like the most knowledgeable fans..

The Q44 from Flushing took us
up Queensboro Hill,,
past Carvel and Booth Memorial,
I remember it well still.

My father turned to look at me
as five decades creased my brow.
Making us the self same age-
What he was then, so I am now.

Thirty years, about, it’s been
Since last I saw my Dad.
The dead don’t get to baseball games,
Which I think is rather sad.

He can’t enjoy a summer night
on the wrong side of the grass.
And an ice cold beer is greatly missed-
He can’t pour himself a glass..

In memory, we still can walk
With those who came before.
So I took my Dad to a baseball game-
What was I waiting for?
This is a poem about memory. The games in question took place during the 1963 season. As the Father and Son take the bus home past places that no longer exist to a home that no longer exists, the poem abruptly switches from memory to the present. the structure is strange but I hope you like it. Dad saw his last game in 1981
John F McCullagh Jun 2019
Once upon a time in the land that is down under,
There was a feral pig whose heart was set on plunder.
While wandering the outback he chanced to chance upon
A group of unwary campers and lo, their beer was gone.
The pig was feeling happy, having put away a case,
And he wandered through the bushland with a smile upon his face.
As he staggered through the wilderness he chanced upon a cow.
The poor cow was soon set upon by this drunken sow.
A battle royal then did ensue but our pig was out of luck.
The feisty bovine bested him and tossed him in the muck.

That’s where the pig was sleeping it off when found by this reporter,
Who, at first glance, had mistaken him to be a Trump supporter.
This wild pig put away 18 beers stolen from some hapless campers and then did battle with a cow.
John F McCullagh Feb 2013
Taps

The smell of cordite fades
as the day declines to dusk.
the reek of iron rises
From brave men who'll soon be dust.

A solitary bugler,
Plays a mournful song;
Serenades the fallen
Two short notes, then one long.

The sinking Sun is fiery red,
Like Mars, the god of war.
The honored dead?
Not one of them
Recalls what they died for.
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
This sherry trifle with clotted cream,
that tray of sugar cookies there.
My best laid plans to lose some weight
are thwarted by this time of year.
I shouldn’t go for my arteries’ sake
to Holiday parties with frosted cakes
As it is, I can inhale
chocolates quicker that I can Kale.
Each holiday brings treats and beers
and another roll of fat appears.
Perhaps before I’m too far gone
I ought to switch to Ramadan.
While not convinced about the rest
Self abnegation should be stressed.
A poetic trifle, I'm fond of them too.
John F McCullagh Jul 2013
Astronomers today announced
They’ve found an Urth-like world.
It’s orbiting a star called Sol,
Like Urth, a water world.
What has them most excited?
It’s just twelve light years from here.
Spectral analysis declares
It has an atmosphere..

When I am far from city lights
And the air is crisp and clear
I’ve seen Sol with the naked eye
In late summer, it appears.
It has eight planets
(We have five)
And one is just like Urth.
Encircling its native Star
at just the proper berth.

Some speculate that beings like us
Look up in wonder nightly.
But Scientists have all declared-
Intelligent life? - Unlikely!.

( In this poem the inhabitants of Tau Ceti are hearing of a planet like their home world orbiting a yellow dwarf star)
John F McCullagh Aug 2014
We knew only your laughter which won you renown.
We never observed the tears of our clown.

You entered our homes as the loveable Mork;
with Your razor sharp wit and lightning fast thought.

Your movies mixed laughter with serious turns;
Good Will earned you an Oscar For which many yearn.

There were personal demons that proved hard to hide.
A divorce, an affair, Drugs and rehab besides.

But, through it all, We heard only the laughter.
Not the tears of our Clown that brought on this disaster.

To us you were Robin, Like Peter Pan, just a kid.
May this sleep bring you peace that your days never did.
R.I.P. Robin Williams, a great man
John F McCullagh Dec 2013
It used to be they’d be together
All around town;
Down at the beach or out on the sound
Now she’s broken hearted, he’s no longer around.

Please don’t ask her to explain,
Instead she tells it to the rain.

He used to tell his friends
He was sure she’s the one,
for no one was more beautiful
or could be more fun.
But she won’t wear his ring,
Now that Love's come undone.

Please don’t ask him to explain
Instead he tells it to the rain.

Their breakup causes problems
Beyond their private pain;
When friends start choosing sides
things just won’t be the same.
I heard that she got jealous of
Some girl named Lorraine-

But please don’t ask them to explain-
Just let them tell it to the rain.
Intended as a pop song in the spirit of the 1950's Carole King song for the Everly Brothers called "Crying in the rain".   Not to the same tune and not intended as a parody.
John F McCullagh May 2013
Time passes, Things change.
Nothing, it seems, remains the same.
Except, of course,
your stone hard heart-
The unmoved mover,
Alone, apart.
For so it has been-
and so it remains-
as things pass
as Times change.
Based on a chance comment from Don Hendly of the Eagles
Ten
John F McCullagh Jul 2014
Ten
Ten years have passed, Ten, to the day,
Since Cancer took her breath away.
We survivors, left forlorn,
consoled each other as we mourned.
That day a Father lost his child
and was never after seen to smile.
Faith was tested on that day
as each in turn would kneel to pray.
Time, inexorable in its way,
sought to efface our tears away,
as snow and rain and biting wind
efface letters incused in stone.
Time has failed, we can’t forget
the loss of our beloved Jeanette.
We who survive, recall the day,
It’s stifling heat, the lack of air.
The horror of that ringing phone
That brought the tragic news to home.
Ten years have passed, Ten years she’s gone.
Ten years we’ve had to soldier on.
This day we pause to think of then
And weep for all that might have been.
Posted in memory of my sister -in-law, Jeanette Garafola, who left this life 7/23/2004. A much better person than I can ever hope to be.
John F McCullagh Apr 2015
It raged across five Aprils, killed 600,000 sons,
but now, there was a chance for peace, if Johnston wanted one.
Some urged a guerrilla war, a game of hit and run,
but Johnston saw a suffering South and knew this must be done.
He called a truce with Sherman to surrender his command.
In truth, I think he would have rather shook the Devil’s hand.
The defeated kept their horses, and were paroled back to their homes.
This land once more united, its prior sins atoned.
For every drop of blood that had been spilled by blow or lash
had been matched, drop for drop, in every ****** clash.
On the ninth of April 65’ Rebels tore their battle flags
and little strips of colored cloth were given to each man.
The flags were not surrendered to become the spoils of war.
They fraternized with men they would have killed the day before.
Now all who had survived the war, all but one, would live.
Good Friday night would claim the last that Lincoln had to give.
April 9,1865 marked the surrender of the last significant field army of the defeated South. General Joe Johnston ignored Jefferson Davis' call for guerrilla war and asked General William Tecumseh Sherman for terms of surrender.

Less than one week later, on Good Friday April 14, 1865, Lincoln was assassinated in Ford's theater

When Sherman died, General Johnston stood, bare headed, in the rain in a show of respect for the soldier many in the South hated for his pursuit of total war.
John F McCullagh Jan 2015
Apparently Shakespeare got it all wrong
when he threatened the lawyers in verse.
The carnage in Paris proves he should have written:
"Let's **** all the cartoonists first!"
"The first thing we do, let's **** all the lawyers."   Henry Vi , part 2
John F McCullagh Nov 2017
Be thankful for such things you have-
if those things do not have you.
(They will be inherited, discarded or donated
Come the day your life is through.)
Be thankful for what you don’t know
But still have time to learn.
Be thankful for the health you have
and the wage your labor earns.
Be thankful for the eyes that see
the beauty of Creation.
Be thankful as a citizen-
work to preserve our nation.
Give thanks to God if you have faith;
with song if you are able.
Most of all give thanks today
for the family at your table.
Happy Thanksgiving to all at Hello Poetry.
John F McCullagh Mar 2012
Sad birthday for a little boy,
that day that he turned three.
His father dead, a nation mourned
for John F. Kennedy.

Sad birthday for a little boy,
who stood at Mama’s side
Could one so little comprehend
why his father died?

Sad birthday for a little lad,
before the flag draped form,
his salute forever frozen
in a frame of Kodachrome.
Scene outside St. matthew the Apostle, Washington, D.C. 11/25/63
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
The woman paid money-
Three hundred it’s said-
To help change her life
But she ended up dead.

A voodoo priest promised
To alter her fate,
but all he accomplished
was speeding up her due date..

The candles were lit
on his bedroom floor there.
The priest and the woman
Shortly after went bare

“Oh, Father!” she murmured
“You’re sure looking swell!
Now come do that Voodoo
That you do so well.”

As they bounced on the bed
A candle placed there
Fell down and ignited
Clothes piled on a chair.

The supplicant woman
And the priest, now defrocked,
At first didn’t notice
while they were hip locked.

But first they smelled smoke
And then they saw fire.
They had no clothes and no means
to extinguish their pyre..

The voodoo priest’s roommate
Was ironing pants
When he heard the commotion
It didn’t sound like romance.

When he opened the door
To go to their aide
A strong gust of wind
Added fuel to the flame
A blazing inferno
engulfed the whole room
what had been their temple
was shortly their tomb.

The tenants all fled
As the night burned bright red
They had only the clothes on their backs
Reports said.

When you next do the voodoo
That you do so well
Skip the part with the candles
And you may live to tell.
This is based on an actual event that occurred in Brooklyn, NY last year.  I got the story from the daily News. the title is borrowed from Harvey Korman in Blazing Saddles
John F McCullagh Jan 2015
You know your alphabet, yes you do, all twenty six letters you say by rote.
Few know there once was Twenty- seven, one more of which you should take note.
It is the humble Ampersand; the character you see today
Used mostly as a linkage between two corporate proper names.
It does mean “and” it always did; its shape from Latin is derived.
Its name is a type of Mondegreen, by pronouncement it is described.
Back in Elizabethan time when schoolboys said their alphabet
They did not end with “X.Y.Z” but with “and per se &”
The Roman “Et” was anglicized and its usage codified.
In Elizabethan times the ampersand was the 27th letter. Today it must feel like the planet formerly known as Pluto
John F McCullagh Jul 2013
Whether Indian or Asian
Whether yellow black or white
The very thing that makes you “you”
is hidden out of sight.

Skin differences are but skin deep,
The roots of love and hate
Are in the wrinkled Universe
That lives inside each pate.

Everything you ever knew
And all you've ever loved
Are self-contained within your brain
That’s how it ever was.

Our Angels and our demons
Live inside our frontal lobes
Since time is short and fate is sure
I’d rather love than loathe.

( inspired by a comment made by Dr. Ben Carson, an American)
John F McCullagh Apr 2013
I was working the suicide hotline
that Friday night her call came in.
She sounded hyped up, frantic,
toying with the ultimate sin.

Her boyfriend had just left her
and she had no cash for the rent.
In the background a baby was crying,
The last of her patience long spent.

She rambled about her existence
as I passed a note to an aide.
When she told me how much she had taken
It was the first time in years that I prayed.

Blue angels with sirens were coming
for the girl with the tracks on her arms.
She increasingly grew incoherent,
Then, silence, I knew she was gone.

That weekend, I read in the paper
How an “Accident” claimed her young life.
A pretty brunette, about twenty,
all done with life’s struggle and strife.


That Tuesday, I stood in the distance
as the hearse brought that girl to her grave.
I wept then, overcome with sorrow,
for the young life that I failed to save.
.
John F McCullagh Jul 2014
Pet Meds are expensive!
Chuck Schumer says it’s so!
So He’ll co-sponsor legislation
To make sure costs are low.
If kitty needs some birth control
before her nightly prowl,
the taxpayers will gladly pay.
If not then Chuck will scowl.
Why shouldn’t people without pets
Pay for those who do?
He’ll make them pay for strays as well-
It’s a Democrat’s World view.
You may think the world has gone to hell
as our border teems with trash.
The Ukraine is on fire.
Jews are fighting with Hamas.
Yet none of these disasters
has made Chuck’s passion burn.
Even Vets who fought our wars
are not Chuck’s main concern.
It’s Vets, who deal with cats and dogs.
It’s far too much they earn.
Why is this his main concern?
Why does he want it passed?
Because it deals with animal rights
And he’s a horse’s a
New York Senator Chuck Schumer is cosponsoring Federal legislation to regulate Pet Meds.   It's the affordable care act for fluffy and Fido
John F McCullagh Feb 2013
Between the life I had
and the death I owe
lies the valley of the shadow,
A place of woe.

First, numb, from hearing
the dread prognosis:
A blockage portending of
thrombosis.

Another episode like I just had
might end my life
like it did my Dad's.

Time seems most precious
does it not?
teetering on the abyss-
Cold,now when the day is hot.

Edema swells and fluids drown,
Each stolen breath is bought with pain.
Where once my river was at flood,
now bare trickles of time remain.

Time enough to say" Goodbye."
To reminisce or be forgot.
To say I love you one more time
even should you love me not.

Between the life I had
and the death I owe
lies the valley of the shadow,
A place of woe.

Perhaps this is the afterlife,
A way stop in this vale of tears.
A pause before the journey's end-
Can I say ,like a child, "Again!"
Written as a companion piece to "Sudden Death"
John F McCullagh Dec 2012
George Johannesen isn’t dead
though the State claims he’s expired.
His driver’s License they cancelled
though he still had four good tires.
George, at first, thought to complain
about this twist of fate.
Then he came to realize that
Death is a tax free state.
Five hundred thousand dollars
Were paid out to his “next of kin”
Paid to one with the same name
Who looked a lot like him.
He accepted philosophically
the wage of sin is death.
If the alternative is taxes,
he assumed its for the best.
George enjoys the “afterlife”
on the Island of Majorca.
Where he chases younger women
And he doesn’t need a walker.
Only George, of all his friends,
has managed to retire.
He enjoys his afterlife
While the state thinks he’s expired.
George Johannessen, A citizen of Canada, was declared dead in October. News to him.
John F McCullagh Dec 2016
George Johannesen isn’t dead
though the State claims he’s expired.
His driver’s License they cancelled
though he still had four good tires.
George, at first, thought to complain
about this twist of fate.
Then he came to realize that
Death is a tax free state.
Five hundred thousand dollars
Were paid out to his “next of kin”
Paid to one with the same name
Who looked a lot like him.
He accepted philosophically
the wage of sin is death.
If the alternative is taxes,
he assumed its for the best.
George enjoys the “afterlife”
on the Island of Majorca.
Where he chases younger women
And he doesn’t need a walker.
Only George, of all his friends,
has managed to retire.
He enjoys his afterlife
While the state thinks he’s expired.
George Johannessen, A citizen of Canada, was declared dead in October,2012.  It was News to him.
John F McCullagh Sep 2017
I saw my neighbor standing in disbelief.
He seemed to be in shock
He stared at the ruins of his home
as the waters of Harvey  receded from his land.
He had his wife, but that was all.
They had nothing to look forward to now but fighting mud and mold.
“ I came into this life with nothing and I leave it with nothing.”
He muttered this more to himself than to me.
“I will help you.” I said. “We will help each other.”
Then he seemed to recall that he was a Texan;
Born and raised.
and we  Texans do not allow ourselves to become discouraged
by a little adversity.
“We will rebuild.” he told his wife. “Don’t you worry.”
Then, like Greek Sisyphus with his shoulder against the stone,
He began to pick and sort through the wreckage of his time.
Hurricane Harvey destroys our homes but not our spirit
John F McCullagh Nov 2017
Soon Sears will be history
J.C. Penney is all but spent.
Even mighty Hudson Bay
Sells their building and pays rent.

Here at Macy's flagship store
Friday was black indeed.
They couldn't process payments
at close to normal speed.

Jeff Bezos is a billionaire.
Brown boxes flood the mail
Clicks beat Bricks is the news at six
Is it lights out for retail?

He started out by selling books;
lost cash on every sale.
Barnes and Noble bled a ghostly white.
His competitors turned tail.

Competition is the rule
All change comes through disruption.
As catalogs give way to clicks
some stores need extreme unction.
Hudson Bay sold and leased back their NYC flagship building. Macys these days is eyed for its real estate, not its retailing success. Sears and J.C. Penney may close their doors in 2018. Only Walmart appears able to adapt to the new paradigm although it too has a target on its back. Extreme unction was the former name of the sacrament administered to the dying.
John F McCullagh Dec 2012
I may have been the slowest child
to ever run in track and field
I was a foodie even then
with not the fastest set of wheels.

I still have the medal that I won
for finishing in second place.
awarded to our relay team
In a two team relay race

I was the anchor(aptly named)
they could have called me 'ball and chain'
The other three were none to spry
We were well matched those three and I.

By the time the baton reached my hand
My competitor neared the promised land
I set out full steam(for me)
as he crossed the line to victory.

I gamely tried to speed in haste
for what I knew was second place
and I was genuinely surprised
when they gave medals to us guys.

I never after won a race
nor finished either show or place.
I prize the medal that I got.
If I was a horse, they'd have me shot.
John F McCullagh Dec 2016
I may have been the slowest child
to ever run in track and field
I was a foodie even then
with not the fastest set of wheels.

I still have the medal that I won
for finishing in second place.
awarded to our relay team
In a two team relay race

I was the anchor(aptly named)
they could have called me 'ball and chain'
The other three were none to spry
We were well matched those three and I.

By the time the baton reached my hand
My competitor neared the promised land
I set out full steam(for me)
as he crossed the line to victory.

I gamely tried to speed in haste
for what I knew was second place
and I was genuinely surprised
when they gave medals to us guys.

I never after won a race
nor finished either show or place.
I prize the medal that I got.
If I was a horse, they'd have me shot.
c.y.o. track and field true story
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
At the Empire's fringe
A woman and man
Traveled by night
over oceans of sand.

The woman, quite pregnant,
rode their sole beast of burden.
Her time; near at hand,
Her child's fate; uncertain

They saw a light in the distance
from a sheepherder's ranch
The couple was fearful
but saw it was  their best chance

an abandoned outbuilding
on the outskirts of the spread
It had a tin roof
and some straw for a bed.


The blankets they carried
Jose lay on the straw
He then helped down Maria
who could travel no more.

The empire has watchers
with guns and night scopes
on the watch for illegals
there to frustrate their hopes.

Maria was panting
Jose said” bear down!
The baby is coming
I can see it, the crown"

The watchers were coming
in their camouflage Jeep.
They pulled up near the ranch
to that garage they would creep

Looking in through a window
they saw the birth of the child
one of them swore
but the other just smiled.

The birth of that child
on American soil
would serve as an Anchor
for that man and his girl.

The couple thanked God
that their child had survived.
That the boy they named Jesus
in this new land would thrive.
A nativity story from the Lone Star State
John F McCullagh Jun 2012
These empty rooms
devoid of life,
behind a bookcase
in the hall.
This was, for a time,
our home
while the Germans
held the Dutch in thrall.
My wife since dead from hunger,
my daughters in a common grave.
I, Otto Frank, the sole survivor.
Is there no one I can save?
Annelise, my dearest daughter,
Miep Gies gave me your book.
The Germans cast it on the floor
without a second look.
Here in your words I find
that not all of you has died.
Here your words may speak
for all who suffered, all who cried.
Its small comfort for an old man,
broken, ready for the grave,
but my girl might be a symbol
for all those we could not save.
A poem about Otto Frank's recovery of Anne (Annelise) Frank's Diary in post war Amsterdam. this is the 70th anniversary of the day he purchased the diary book for her 13th birthday Imagine, in a better world she might still be alive.
John F McCullagh Dec 2015
fifty years to the day since she walked down this aisle;
The aisle of this church where he stood with a smile.
The ***** swells now as the ***** swelled then
but the music is played now by a different hand.
The Saints and the angels; they still look the same.
They've been cleaned and restored, each one,frame by frame.

Her matron of honor this time can't attend.
She moved down to Florida when Sandy blew in
The best man back then was her brother in law
but he died in the desert in the first Iraq war.
As she moves to the altar, her grown son has her arm
He is tall like her Father was, but Dad is long gone.

Her love waits at the Altar, dressed in his best clothes
in a bronze colored casket, in eternal repose.
On this anniversary of the day they were wed
this day she will hear a requiem instead.
Then later, instead of the bouquet, she knows
she's going to be tossing a single red rose.
Dad didn't live long enough to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary but we marked the day by taking Mom out to dinner with the whole family.
John F McCullagh May 2012
A fiftieth anniversary party
up in the upper room.
The bride is here dressed in her best-
but,sadly, not the groom.
He rests beneath the
fresh turned earth.
I guess it was his time.
He cannot raise a toast to her
who was his lovely bride.
We did not think it right that she
should spend that day alone.
So we called in all the relatives,
We worked the telephone.
The menu and the courses-
the same as back in 38'
The best man had to send regrets
He wasn't doing great.
At least the maid of honor came.
My nieces sang old songs.
Death may have thought he crashed her party
but he couldn't be more wrong.
Surely Dad was in the room
though dust returns to dust.
We do not live in the past
but those passed still live in us.
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
Why do I love you?
because you’re my child.
Since before you were born-
So it’s been quite a while.

I couldn’t resist you
No way and no wise
Since the first time I saw you
in your Mother’s eyes.


In part your remind me
Of those I hold dear
the sound of your laughter
the salt of your tears.

The way your tongue curls
And mothers’ cannot
You’re a storehouse of traits
That I can’t do without.

Your voice raised in song
Can be heard in the rafters
Your song is a gift
Handed down from ancestors.

Like me you love humor
With a sarcastic wit
As often as not
you score direct hits

So while I still breathe
And still can remember
I love you dear child
and the sound of your laughter.
A poetic answer to a daughter
John F McCullagh Sep 2017
His battles now are over, his earthly struggles done.
We place him in a body bag; a Mother’s only son.
We do not speak of “Sacrifice” or patriotic pap.
Such thoughts deserted long before our third tour in Iraq.
Some will say our eyes are hard that will not shed a tear
For the promise of his future that abruptly ended here.

We who serve know differently; Our wounds you cannot see.
His helmet, gun and empty boots remind us of his Calvary.
So thank him for his service; spare us the other crap.
Just play the anthem for doomed youth;


a simple tune called Taps.
Title suggested from a line in James Donovan's excellent poem here and used with apologies to Wilfred Owen
John F McCullagh Sep 2019
When I was first brought here,
There was some doubt that I’d survive.
Confined by Fate to this wheelchair;
barely half alive.

The accident that shattered me
had also brought a darkening mood.
Some kind soul had suggested
Nature’s embrace would do me good.

So now on every day, that’s’ clear
I sojourn here among the trees
Whose faithful stolid company
Is medicine to my disease.

I cannot climb or pick the fruit,
I’ve two dead legs and one good arm.
Instead, I sketch and paint from Life
until the morning light is gone.

We understand each other now.
I almost hear the arbor speak
They gift me with a purpose now
And lend me strength when I am weak.

With pen and paper, paint and ink
I learn a healthier way to live
And though I can no longer run,
I accept I still have much to give.
Some ten years after serving in Union hospitals during the Civil War, Walt Whitman was felled by a stroke.  He recuperated near a friend's apple orchard and wrote of his experiences in his journal "Specimen Days".
John F McCullagh Sep 2014
Your fire red lips should have caused me alarm-
or the smoldering look in your eyes.
You lured me away from the bar where we met,
I was having a beer with the guys.
There was the faint hint of smoke in your hair
But, in Vegas, that’s par for the course.
I shouldn’t have listened to your siren song
But I’m a free man, just divorced.
Besides, I’ve heard it said
That a redhead in bed
Is about the best lover you’ll find.
When her burning bush beckoned
Who was I to resist?
I’m not in the monogamous bind.
Now I’m bound and I’m gagged
and secured to her bed.
From this pyre I never will rise.
She’s just emptied the last of that
Five gallon can.
Her lit mtch will complete
my demise.
“I hope you don’t mind
That I leave you behind.”
She said as the flames start to roar.
“your Ex is a far better lover than you.”
She laughed as she walked through the door.
John F McCullagh May 2016
You would think him a villain; you would call him a thief
But he would just shrug and say “We all have to eat.”
On the Petersburg siege lines, he’d just made a score;
A rusted old bayonet used in our Civil War.

There are scores of collectors who would pay a good price.
They wouldn’t ask questions, they wouldn’t think twice.
He cared nothing for the History of the Blue and the Grey.
Only for the money the collector would pay.

The Sun was descending when he left from the Park
He bought some Tequila, to drink in the dark.
in a third rate motel that didn’t leave the lights on.
By three the next morning the Tequila was gone.

The thief had bad dreams, in his ***** induced sleep.
of a specter in gray at his bed near his feet:.
The ghost of a drummer from that long ago war.
The thief shook with fear at the visage he saw.

The blade he had stolen was now in the Ghost’s hands.
The ghost grimly eyed him with the soul of one dammed.
The blade shattered his ribs and ripped him apart.
As darkness descended it tore open his heart..

The medical examiner was called the next day.
A horrified maid found the body, they say.
His room had been locked. He’d bled out on the ground
The hall cameras showed nothing; no weapon was found
Thieves are stealing historical artifacts from our national parks. In this story the south rises again to take matters into their own hands
John F McCullagh Jan 2012
Some people call them toe-mae- tos.
They’re toe- mat -toes to other folk.
Monsanto has patented versions
that may poison us and leave us broke.

Their genetically modified brand
belongs neither on plates nor in cans.
Their health effects may include cancer
In some other countries they’re banned..

They are touted for being resistant
To herbicides, thus reducing toil-
But herbicide residue is persistent
How quickly it poisons the soil.

If farmers, each season, must purchase
Genetically modified seeds
Monsanto will corner the market
For supplying nutritional needs.

How many Monsanto execs
infiltrated the executive branch?
With so much political sway
Its no wonder that they get their way.
Germany, Ireland and Hungary have bans on GM crops.   GM crops  have genetically modified genes that can be transferred in the wild to weeds.  Their use  tend to promote the overuse of herbicides and pesticides and may  contaminate  fields of non GM Crops.   Worst of all they do not propagate in nature, eventually forcing farmers to buy all their seed from Monsanto or companies of their ilk.   The American political system is populated with many former executives from Monsanto who have vested interests in the company.

California is considering requiring labeling of foods containing GM foods. What is your state or country doing about this potential problem.
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
Grandfather John, my mother's dad,
remarried later on in life.
When he passed on his vast wealth
passed largely to this second wife.
Thus did her children benefit
from the bulk of his estate.
My mother and my Uncle John
relatively little, sad to state.
Sometime after the internment date
a piano was shipped to our home.
A piece Step- Grandma didn't want
She didn't play and lived alone.
When my mother was a child
living up in Marble Hill
She'd learned to play the instrument
that now she merely wished to ****.
In mortal rage she grabbed an axe
and like a batter swung away
It was a fair bit of exercise
(She had played baseball in her day.)
Such sounds that spinnet then produced
were likely never heard before.
such atonal melodies
as she ripped and smashed its core.

the Axe concerto was concluded
when only splinters still remained
She went and stored the axe away-
After than she never played
this is a true story. Every word.
John F McCullagh Dec 2015
It came in the mail the other day;
Another rejection! No big deal!.
I have lots of company;
Fellow poets know how I feel.

The dead poets’ society
is filled with those who have known fame.
We scribble in obscurity –
while every schoolkid knows their names.

Typing madly on our notebooks,
Those of us still in the game,
Are longing for some validation:
assurance that our work is not in vain.

Like a dog who’s been mistreated;
kicked to the curb and struck with a cane-
I snarl and snap from my safe corner
and hate the mailman much the same.
John F McCullagh Jan 2012
The 506th is aging,
passing into history
**** Winters now has fallen in
with Easy Company.

He did not like to speak of war,
once He was safely home.
-Excepting at reunions
Or, infrequently, by phone.

Still the story needs be told
to the generations next:
How they parachuted into France,
How they fought ******’s best.

How many left their youth behind
In hedgerows or in fields,
Or in the snow around Bastogne
which they refused to Yield.

He was the biggest brother.
He commanded "Easy "well.
He had the gift of leading men-
They would follow him to Hell..

He never wanted medals
Or acclaim for what he’d done.
In the company of heroes,
He never boasted he was one.

Some are old and crippled,
some forever young.
In that company of heroes
Each man did what must be done.

Somewhere Easy Company
is gathered all around.
As they place **** Winters in the earth
let a mournful trumpet sound.
Richard( ****) Winters was the leader of "Easy" company of the 506th- the inspiration for the book and series "Band of Brothers"  This  tribute was written at the time of his passing.
John F McCullagh Jan 2014
For years we've consumed
far more than we grow-
preferring to reap
what we disdained to sow.
Our savings outstriped
by the sums that we owe.
Sooner or later
we ride to our fall
the banquet of consequences
awaits for us all.

Published today 10.01
Based on a quote from robert Louis Stevenson; " sooner or later we all sit down to a banquet of consequences."
John F McCullagh Mar 2013
Against the sands of Clontarf
You can hear the Ocean roar;
And, within the waves, a whisper,
of men in battle and in lore.

Brian led the men of Munster
that Good Friday, Ten Fourteen.
His opponent was the brother
of his good for nothing queen.

The men of Leinster were allied
with Vikings from abroad.
Mael Morda, king of Leinster
Was the leader of their horde.

Five thousand men of Munster
were arrayed upon the heights.
The foeman came in Dragon ships
And here began the fight.

Brian prayed for victory
as his six sons led his side.
The slaughter was tremendous
And blood red ran the tide.

The Viking, Bodir, found Brian
Kneeling, praying, in his tent .
His battle axe laid Brian low
And soon his life was spent.

The Viking ships were scattered
By the angry, raging sea.
Thus many of their men were drowned
in their attempt to flee.

It was a famous victory
retold in verse and song.
Both sides were decimated
So many brave sons gone.

Our national identity
Was born of this shared past.
Nine centuries were still to come
ere Ireland would be free at last.
( the battle of Clontarf on Good Friday April 23, 2014 was part of a greater struggle for political unification of the Irish . Brian Boru, an ancestor of Ronald Reagan, as well as four of Brian's six sons died in a battle that decimated the men of Munster for a generation. It was a victory in the sense that the losses of the foe were greater and Munster remained in control of the field)
John F McCullagh May 2019
My heart was full of joy that night; I’d just received good news:
I’d learned that my request for flight training had been approved.
That night was warm and the sweet scent of flowers filled the air.
As we sat in the Bloch arena, Navy bands for battle did prepare.
Bands from the Tennessee, the Pennsylvania and the Argonne played.
and no one in that audience gave a thought to an air raid.
Pearl Harbor was too shallow for torpedo planes to strike.
Or so we had been told and did believe till morning’s light

I’d had an ice cold beer (or two) to celebrate my good news.
My shipmates from Arizona sat beside me in the pews.
Our ship’s band was believed to be the finest in the fleet.
The surviving band tonight would be the foe they had to beat.

The golden sun had long since set in the Pacific sea.
Perhaps that was a harbinger of what was yet to be.
In just a few short hours hence did hell on earth arrive.
Though I was thrown from the burning deck, no band members survived.

The Arizona sank so fast; Eleven hundred died.
I watched from the oil-slicked water as their second wave arrived.
This was the day of infamy that entered into lore.
The last sweet strains of peace had been played the night before.
( This poem is told from the point of view of Louis Conter who was an able ****** on the USS Arizona and who had just been accepted into the Naval Flight training program. He survived the attack on Pearl Harbor and served in the war as a Navy pilot.

PEARL HARBOR (NNS) -- The U.S. Pacific Fleet Band honored the members of U.S. Navy Band Unit (NBU) 22, the last band to ever serve on the battleship USS Arizona, during a commemoration concert at the USS Arizona Memorial Visitor Center at the World War II Valor in the Pacific National Monument in Pearl Harbor Dec. 5.

According to U.S. Pacific Fleet's website, the following is an account of NBU 22's activities prior to and the day of Dec. 7, 1941:

"On the night of Dec. 6, 1941, there was a band competition called the 'Battle of Music' at Bloch Arena on Naval Station Pearl Harbor. It featured Navy bands from 'capitol ships' homeported in Pearl Harbor and those attached to shore installations in Hawaii. The USS Arizona band had already won the first round Sept. 13, 1941, and was not scheduled to play again until the final competition.

During the elimination tournament on the evening of Dec. 6, bands from the USS Pennsylvania (BB 38), USS Tennessee (BB 43) and USS Argonne (AG 31) competed against one another. Several members of the USS Arizona band attended the contest to see their upcoming competition and to visit with School of Music shipmates in the Tennessee band.

On the morning of Dec. 7, 1941, while the band from the USS Nevada (BB 36) played 'Morning Colors,' the Japanese surprise attack on Pearl Harbor occurred. The entire USS Arizona Band, while at battle stations passing ammunition under gun turret number one, was killed in the attack. In the weeks to follow, all the bands that had participated in the 'Battle of Music' voted to posthumously award the tournament trophy to Navy Band Unit 22, renaming it the 'Arizona Trophy.'"
John F McCullagh Jul 2013
It’s a beast on the Potomac
That should inspire fear.
It respects nobody’s privacy.
That much has been made clear.
It’s appetite- voracious.
It’s goal- total control.
It feasts upon the people.
It’s coming for your guns and gold.
Concern for its’ own power
is its all-consuming goal.
It cares nothing for the little guy
Forget the lies you’re told.
What is the food that feeds the beast?
Why is it growing still?
It loves other people’s money
And it always gets its fill.
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
Why is it that drinkers of wine

All fancy themselves connoisseurs;

As they sniff, swirl, sip and spit-

They’re all Robert Parkers I’m sure.


They talk about bouquet and fragrance,

hints of chocolate they find in the wine.

I sip on the wine and I’m puzzled

as I never find chocolate in mine.



My brother’s a beer connoisseur

Pour ten different beers in good light.

Though he may drink them all to be sure,

He distinguishes each upon sight



“There are different shadings of gold

and some give you more head than others.”

-Who would ever imagine that beer

would have something in common with lovers.



So go have your new Beaujolais

You Francophile drinkers of wine

I’m sure Orson Welles would have told you

They’re selling it way before time.



Back at the bar named McCullagh’s

They’re playing pool in the back room

Uncle Jimmy is schooling some suckers

It happens once in a blue moon.
From the time my older brother was little he has had the knack of distinguishing beer from the natural variations in color and presentation. He learned at Uncle Jimmy's tavern. Alas Uncle Jimmy and his tavern have passed into memory but he has retained this unique talent.
John F McCullagh Jan 2012
The look of pleasure in her eyes
as she sniffs, then licks, then bites.
She savors the taste on her tongue
with a look of pure delight.

The first taste doesn’t jade her
I can see that she wants more.
Her two partners in this moment
have lost none of their allure.

There will be countless others,
of this I’m doubtless sure-
Yet her first Peanut butter
and Jelly
is a sensual pleasure pure.
A piffle about my grand niece's first experience of Peanut butter and Jelly.
John F McCullagh Jul 2017
“I desire to gain wisdom.” said the acolyte to the Priest.
“There are many paths to wisdom, Karol, imitation is the least.”
“In imitating someone who you perceive to be wise,
A false sophistication you display before men’s eyes.”
“Experience is the hardest path , contemplation is the best.
Read widely and love deeply, Karol, and be ready for the test.”
“In suffering there is wisdom gained for those who are devout.
The stony path to Golgotha we cannot do without.”
“Consider the fate of common grapes ripening on the vine.
Some may become raisins in the withering sunshine.
Others will be squeezed for juice or fermented into wine.
The rest will be distilled and become brandy in due time.”
“Each you see is useful, transformed by the Vintners art.”
“Our lives are not our own but each must play his part.”
Father Figlewicz began the mass with Karol as his server.
They were the only souls that day that came to the Cathedral.
Outside, the Stukas bombed Krakow, the City would not stand.
Evil, like a darkening cloud, spread out across the land.
For many years Poles were enslaved, trapped in Dictator’s hands,
But Karol Wojtyla was a most uncommon man.
He would not forget his people, he would work and never cease
Until the day the Soviet fell and Poland was released.
(Wawel Cathedral, Krakow Poland 09/01/39)   Karol Wojtyla ( later John Paul II)
experiences the evil of Fascism as  his city, Krakow, is terrorized by Stuka dive bombers. Poland was occupied first by the Nazis and then by the Soviet union. Pope John Paul II is widely credited with supporting the Solidarity movement that helped Poland  regain its status as a free nation.
John F McCullagh Mar 2016
I can recall her I first loved when we were in our teens.
We planned to marry way too young; such was our childish dream.
In truth she was too beautiful for one of common clay
With a body like a Goddess, but I fumbled it away.

I recall another summer’s Love, so different in her way.
She was an intellectual who also loved to play.
We picnicked out at planting fields, I still recall our time
I still remember thinking she’s the best I’d ever find.

A dark eyed beauty first I loved, then a strawberry red.
I remember feeling awestruck when she came with me to bed.
Yes, she had another love and kept me on a sting.
Perhaps I tarried there too long but I don’t regret a thing.

Winter melted into spring and brought my next romance;
a lovely little brunette ; you taught me how to dance.
We shared drinks before the fire in a snug little pub I knew.
I’ll admit it wasn’t difficult to fall in love with you

Our relationship was, tempestuous. Perhaps that’s being kind.
Yet, whenever I think of you, I find some cause to smile.
You were different from the others, all the others I have known.
I remember how we treasured stolen moments spent alone

I choose not to apologize for leaving you so sad.
I regret I never said that you’re the best I ever had.

I was surely no Lothario; I was decent in the main.
I remember all who loved me and we did not love in vain.
I recall each name and face and the memories make me glad
But my wife and mother of my child is the best I’ve ever had.
A walk down memory lane
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