John F. McCullagh Poems

The sheets were still warm
from her last fleeting kiss,
Redolent of the perfume she wore.
Surely the memories of nights such as this
...

From the time his boy could stand
The Dad had brought him on the Seven.
To see the Mets they both would go,
before he'd even learned to throw.
...

We entered in the hospice room
where Mother lay alone.
By the scourge of this last illness
she'd been reduced to skin and bone.
...

“Doc, over here.” I heard them cry.
I raced on black volcanic sand,
bullets nipping at my heels,
my medic-aid kit in my hand.
...

Cuando Dorothy recorrió los caminos de Oz
Sus compañeros eran deficientes:
Uno carecía de valor,
Uno carecía de cerebro,
...

Two sleepers dreaming different dreams
lay together but apart
of a differnt girl he dreamed
he stirred but didn't start.
...

I am older now
than you were then.
That day still lives
in memory
...

His mother goes there every day.
His dried blood stains still mark the spot.
She gets down on her knees and prays.
Such grief will never be forgot.
...

It begins, of course, in the Spring.
The evenings grow lighter
The air sweeter
and all the world is filled
...

Dull sublunary lovers need
the help of 3D glasses
to ever seen things differently,
or grasp just what romance is.
...