1 then 2

1.
To begin again is often said
but not quite often done.
To end of days be not afraid
you'll see anew the setting sun.
Swirling time my lovely fren,
will always let you begin again.

2.
To the grave we stolidly march
with leaden feet ever looking back.
Fret not fren, nor get starch.
Yours, mine and ours stack
high the fruits of toilsome labor,
Till we return to the mewling vapor.

when does...

When does a fly sleep?
When does it rise?
Some things I shall keep,
Others I will disguise.

nought Ergo

egotists are born to fly
on tawny, tainted wings.
So don't let that upset,
the governance of things.

Pessimists have given stare,
lurking, within and far,
what say you dummy,
close your verbal spar.

2010

really though

Though we're different
editions of the same book,
I think our condition
quite worth a second look.

Round and Round

Round and Round
do the days fly,
spinning webs
of eccentricity,
propel me for
the great leap.
The eternal and
the final sleep.

Mike McCullough
1/11/2011

of Argyle dreams

of Argyle dreams and dovetail seams,
Pity me child for things unseen.
But brace that fine feeling too,
It, one day, may happen to you.

Sublimity one cannot spend,
or even, so much as tell a friend
of depths and chasms near
or far, who will I peer?

Of Betamax and VCR

Betamax and VCR ascend the hill.
Vinyl and cassette, look better still.



Oh Laserdisc, oh DVD,
when do you get set free?

Oct. 2010

Little Worm

I loved you like a little worm,
in my hand you sulk and squirm.

Only for you do I do toil,
But you only wish return to soil.

The longest

The longest winter I have known
has just passed us like a stone.

In the wee hours

In the wee hours of the night,
when nothing occupies your mind,
Remember me....

When doves scatter at your
ghastly touch, don' be scared,
Remember me....

For I was there in first bloom.
If you chance, at last gloom.

Ingriad

Ingrid Rowland to the Dark Tower came
blindly seeing nothing but men to blame,

For her lack of Painterly affection.
Tis she who begat man's resurrection.

Good old Abe Cowley

Good old Abe Cowley
was a mighty precocious chap.

Better he might have been,
if his mother did slap,

the poetry out of his
brain, at a useful age.

For youthful zeal does
often, make a hardened sage.

my God

Oh my God, it causes me to grieve,
This giving the Lord such false reprieve.

So you'd take from a mother dear,
Her capacity from care to fear.

Worn with Care...

Worn with care and raised to love,
the snow is whiter than the dove.

Walking straight I shall crook not,
Found I am on this small plot.

Wearing with time, dreaming to care,
touches of grey do dot your hair.

Aspect

Of all the dames in the south of France,
yours be the best for countenance.

Of all the gals in merry London-town
you are one which I'd traipse aroun'

Of all the broads in Philly dear,
yours is one I'd bend my ear.

My False Friend Fear Not

Fear not my false friend, you die at your end.
I to death pass through to a wond'rous view.
A quarter of true feeling left one weeping, stealing
for a frosty clime, to give you all of mine.

Nor with the world...

I am not alone with you.
Nor with the world at large.
When I thought dear life thru,
Here comes a fresh, new charge.

Write down what you think
Or an altered variant.
Get your pieces all a'sync
And much will be the merriment

Fire, brimstone and raining hail
are ready for th'unreformed
Be a friend, skirt the jail
Our lives may yet be charmed.

So Much Depends

So Much Depends on making it Rhyme
That what's apparent from time to time
Is one must back away off things
Where one no good, right talent brings.

(I am talking directly to you,
go and sigh, Boo-Hoo.)

Don't ever...(A warning in monorhyme)

My dear friend
don't ever bitch and moan.
For the
fading constant drone
Of men and woe
will leave you constant, alone.

Memory's Lane

Going down memory's lane
Some find it be profane
To recall all those things
that the lane brings.

Not I though, it's surely
sweet to summon purely
for a few trifling laughs
once ill-considered gaffes.

give to me

give to me, this green earth
to fill it, with gentle mirth.

Yet mirth, unaccounted for
makes one an insufferable bore.

So that road we shall not take,
just cut the lawn and rake

the clippings and leaves so green.
For days still thunder behind screens.

Hide you must, those squall feelings,
till by bed you are kneeling

Lost in thought, allez, pray deep.
Could you give your soul to keep?

Michael EK McCullough
7/2009

To Keats

Indeed my friend
(if I may call you that)
your life was too short
for words.

Your finely poised beauty,
Indeed, above all,
was chosen to share
with us.

Never will I look
over some soggy day,
to think of the ones
you've lost.

Elm Trees

Your beautiful bark
and sinewy shape,
How perfectly it
holds the light.

Those rounded leaves
and tiny branches
keep the billows
of blustery wind.

On Coffee

Bubbling over in your black pot
It's easy to see what you're not.

To me, you see, you're quite all.
In your foam it's written you shall,

You shall be very dearly capable
Of setting the world's own table,

And making some fun of life.
But before I do wife,

I shall sip you, black,
And turn a frown on it's trite back.

Michael McCullough
3/13/09

On Marshall's Afro-Cuban Lullaby

Flowers peek over the hill and
drift down their scent to you and I.

Given to and won over by
this ever plodding game of love.

Nightly I beg the stars, go
give me over, to fulfill my desires.

And all this while your sparkling
fingers pickle me out this taut tune.

Michael McCullough
3/10/09

A sleepy lil' clerk am I

A sleepy lil' clerk am I,
And in this tiny sty
I shall work until I die.

But not before I thrill,
for me they cannot kill,
to shrieking sounds at will.

Michael Evan Kerry McCullough
January '09

Ma First Post

Hello,

I normally blog over @ http://www.evankerry.wordpress.com about certain things such as Literaryness, Art, and some random poetry. Here I guess I will just lay out my writings and plans for writings. I have some ideas for books and short novels maybe a couple plays even.

Thank you,

Michael Evan Kerry McCullough