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Poetry

Snow melting off roof,

that slow joyous drip

of icicles melting 

on Valentine’s Day

when lovers celebrate reunion

as snow and light unite

to produce the liquid symbol

of love’s element:

its flexible reaction,

its buoyant resistance,

its communal unity of molecules

that course through

our hearts and heads

reminding us of wonder

in the moisture of a kiss.


On Valentine’s Day we kidnap,

cuff illegal bad daddies

(whose wives are on food stamps)

who work assembly line nightshifts,

and take them away from

wives, sons, and daughters.

 

On Valentine’s Day

we give each other

sentimental love cards

printed in Mexico

where all the rapists live.

 

On Valentine’s Day we give

each other chocolate squares

and laugh at peasant farmers

who labor to produce

our special treats.

 

On Valentine’s Day we give

each other gorgeous cut flowers

grown in fertile Ecuador

where banana and potato

criminals unfairly

have three crops a year.

 

On Valentine’s Day we put

an extra half-spoon of Brazilian sugar

into our Columbian coffee

as we spit out complaints

on how our country is exploited

by dishwashers, waiters, fast-food workers,

and undocumented constructed workers

who do jobs deemed too dangerous for Americans.

 

Valentine’s Day

is a great historic holiday

where Christian love

is celebrated unconditionally.

 


Ticking-and-tocking in the pendulum

Of historical turnings and tumult

What enfant terrible hosts elbow room

For aggrandizement, bluster, and insult?

Veracity is what he says it is.

Finance becomes final reality,

Even if it is the antithesis

Of justice, love, and Christianity.

 

Life is but a craving for jewels and gold,

Publicity and notoriety,

Especially the trappings of power.

The end result is easily foretold:

Scandal, ridicule, and buffoonery.

So what star now streaks toward Trump Tower?


Walls: an historical meditation

Everybody loves a wall.

Walls can last a long time.

Look at the Great Wall of China—

it’s great to take photos from it.

Walls are extraordinary things.

Walls appear attractive,

even when forbidding.

They look quite beautiful

surrounding august estates.

 

Walls are symbolic

and hence not really real.

As a metaphor for greatness,

walls are primarily decorative,

attractive architecture

in the form of height.

 

The only defect of walls

remains tunnels and ladders;

high walls become

canvas temptation

for political graffiti.

 

Walls should be built by nations

whenever the opportunity arises

because they identify nations

bestowing fame in history books.

Yet you can always build walls

at any time for yourself

around your own house

or your own philosophy

to make yourself feel more secure.

 

Even the word wall sounds mellifluous,

a poetic word if there ever was one.

As a famous American poet once said:

“Good fences make good neighbors.”

 

P.S.  In Anglo-Saxon

from which the word wall derives,

a wall is a pile of dead bodies

from which soldiers fight behind

as they bitterly lament

the memory of their dead comrades.


Un

Salesmen repeat. Reification

produces assurance and consumption,

yet artists loathe repetition,

preferring expostulation, objection,

and often, if bored, even

varied levels of flippant comparison

that evolve their own version

of not being a one-note simpleton

repeating things that have been done

rather than having a lot of fun

like an ebullient child who has run

from leafy shade to bright sun.


by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Feb 14th, 2017

Snow melting off roof,

that slow joyous drip

of icicles melting 

on Valentine’s Day

when lovers celebrate reunion

as snow and light unite

to produce the liquid symbol

of love’s...

(on which we stand)
by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Sun Feb 12th, 2017

On Valentine’s Day we kidnap,

cuff illegal bad daddies

(whose wives are on food stamps)

who work assembly line nightshifts,

and take them away from

wives, sons, and daughters.

 ...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Feb 8th, 2017

Ticking-and-tocking in the pendulum

Of historical turnings and tumult

What enfant terrible hosts elbow room

For aggrandizement, bluster, and insult?

Veracity is what he says it is.

Finance becomes final...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Jan 30th, 2017

Walls: an historical meditation

Everybody loves a wall.

Walls can last a long time.

Look at the Great Wall of China—

it’s great to take photos from it.

Walls are...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Jan 25th, 2017

Salesmen repeat. Reification

produces assurance and consumption,

yet artists loathe repetition,

preferring expostulation, objection,

and often, if bored, even

varied levels of flippant comparison

that evolve their own version

of...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Jan 18th, 2017

In the beginning was the word,

but when was the sentence?

The world may be 50 million years old

as even baboons have the word,

yet when was grammar invented?...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Sat Jan 14th, 2017

Sleet and slush are fine manifestations

of silvered water—aqueous droplets

falling from high like mana for rivers,

hand-dug wells, reservoirs, and mountain streams.

The squishy, peculiar consistency

of sleet or...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Thu Dec 29th, 2016

Cinema, religion, and poetry

are all a form of fiction like novels,

painter's portraits, music, philosophy.

Well-written history alone travels

with a solid factual foundation:

collected, analyzed, categorized.

Yet historical interpretation...

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