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Poetry

How pleasant, refreshing to see

our tinpot dictator ranting

at justice, common sense. Silly

Europeans were expecting

 

polite, rational behavior,

but Don displayed ability

to lie, appear superior

with a sneer in society

 

while insulting a warrior

at the D-Day cemetery

for having displayed great valor

fighting for his beloved country,

 

jailed many Mafioso dons,

and wisely helmed the FBI,

then provided measured response

to blatant, lawless perfidy.

 

We wait for the fourth of July

in the hope of patriotism,

yet we are quite likely to fly

into the maws of despotism

 

while the Don celebrates himself

as the greatest politician

since Nero on stage played himself

crucifying a dumb Christian.

 

His compassion remains unmatched

in the annals of history

and his crass insults are beloved

by those who know no history.

 

Like the god Nero, Don is praised

as a great public orator;

the populace loves he was raised

as a famous branding realtor.

 

Don is the high school bullshitter;

exaggeration is his theme—

when it works, he’s a big hitter,

when it doesn’t, the joke’s quite lame.

 

 

(Americans think a realtor

to be a form of royalty

because their opaque behavior

appears as magic fantasy.)

 

Media manipulation

as the engine of governance

produces an awkward question:

can one rule through nasty vengeance?

 

As Christian Prez Jimmy Carter

points out: we have oligarchy,

unlimited scandal, huckster

mentality, gross bribery.


The damp joylessness of first Spring is here

with drooping snowdrops and constant showers

riddling muddy puddles in languages

that can only be translated by ear.

Gray geese bicker about territory,

show off with bluster courting their ladies,

while midges gather armies for attacks

and daffodil stems thrust furiously.

 

Mold begins to creep up doors and latches

while rust attempts to paint the outdoor grill.

Disorientation disturbs my will.

I worry about welts from diseased ticks.

Despite these awkward considerations,

I’m learning to love light, birdsong chirpings. 


To pierce the opaque world of corrupt lies

one needs Private Spectacles of Resonance

which bestows vision to see through dim cant

clothed in comic Harlequin arraignment.

Cruelty surrounds us like a carapace

of crustacean curses curled on lips.

All laws, customs, cultural perceptions

grow sizzling fat over the course of years

like slug wax in the portal of one’s ears

when we wake in blue dawn of the dew’s tears.

 

We proceed to draw history awkward

with far too much bloated baggage downward.

Those wistful tears burn away in sunlight

when our daylong working project goes right!


So many things that I once learned as a child

are either obsolete or downright wrong:

that mushrooms, celery have no nutrition,

that coffee and chocolate are quite bad.

Jupiter now has seventy-nine moons?

Who knew men and women are preparing

their own demise through over-population?

Or that religion could be so corrupt?

That science-denial would be a fad?

That knotweed would rule your backyard garden?

Can’t we just elect a big bullfrog king

to solve our problems with his magic ring?

 


Propelled by torrents onto the lawn

    her fragile body wracked by rain

 

what looked like a throbbing leaf or grounded sparrow

   turned out to be the largest moth I’d ever seen

 

Watery drops rolled off her cinnamon wings like mercury balls

  when fully dry, they opened to the span of an octave

 

each wing had what looked like eye spots

   each circle, wide with surprise

  

as if drawn in pastel, the orbital rims goldenrod,

   yellow and chicory blue;

 

   each cellophane-like center,

the sclera, clear all the way through

 

but there was an inch-long gash in one wing

   which complicated things.

 

She rested indoors in the shadow of a paper bag,

    eventually to walk out from under, flapping;

 

antennae, twitched full of life,

   but she could not lift off 

 

could not propel herself upward

   and as she tried, the rip augmented


by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Jun 11th, 2019

How pleasant, refreshing to see

our tinpot dictator ranting

at justice, common sense. Silly

Europeans were expecting

 

polite, rational behavior,

but Don displayed ability

to lie, appear superior

with...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Jun 4th, 2019

The damp joylessness of first Spring is here

with drooping snowdrops and constant showers

riddling muddy puddles in languages

that can only be translated by ear.

Gray geese bicker about...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue May 28th, 2019

To pierce the opaque world of corrupt lies

one needs Private Spectacles of Resonance

which bestows vision to see through dim cant

clothed in comic Harlequin arraignment.

Cruelty surrounds us...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue May 21st, 2019

So many things that I once learned as a child

are either obsolete or downright wrong:

that mushrooms, celery have no nutrition,

that coffee and chocolate are quite bad.

Jupiter...

by jean p. tate in Poetry
Tue May 14th, 2019

Propelled by torrents onto the lawn

    her fragile body wracked by rain

 

what looked like a throbbing leaf or grounded sparrow

   turned out to be the largest...

by Bill Keller in Poetry
Tue May 7th, 2019

I passed an orchard twice a day.

Never stopped, till I saw the way

The orchard springs to life: slender, small,

Tender greens with pink-milk petals.

 

But up close,...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Apr 30th, 2019

Glowing, winking embers at poker-point

become swarming tea leaves in your cup;

cast of I-Ching demythologized

by devout, mindful meditation.

 

Daily horoscope lifts aspiration,

a prayer to a saint...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Apr 22nd, 2019

Puddles stipple-drilled, dandelions closed,

cherry bush waving frail pink-and-white blooms,

that satisfying softness under foot,

aural breeze on ears, mallards swim in pond,

full planting moon rising over east hills

as...

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