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Poetry

Thunder quakes its bluff—

or so I hope and purposely laugh—

as cats skittle under the couch

and children shiver with blear eyes,

puzzlement at august mystery

while lightning flashes

its zigzagging sword

and trees sway, tremble.

 

My laughter is to shock

children out of shock,

bestow confidence

of authorial fatherhood

that laughs at fate,

even when laughter is too late.


Touching the sky

with feet upraised

children swing

to the music

in their arms

 

as their heads

float free

of the earth

and any knowledge

of the difficulties

that await them

 

while morels whisper quietly

amid leaves and grass

as they grip invisible soil

beneath the visible sward.

 


As a poet writes with pen to paper,

the poet enters a peculiar space

where time has lost its common dimensions

without a hint of romantic vista

and the prospect at hand is about words

dancing like blown seeds, airborne, descending

to the fertile humus of rhythmic line

where burnished metaphor enlightens mind.


He picked grape hyacinth

and brought it to me,

asking what it was.

 

He asks what bird

makes that peculiar call.

Woodpeckers fascinate him.

At the age of three

all the world is wonder….

 

While I caution him

not to eat the tiny hyacinth,

I’m thinking that purple pyramid

looks good enough to eat.

 

The problem with adults

is that they have shed

the cloak of wonder

that breathes at their feet—

their heads are too high

from verdant earth.


Early to rise

in greeny surprise

 

Bright aconite

at early dawn light

 

Glimpse of robin wing

surging hope of spring

 

Grass going green

in gold-brown dream

 

Banish all mortal fear

with springy time near

 

Insects appear

fly in your ear

 

Daffodils near bloom

to banish gloom

 

Woodshed door

needed no more

 

Geese honking loud

low wet blue cloud

 

Pleasant to tread

soft squishy mud

 

Ready the plough

as kittens meow


by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Mar 19th, 2018

Bold snowman stands

with anthracite button,

scarf, hat, and carrot nose

 

with stern, wan smile

as he sinks to ground

like parboiled politicians

of immemorial past.

 

As snow...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Mar 12th, 2018

Blizzard-bound in white:

there’s ecstasy in wind-force,

sudden melting mote in eye,

nose pinched red by cold,

 

mourning dove fluttering,

snow-laden fir branches

slowly swaying in swollen gust,

wind-whirling...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Mar 7th, 2018

Oh, those old mysteries of lost childhood:

icebox, ice pic with shards glinting in sun,

gray cloudy days with rain dripping from eaves,

the blossoms of an apple tree in...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Feb 27th, 2018

One travels to leave behind

the certainty of boredom,

only to find unfamiliarity

in landscape, people,

customs, and common sense.

 

One cheerfully returns home

to discover a familiar bed,...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Feb 21st, 2018

Six inches of fluffy snow

loafing on fence, walk, and roof.

Imprisoned by white,

I’m fixated by birds:

for once they are serious,

not fighting or squabbling,

there’s no time...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Feb 13th, 2018

February evokes mediations

on mortality: not only the cold,

but the bleak crunch of ice on fastened boot,

plumage panicky at the bird-feeder,

lowering slate clouds that appear endless,

bare...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Feb 6th, 2018

We will all lay our heads down in brown leaves,

hoping that from our decay flowers bloom

over us, but much more importantly,

hoping that those who are younger than...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Jan 30th, 2018

Midwinter sun waxing

ever so slowly each day

as cold nights probe freezing delights.

A parallelogram of ice

floats in a small pond,

leaving an impression

of disconnected abeyance….

 ...

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