Skip to content Skip to navigation

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
Thu Oct 6th, 2016

I followed a bright yellow butterfly

to blooming lilac sprays

during early days of sun-drop spring.

 

I followed a bright yellow butterfly

into the thicket of adolescence

where music...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Sep 26th, 2016

There are times when to love the calls of birds

Becomes a crime worse than theft or incest;

When hills and valleys described in fleet words

Evoke anger of a...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Sep 20th, 2016

Gusting winds—whiplike—batter bent bushes,

bowing, battered,  bludgeoned; resilient trees

wave as storm rages with ravenous pitch,

while in cottage a lonely candle burns,

comforting four hands at plain deal table.

 ...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Sep 7th, 2016

Cyprus trees comb blue air

as I turn a page in a book,

while a hawk circles above

cleaving azure air with elegance.

With that upstart fantasy

of passing time...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Aug 29th, 2016

In Bryce Canyon burnt ochre sandstone

lazes in sunlight like an arrow line

leading to hidden caves of bleak

antique beauty where time evaporates

like a dwindling puddle on gray slate....

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Thu Aug 18th, 2016

Idyll

 

Summer evening fragrance,

sun dipping orange

through tree matrix

in refulgent pink:

scent of lily, poppy, dahlia,

coreopsis, linum;

guttural frogs on pond,

hummingbird wings abuzz,

giggle of...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Aug 9th, 2016

Marcelo Carrion at 81

 

At eighty-one

you are the one

to whom we look

for wisdom when shook

by odd events

or absurd comments

on how we live

and...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Aug 3rd, 2016

I fell in love

with my shadow

when I first noticed it

just before my second birthday

when I thought the scent of flowers

was an overwhelming intoxicant

I could...

Pages