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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 Aug 1st, 2017

A drab tooth-bitten pencil with

its innumerable shadows and wayward squiggles

lolls between my blunt thumb

and elegant middle finger

like a scalpel ready to open up

fissures in language,...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Thu Jul 20th, 2017

                                                           ...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Jul 12th, 2017

The Mouth who made America great again

denied all science, allowed lead in water,

permitted unlimited air pollution,

encouraged all bigots to feel mightier.

 

The Mouth that governed by...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Fri Jul 7th, 2017

My lover’s body is nothing at all

like glossy pics in upscale magazines

depicting coats, hats, shoes, vests, overalls,

lingerie, ties, underwear or sweaters.

Absent is that vacuous model gaze...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Jul 3rd, 2017

Do you know who you are, why you are here?

Can you live your life without any fear?

Fear of death, fear of failure or weakness,

Mediocrity or fear of...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Sun Jun 25th, 2017

A little water now on your forehead

to remember we are all mostly water,

that we go with the flow like water,

that we are weak in the face of...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Jun 19th, 2017

When life is raindrops on slate steps

Petals falling from sunflowers

Dawn rising east with rosy hue

Urge to make love half awake

Bathrobe close to skin

Baby rollicking rattling...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Jun 12th, 2017

Spring: aconite and daffodil

Have vanished yet flocks of flowers—

lilacs, rainbows of tulips, purple iris

surround a path to the driveway.

 

Everything appears reborn in vivid color

while...

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