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Poetry

When rain pelts, pours incessantly for days,

streets swell with splashing puddles, running streams.

A temptation to sleep-away the day

afflicts a blue, pampered, preening psyche.

 

Under microscope-lens water reveals

fifty million morphing, dancing patterns;

they descend about our ears like droll tears,

each drop containing myriad marvels.

 

These window drummers whisper history

of slow molecular evolution

about which we are blindly ignorant,

yet we imbibe some of that legacy

at faucet, or in the drenched sensation

of showering in lucent refreshment.


The bustling clanging of daylight action

creates cluttering static in the brain.

Silence in the night offers solution,

yet night itself may provide a refrain

of off-hand noise from roaring vehicles,

or children plagued by traumatic nightmare,

or one’s own insomniac, riddle dreams,

which may inspire momentary scare.

 

Still silence in the night is a pleasure

to be savored like a cheerful bouquet

of flowers you have picked from your garden.

Silence itself is a form of leisure

like gazing fondly at the Milky Way

or contemplating your childhood again.


"Whoever becomes the leader in [artificial intelligence]

will become the ruler of the world" --Vladimir Putin

 

It’s coming very soon,

all around you quite a bit.

We’re now about noon,

nearly a fabulous fit.

 

Make sure to check all boxes

that apply to your dream life,

including all physical specs

for temp mates or wife.

 

All “work” will be performed

on portable computers

like autos, or just phoned

in to massive data servers.

 

You won’t have to worry or think—

It will all be done for you.

You can jus sit back and drink

dawn to dusk, laugh the day through.

 

Yes, we will all be like machines

in artificial neural networks

where language is rational

as we evolve greater “free will.”

 

In the end you and I

will live on as AI:

immortal algorithms

whose insidious mistakes

will happily replicate

without irony or hate.


Everything around us is mystery:

atoms in a raindrop, sudden thunder,

chemical composition of a tree,

trillions of stars whirling, bloom of flower,

that finger you use to stir your coffee

on this planet which offers such delight

amid rotational velocity

since that day you opened eyes to sunlight!

 

While some people blind themselves with cliché,

the cosmos careens on its merry way

to points unknown and unfathomable.

All we can work with is comparison.

Yet poetry is more than mere fable,

while God is hardly a theologian….


Autumn leaves at my feet, mud clinging shoes,

brisk west wind blowing with cooling bluster,

crows flying with fluffy low clouds brooding,

scent of mortality pervading air.

One wonders about vaunted ambition

as clumping feet tramples red-orange leaves

while forebodings of winter shiver bones.

Just what is it that we wish to achieve?

All will pass, even renewal of leaves.

 

Yet many crave headline folly of news,

or the illusion of media fame.

It’s best to live kindly in the moment

where love conjures happy contentment,

and like mushrooms create your own small rain

by hefting your own spores of hope in air!


by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Nov 22nd, 2016

Orange-red oak leaf spiraling to earth

through gray-blue air in silent slow motion

signals the firm arrival of autumn,

a time to offer fervent thanksgiving

for the abundance of fruitful...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Nov 15th, 2016

When the moon is full and nearest to earth, 

I peer out my door, listening to naught: 

Silence so stark, nude, a startling stillness 

...
by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Thu Nov 10th, 2016

White frost coats the blear eyelid of my car.

Piercing cold stings the larder of my lungs.

I’m happy it’s really ripe pumpkin time.  

My physique has not yet...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Nov 2nd, 2016

Ego is strange because it’s so familiar.

The rose takes for granted the soil below.

All birds assume azure aerial space,

just as we take for granted the air we...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Oct 26th, 2016

Cricket in my palm

Not uttering sound

 

Cloud above my head

Shape of slow ship

 

Chewing stalk of grass

Wind waving maple tree

 

Sad September flowers

Yellow-jackets...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Oct 18th, 2016

At two I kicked orange-red-yellow leaves

shushing underfoot into damp twilight.

 

At four I rolled in brisk, dry, crackling leaves

until I fell to a swoon of wonder.

 ...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Thu Oct 13th, 2016

Pretty striped stink bug, where are you going?

Come down from the roof—going to party?

Or is it some food you are looking for?

Maybe locate a mate before sunrise?...

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...

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