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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
Fri May 27th, 2016

Say Hello

 

Like flowering seeds in tornado breeze,

not all soldiers survive their assigned task.

And not all civilians offer their thanks

to those who have survived their brush...

by Kathleen Weaver in Poetry
Mon May 23rd, 2016
That man
 
              that I may reduce the monster to myself  
—Stevens
 
What is his game? what horse 
can carry him,...
by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Sat May 14th, 2016

Buttercups bursting in greeny meadow,

oriole chattering in oak above,

geese squawking and euphorbia prolix

under golden orb setting in the west,

as midges celebrate their most brief lives.

Amid...

by Michaela Coplen in Poetry
Mon May 9th, 2016

Intermediate Arabic

After Safia Elhillo

 

the arabic word for weeping:  بكاء /bika/

the arabic word for staying:  بقاء /biqa/

the only difference is how you hold

the sharpness in your throat

 

هاجرت /haajartu/  to...

by Micheala Coplen in Poetry
Wed May 4th, 2016

the road to Damascus

 

Shadows fall over the city     as empires

have fallen     The ancient walls hold their history

with unsteady grace  

            as the still night carries a...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Sat Apr 30th, 2016

Since latitude remains so obvious—
although even that was not always so—
I’ll construct my bearing on longitude,
which reflects more confusion about life,
time, and...

by Don Wigal in Poetry
Mon Apr 25th, 2016

Do you sometimes think and feel
Our axis is now shifting?
Smart folks warn us every day,
Mountains of ice are drifting.

Waters on our globe are...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Sun Apr 17th, 2016

When earth shakes like a rattle in child’s hand,

our knees absorb the fury of earthquake.

Run out to street, the open air saves!

When hillsides of stone fall, run...

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