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Poetry

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!


Plato declares all poets are liars

because they use metaphors,

yet Plato himself employs

allegories and metaphors.

 

Businessmen boast of bs profits,

yet such exaggerations are not labeled lies.

Politicians make a living from lying,

yet conjuring fables is considered opinion

rather than outright corruption,

which they call “price of promotion.”

 

Our texts about the divine

are rooted in metaphors

and even unusual stories.

As a rule, poets lie least

because they have nothing to lose

except their reputation

or practical sense of fun.

 

And when soothing spring arrives

with scent of cherry blossom,

apple and pear blossom,

do any of these ambitious liars ever think

that history itself is a story

which will not survive

humankind’s demise?


Mint: a cosmopolitan family

with so many attractive relatives

that they cannot be kept from your table!

I’m in love with sage, basil, oregano,

while I keep in touch with thyme, rosemary,

and common wild mint that grows by my door.

I’m not lucky enough to lounge on teak,

yet I can rub shoulders with lavender.

 

Over seven thousand species toss scent

into air, although some mints just look nice

like my garden companion Coleus.

Every leaf emerges oppositely,

each pair whorled, some posing at right angles.

Most have fragrance, structure, savory taste.

 


America, your rouge looks like a whore:

conflict of interests and corruption,

addiction to international war,

insults, for-profit incarceration.

Some say, “Nothing new, we’ve been here before,”

but the algorithm-scale of deceit

has made a mockery of prudent law.

And what about our nation’s balance sheet?

 

Where is our Founder’s Christian altruism?

Do we cherish Franklin or just his bill?

Why do we worship guns and fascism?

How are we now a Beacon of Freedom?

 

I’m taking as stroll up a local hill

to cleanse my mind of blunt pessimism.


Granularity populates a vortex overflowing:

seed to vagrant soil, sudden shower;

dune of sand lit by shore lightning;

gravel underfoot in moonlit park;

pin-points of water welling in eyeball;

multitude of atoms we cannot see;

trillions of star-galaxies in a swirl.

 

Rotundity highlights it all,

and to be curiously round in mind

remains best whenever you see a friend

come round for keen conversation.

 


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...

by Kathleen Weaver in Poetry
Tue Jul 26th, 2016

Questions for the Pacific

 

Do dreams like rivulets

of love return to you,

having altered little or nothing

     but themselves? are we

 

just a nuisance

or an...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Jul 20th, 2016

At the age of two a daisy evoked wonder worth contemplating for a minute or two.

At the age of four a lilting ball in air was a wonder that...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Jul 13th, 2016

When Lively

Conversation stamps a dance

without set pattern

although it will set patterns

improvised in the moment:

patterns of association

and linked ideas

moving like spears of sunlight.

or...

by Kathleen Weaver in Poetry
Wed Jul 6th, 2016

Brilliant Summer

on certain days life is a sea

intermittently hushed

 

furious, unaccountable

in its repetitions it flashes

 

is a terrible blade it cuts

brutally cuts while...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Jun 27th, 2016

Illuminations

 

While blunt words of a poet are his wings

that must soar up into the clouds and sky,

his heart often remains modestly shy

when he rummages in...

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