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Poetry

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


Clustered daffodils swaying on green hill

evoke fervent desire in my will

to embrace vivid dreams of Spring—

accomplish this or that ambitious thing!

Shrugging off winter’s icy stagnation,

burdened with vacant imagination,

I grow more relaxed with lengthening day

as I glimpse the glory of mild May.

 

I say this to all my friends at table:

daffodils frolicking in gentle breeze

present an emblem of honest friendship,

an inspiring ideal for those able

to see God in nature and men’s eyes,

as much as He appears in breast or lip.


Just a note

to remind everyone

that you may

be reborn

if you visit

a waterfall

in springtime:

 

breathe in

ionized air

as your eye

roves over

water rushing

to a horizon

you have yet

to enter.


Palms lay strewn before me.

I knew that was a vanity

I would someday pay

for, yet I did not see

that it would eventually be

such an immense agony.

 

The roar of the raucous crowd

meant nothing to me

as long as friends stood by me.

Shouts of “Hosanna” rang loud,

so I knew Herod heard me.

 

What I did not foresee

was that Pontius Pilate

would take such an interest in me;

he was jealous, full of hate.

In the end Herod held my fate,

while my friends abandoned me.

 

I had worked such wonders,

I thought my friends would stand by me.

Yet the might of the Roman army

can pierce the lungs of the Father’s defenders


by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Sep 19th, 2017

The chirp of phoebe wakes me at daybreak

while green grasshopper greets me at breakfast.

A woodpecker tattoos his pointy beak

into a black birch that will not long last...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Sep 12th, 2017

I’m a wobbly monkey on Mondays,

hanging from the iron bar

with a forced, sardonic grin

as I swing in my cage,

plodding through the motions

of what monkey work...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Sep 6th, 2017

President DT loves all the Dreamers,

but Compassion dictates that they must go.

They can all be packed in train containers,

run en masse over the Rio Bravo,

or put...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Sep 5th, 2017

When Reason died at the age of twenty,

replaced as it was by Romance of sex

as skin became the only certainty

while I stroked the beloved’s neck,

the world...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Aug 28th, 2017

“Trump's Afghanistan strategy a breath of fresh air” @thehill.com

 

We are “fully committed” to our war

in far-off, mountainous Afghanistan.

Despite no over-all plan for the war,

victory is...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Aug 22nd, 2017

If you were eyeing the partial eclipse,

I saw it, too, here with slight hazy sky,

yet a larger eclipse was in my heart,

roiled by bleak, corrupt, social decay,...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Aug 15th, 2017

A sunflower spikes its wheeling fan

like a pinwheel frozen in time;

its yellow halo hypnotizes the eye,

transporting it briefly to Neverland.

 

That sturdy stalk stands bolt upright...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Aug 8th, 2017

Of late administrative problems

have obstructed constant production of poetry.

 

Poetry is not a production

but a product of the unconscious.

 

I have rescheduled writing times

and locations...

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