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Poetry

Out of nowhere

it can come

 

like a car passing

under the window,

 

but what to do

with it?

 

Especially when

the car’s gone

 

and there’s

no sound at all,

 

except the slight

rustle of leaves,

 

a dandelion seed

floating in air,

 

and glint of sunlight

sparkling on a pond?

 


on the piano

played

only one

white note

but that note

was enough

for the day

to have

its poignant

memory.


Wan December sunlight, snow-covered hills,

pond semi-frozen, hollows mucky with mud,

stream reduced to etiolated rills.

Hauling in split wood amid squelching sludge

up to my wobbly ankles. Birch burns quick

like conversation igniting with wit.

Some maple and cherry for dim twilight,

oak and elm for the dreary, frozen night.

 

Each tree has its own personality

that “speaks” in distinctive, warm vibration

tinkling spine, giving scent, breathing on ear.

Symbol of life-and-death, the spreading tree

makes heart leap in flaming extroversion—

especially at turn of the New Year!


Declare a moratorium on common sense.

Let all multi-millionaires be homeless and hungry for a day.

Let roosters and chickens all have their say.

Televise the parade of Snowmen from Miami Beach

And replace the Super Bowl with the Pleasantville Croquet Finals,

While requiring all players to quaff half a bottle of whiskey before play.

 

Let us know who grew the largest canine teeth in the USA

And where the most beautiful mallard ducks swim.

Ban all autos from all cities and towns for one day a year.

Give every citizen a Thanksgiving turkey

And every child a full day’s worth of sheer play.

 

And since a serious note has here been struck,

Open the Southern Border to refugees

From drug cartels, malnutrition, and hunger,

For we are those who set the example

Of freedom in this world—or not?


A Messiah came, spoke of the Father

(with words of wisdom not heard since David),

becoming a martyr like Osiris,

Dionysos, and those who followed Him.

The Spirit-words of the Man from Nowhere

still inspire the Force of Good today

in the gentle hearts of men and women

who follow their sacred, inner conscience.

 

From where does this bright, inner voice arise?

This Force comes from our meek, caring parents,

who gave us this glorious gift of life.

We are the image of Mother, Father,

from whom tender wonders of love proceed.

A Christian loves the green world and neighbors.


by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Sun Apr 1st, 2018

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...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Mar 26th, 2018

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....

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Mar 19th, 2018

Bold snowman stands

with anthracite button,

scarf, hat, and carrot nose

 

with stern, wan smile

as he sinks to ground

like parboiled politicians

of immemorial past.

 

As snow...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Mar 12th, 2018

Blizzard-bound in white:

there’s ecstasy in wind-force,

sudden melting mote in eye,

nose pinched red by cold,

 

mourning dove fluttering,

snow-laden fir branches

slowly swaying in swollen gust,

wind-whirling...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Mar 7th, 2018

Oh, those old mysteries of lost childhood:

icebox, ice pic with shards glinting in sun,

gray cloudy days with rain dripping from eaves,

the blossoms of an apple tree in...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Feb 27th, 2018

One travels to leave behind

the certainty of boredom,

only to find unfamiliarity

in landscape, people,

customs, and common sense.

 

One cheerfully returns home

to discover a familiar bed,...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Feb 21st, 2018

Six inches of fluffy snow

loafing on fence, walk, and roof.

Imprisoned by white,

I’m fixated by birds:

for once they are serious,

not fighting or squabbling,

there’s no time...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Feb 13th, 2018

February evokes mediations

on mortality: not only the cold,

but the bleak crunch of ice on fastened boot,

plumage panicky at the bird-feeder,

lowering slate clouds that appear endless,

bare...

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