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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
Tue Dec 12th, 2017

Just as each snowflake is original,

different, unique, so each Christmas day

should be likewise: in gifts, spirit, and thought,

even if favorite hymns, songs, repeat.

It is slight difference...

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

Today I’m renovating my study,

solarizing my words and diction,

solarizing my philosophic outlook,

solarizing my mood and behavior.

 

I am a sunnier person

and the proof of it...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Nov 28th, 2017

Viola, soul of the string orchestra,

less bright in tone than that star violin

who hogs both spotlight and show-off solos,

yet like the piano, it is useful

for composing:...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Nov 21st, 2017

Blasted flowers stand withered in bright sunlight

while others like chrysanthemums prosper.

Lingering phlox might attract hummingbirds

while late moths and butterflies flutter in air

performing snap-ballet of leaps and...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Nov 14th, 2017

Vibrations behind eyelid magnify

exploding sensors in inner cortex

with soothing, calming, implicit élan

that thrills spinal cord, wired head-hairs—

such the violin’s delicate finesse.

 

Its sweetness is like...

for Dr. Hampson Sisler
by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Nov 7th, 2017

Among the delicate, delightful

creatures in the musical menagerie,

the most alarming, even frightening

animal to a child of two or three

is the organ, Behemoth of the Zoo.

 ...

for Matt Finley
by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Oct 31st, 2017

A trumpet rings like a new breath of life:

the mind clears away all obsolete dross.

Trumpet re-arranges synapses.

Two feet feel as if they carry no weight—

one is...

for Robert Martin
by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Oct 24th, 2017

The cello resonates like a garden.

Notes linger like strong flower-aromas.

Vegetation is dense, dark green, blue-bright.

Between strokes and chords sunlight breaks cloud-line.

The cello towers like an immense...

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