Skip to content Skip to navigation

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 Jul 20th, 2017

                                                           ...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Jul 12th, 2017

The Mouth who made America great again

denied all science, allowed lead in water,

permitted unlimited air pollution,

encouraged all bigots to feel mightier.

 

The Mouth that governed by...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Fri Jul 7th, 2017

My lover’s body is nothing at all

like glossy pics in upscale magazines

depicting coats, hats, shoes, vests, overalls,

lingerie, ties, underwear or sweaters.

Absent is that vacuous model gaze...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Jul 3rd, 2017

Do you know who you are, why you are here?

Can you live your life without any fear?

Fear of death, fear of failure or weakness,

Mediocrity or fear of...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Sun Jun 25th, 2017

A little water now on your forehead

to remember we are all mostly water,

that we go with the flow like water,

that we are weak in the face of...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Jun 19th, 2017

When life is raindrops on slate steps

Petals falling from sunflowers

Dawn rising east with rosy hue

Urge to make love half awake

Bathrobe close to skin

Baby rollicking rattling...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Jun 12th, 2017

Spring: aconite and daffodil

Have vanished yet flocks of flowers—

lilacs, rainbows of tulips, purple iris

surround a path to the driveway.

 

Everything appears reborn in vivid color

while...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Jun 5th, 2017

Prizing doubt

they certainly

do it well,

philosophers

gazing at the mind

 

amid encrusted sediment

of sandstone fossils,

crunching numbers

few intellects

can comprehend...

 

and then there are...

Pages