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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
Fri Feb 24th, 2017

Early signs of spring:

pale tracks of wandering birds

melted to liquid wonder;

aconite sings its lonely solo

song by a red shed;

a waxing increment

of two minutes a...

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

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....

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

Snow melting off roof,

that slow joyous drip

of icicles melting 

on Valentine’s Day

when lovers celebrate reunion

as snow and light unite

to produce the liquid symbol

of love’s...

(on which we stand)
by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Sun Feb 12th, 2017

On Valentine’s Day we kidnap,

cuff illegal bad daddies

(whose wives are on food stamps)

who work assembly line nightshifts,

and take them away from

wives, sons, and daughters.

 ...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Feb 8th, 2017

Ticking-and-tocking in the pendulum

Of historical turnings and tumult

What enfant terrible hosts elbow room

For aggrandizement, bluster, and insult?

Veracity is what he says it is.

Finance becomes final...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Mon Jan 30th, 2017

Walls: an historical meditation

Everybody loves a wall.

Walls can last a long time.

Look at the Great Wall of China—

it’s great to take photos from it.

Walls are...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Jan 25th, 2017

Salesmen repeat. Reification

produces assurance and consumption,

yet artists loathe repetition,

preferring expostulation, objection,

and often, if bored, even

varied levels of flippant comparison

that evolve their own version

of...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Wed Jan 18th, 2017

In the beginning was the word,

but when was the sentence?

The world may be 50 million years old

as even baboons have the word,

yet when was grammar invented?...

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