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Poetry

The bustling clanging of daylight action

creates cluttering static in the brain.

Silence in the night offers solution,

yet night itself may provide a refrain

of off-hand noise from roaring vehicles,

or children plagued by traumatic nightmare,

or one’s own insomniac, riddle dreams,

which may inspire momentary scare.

 

Still silence in the night is a pleasure

to be savored like a cheerful bouquet

of flowers you have picked from your garden.

Silence itself is a form of leisure

like gazing fondly at the Milky Way

or contemplating your childhood again.


"Whoever becomes the leader in [artificial intelligence]

will become the ruler of the world" --Vladimir Putin

 

It’s coming very soon,

all around you quite a bit.

We’re now about noon,

nearly a fabulous fit.

 

Make sure to check all boxes

that apply to your dream life,

including all physical specs

for temp mates or wife.

 

All “work” will be performed

on portable computers

like autos, or just phoned

in to massive data servers.

 

You won’t have to worry or think—

It will all be done for you.

You can jus sit back and drink

dawn to dusk, laugh the day through.

 

Yes, we will all be like machines

in artificial neural networks

where language is rational

as we evolve greater “free will.”

 

In the end you and I

will live on as AI:

immortal algorithms

whose insidious mistakes

will happily replicate

without irony or hate.


Everything around us is mystery:

atoms in a raindrop, sudden thunder,

chemical composition of a tree,

trillions of stars whirling, bloom of flower,

that finger you use to stir your coffee

on this planet which offers such delight

amid rotational velocity

since that day you opened eyes to sunlight!

 

While some people blind themselves with cliché,

the cosmos careens on its merry way

to points unknown and unfathomable.

All we can work with is comparison.

Yet poetry is more than mere fable,

while God is hardly a theologian….


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?


by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Nov 6th, 2018

The bustling clanging of daylight action

creates cluttering static in the brain.

Silence in the night offers solution,

yet night itself may provide a refrain

of off-hand noise from roaring...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Oct 30th, 2018

"Whoever becomes the leader in [artificial intelligence]

will become the ruler of the world" --Vladimir Putin

 

It’s coming very soon,

all around you quite a bit.

We’re now about...

for Douglas
by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Oct 23rd, 2018

Everything around us is mystery:

atoms in a raindrop, sudden thunder,

chemical composition of a tree,

trillions of stars whirling, bloom of flower,

that finger you use to stir your...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Oct 16th, 2018

When brown-red leaves dance in autumn wind

and the cries of crickets no longer sing,

heart grows sterner, appetite increases,

wanton thoughts rage before the coming freeze.

Heavy rain warns...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Oct 9th, 2018

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...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Oct 2nd, 2018

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 Sep 25th, 2018

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...

by Kevin T. McEneaney in Poetry
Tue Sep 18th, 2018

Black ants are gathering short, crooked stems

while an architect ant directs the work

with the patience of ten million sunsets

or the movement of a glacier ten miles,

as...

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