Poetry

by Kevin T McEneaney I once called my son a little pumpkin. He did not like that—being called little, knowing he was much smarter than a squash. * Pumpkins are…

by Kevin T McEneaney The final enterprise of sapiens? To clutter the universe with robots who garner evidence of human life, which once flourished on this planet called Earth. They…

by Kevin T McEneaney About five million insect species live on planet Earth, which we call our home. (One million species are identified.) * It appears that we don’t know…

by Kevin T McEneaney In 1863, Warsaw was sacked by the Russian army under the Tsar who was intolerant of free thinking. Siberia became the destiny of all educated Polish…

by Kevin T McEneaney In Poland, there are mysterious trees, a small forest of about four hundred. These trees have a sinister, crooked base. * Scientists are still puzzled about…

by Kevin T McEneaney Many judge poetry irrelevant to the future of humankind. Creation is a poetic puzzle we attempt to translate into numbers that will encode speculative answers, which…

by Kevin T McEneaney      for Matt Finley The cornet descends from the herdsman’s horn, from about twenty thousand years ago, usually notched from an old, dead goat’s horn. *…

by Kevin T McEneaney Under the brightly shining supermoon the autumn landscape of withered-brown leaves is illuminated in a bright hue. Even the insects are taken by surprise… * October…

poem by Kevin T McEneaney My brain has been shut down by a majority of frontal brain cells who claim a lack of nutrients emerging from stomach and colon. *…

Picking raspberries is my favorite childhood memory with the sun shining at my back with a gentle, tickling breeze on my nose as drifting clouds scud above, aerial messengers of…