Poetry

by Bill Keller Beginning in May, we take feeders out  each morning, bring them in again at dusk; tall cylinders of sugar water,  some straight, some with a waist — …

by Kevin T McEneaney I, who sang of quantum physics and light, now baritone on the sport of soccer: of the stop-gap ball block before a pass that zips upfield…

by Kevin T McEneaney I, who sang of love and chemistry, now sing the glories of strawberry jam without maligning other flavored jams. (I speak of only homemade jams, not…

by Kevin T McEneaney How can a point with no volume at all contain the volume of infinite space? One second after the immense Big Bang the journey to infinity…

by Kevin T McEneaney I, who sang of astronomy and kindness, now sing manifold virtues of the slug, a shell-less terrestrial gastropod— a form of crawling, slouching mollusc, a polyphyletic…

by Kevin T McEneaney How often do you worship your TV? Do you adore news, sports, or movies? How many stations do you find obnoxious? Do you watch wrestling, boxing,…

by Kevin T McEneaney It is hard to write poetry at a conference about poetry. The doctors have their scalpels, their comparisons, their theories, their illustrative computer slides, rhythms analyzed…

by Kevin T McEneaney When I was a confused ten-year-old, there were two dimensions in my life: I played football with multiple concussions and my elbow shattered into thirty shards;…