Poetry

by Philip Brady That was a magnificent evening he said Addressing no star in particular On its rotation round infinity. If there was a better superlative I would have used…

by Kevin T McEneaney Shushing of autumn tree leaves in the wind freights dry, brittle sound as they drift to ground. There is sadness in the air when leaves die,…

by Philip Brady I saw your lines discrete between the leaves, And saw the thoughts within the lines unfold, A breath too fine for spoken word to breathe, A whispered…

by Bill Keller   We went walking after rain through earthworms stuck on cement: strange crooks and curlicues, an uncanny alphabet.   We were travelers, too,  wondering where the path…

  by Kevin T McEneaney   What is love in high C in the morning when dew nestles on waving leaf and blade while burning sun has burnt all clouds…

by Kevin T McEneaney   After hard rain, silence shudders awesome. Even regular morning birds don’t sing. One imagines that such silence echoes like a boulder rolling down a mountain.…

by Kevin T McEneaaney In English there’s no word for pre-dawn blue, but there once was in old Anglo-Saxon, uhtna which indicates they rose early to plunder their neighbor’s goods…

by Kevin T McEneaney At the high-rise condo they are experimenting with magnetic fields to protect themselves from the Delta Covid virus. At my golf club we delete from membership…

by Kevin T McEneaney    In memory of Nikolai Vavilov   During the dreadful siege of Leningrad, scientists willingly starved themselves to death rather than eat edible tuber seeds stored…

by Kevin T McEneaney If we possessed all Greek literature, painting, and sculpture, we’d be overwhelmed, proceed to learn, study Greek dialects, while their music would be irrelevant.   Vivaldi’s…