Poetry

by Philip Brady   There were snowdrops in the graveyard today, First growth of the season, or maybe last. Nature has its own calculating way With calendar for future times…

by Kevin T. McEneaney When there’s frost painted on nose, ice in toes, fingers split on many digits, can’t move, ice clinging to eyelids, beard, and nose hairs, ears screaming…

by Kevin T. McEneaney Sleeping with rainfall is a luxury to be savored like excellent coffee!     Long ago, little could be accomplished when it rained: carve wood, make…

by Desmond Egan exhausted from banging and buzzinghow bewildered he isas he crawls is crawling up the pane of light beware of the web poor small creaturethrown like us against…

by Kevin T. McEneaney You don’t have to be Euclid to wonder at the proportions of rugged beauty that assault the eyes of the beholder at Machu Picchu in sunshine…

by Kevin T. McEneaney Every red dawn is an experiment for you, your family, humanity, and the hero, as Homer once proclaimed. Every spider you meet during your day deserves…

by Kevin T. McEneaney Listening to Beethoven in autumn with crumpling brown leaves wreathing my footsteps, I note November quality with strength— a master at his peak breathing wisdom into…

by Kevin T. McEneaney The origins of religions are lost in fire, flames leaping into black air, illuminating the Spirit within— the voice of the poet speaking to God, whoever…

by Kevin T. McEneaney That crazy pumpkin with zig-zag-zam grin— nothing like it for a five-year old tyke, especially when a candle glimmers with magnificent rotundity, eyes winking and flittering…