Poetry

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 will analyze our human demise. * These robots will research ...

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 our neighbors, who may make our lives uncomfortable because they ...

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 people. * As a symbol of martial victory, Chopin’s piano ...

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 this, since they can’t determine how this happened. These trees ...

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 may or may not include sapiens. * Mortality instigates poetry, ...

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. * The cornet is quite difficult to play and requires an expert ...

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 decomposition fills me with apprehension for coming winter. The silver ...

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. * This consortium claims too much alcohol is destroying proper gastronomic ...

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 happiness. Secondly, the breaking waves at Jones Beach, building sandcastles ...

by Bill Keller Pools  Rain refills the narrow poolsthat flank the trail, swelling themwith shadow, stillness, stench,darkly rotting birch stumps,vague masses captive at the edge.... I take another step, squelchin a reeking muck that I’llcarry for a while, and thisis when ...