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 it. His cane tapped the wall Guiding the river as ...
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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, yet children love to play with them, tossing leaves in ...
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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 thought the world could not be told. The swallows came ...
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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 went, how lasting the dewy hush  would be, and the ...
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  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 not nil and ants scramble through watery meadows?   What ...
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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. Not even mosquitoes or flies are out. Lawns pearl, glisten ...
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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 or women. History is the recounting of wars, taxes, inventions, ...
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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 anyone who walks into the club wearing a mask. There’s ...
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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 in the Solanum near Petersburg because this collection belonged to ...
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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 one hundred lost operas make me curious, even if they ...
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