Poetry

  by Kevin T. McEneaney Unstable mesons form an octet, yet can be nonet with quark since they can be split into an octet plus singlet. This seems weird at first until it’s done. Quite strange, but we have that ...
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 Irish Halo Nonet by Kevin T. McEneaney Franks complained of the Irish tonsure, correct Easter calculation, and insistence on penance during medieval times, yet adopted Irish architecture. Tonsure ran ear to ear ...
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by Kevin T. McEneaney Mysterious planet Uranus, Mediterranean water where Homer sailed to Delos before he became blind, cornflower magic by the roadside, where sunken treasure lies.   ...
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by Kevin T. McEneaney As I write this line on paper pad, trillions of unseen neutrinos have passed through my brain and heart. Scientists estimate six billion earth-like planets in “our” Milky Way— we can’t see ...
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by Kevin T. McEneaney Building a house for purple martin, dye from a spiny sea snail gland, blackberry, or mulberry, horse tails dipped in purple notes the Iliad, grape hyacinth, fringed gentian, glass of wine ...
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Nonet in Blue The scent of forget-me-not in air like secret memories of poignant pleasure once filched from the bank of a stream where water tumbled over boulders sending foam downstream. Spring! ...
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Sometimes I think my heart resembles a red tulip open to sun, dreaming dark red tulip dreams while hosting poetic lines on bright sunny days, closing at night to ponder the day’s dream. —Kevin T. McEneaney ...
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Every April my rational winter brain, is sent packing by spring light. My body seems to wish to sift the world solo. Skin gathers courage, gut relaxes, sinews tighten and become hopeful, lungs let the air caress them, muscles find ...
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I let the front yard go, thinking moss would take it, imagined a lush, green, spongy mattress, like in the Adirondacks, where my brother and I found wizard beds in sapling rooms – secret, soft, cool and magic. The moss ...
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On Life’s veranda We stood there, timid and unsure. What would the next day bring? On the canal, a swan, Her cob and cygnets foraged With an aimless plan. The news from Italy and from Spain Was not good. The ...
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