Voyeur Moon

Flat, round,
the April moon
presses into the sky—
cold, white nose against dark glass in
the night

Posted in Art is lies, Cinquain, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Spring, The Moon, The Sky | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Eidolons, Baby (recent poems, November 2012)

Eidolons, baby,*
that’s all we are and all we make;
we, our own ghosts, are the blurred after-images
the pencil traces, what the waiting shapes.

*This one came from a brief conversation with Andrew Griffin about the Walt Whitman poem.

Posted in Andrew Griffin, Art, Art is lies, Art is theft, Consciousness, John MacKenzie, Memory, Poetry, Recent poems, Walt Whitman | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Two Versions of a Cinquain for the First Day of Spring

1
Warm, wet,
the spring wind gets
in everywhere—stirring
curtains, tugging and loosening
clothing

2
Stirring
curtains, tugging
and loosening clothing,
the spring wind gets in everywhere,
warm, wet

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Chinese poetry, Cinquain, John MacKenzie, New poems, Poetry, Spring, The Wind | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Hanafuda Frost and Moonlight Sonnet by John Mackenzie

John MacKenzie:

Andrew Griffin somehow made it through another birthday. Last year he went with a Deathday theme, this year it’s Hanafuda and Tarot.

Originally posted on tankawanka:

Maple Leave 3c Maple Leave 4c Maple Leave 2c Maple Leave 1c

August Silver Grass_04cChrysanthemum 4c Sake Cup

Hanafuda Frost and Moonlight Sonnet
by John Mackenzie

From June into October
the nine-pound hammers of wind
and sun and rain beat and beat
down on maple leaves until
they glow from red through gold
in the forge of autumn days.

And then the sun is set aside
as the night is broken open
for trace elements of frost
and moonlight to fold into
leaves before they fall white
and hissing, serrated blades
sharp around feet slipping in
and out of ice-rimmed puddles.

Depth Charge: To access John Mackenzie’s poetry blog, click on any of the maple leaf cards above. To find out why moonlight on the water is dangerous, click on the full moon card above.  To read an enjoyable article on the symbols of hanafuda, click on the sake cup card beside the full moon card above.

This year for my birthday we are having fun with Hanafuda

View original 30 more words

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The Gentle Crocus Hones Green Blades of Rain (a villanelle rebuttal of Thomas)

Niel Gow’s ‘Lament for the Death of his Second Wife’

The Gentle Crocus Hones Green Blades of Rain

The gentle crocus hones green blades of rain
And whittles gaps in notes the small birds sing;
Out of silence we build our last refrain.

Melodies of youth are remembered strains
When the winter snows melt and flow in spring.
The gentle crocus hones green blades of rain.

The geese return, dark and raveling skeins
Falling down from skies string by tangled string.
Out of silence we build our last refrain.

A fiddle’s lament stills the nights again
As wasp and nettle barb and hook their stings.
The gentle crocus hones green blades of rain.

The days are gone when our bright bodies came
Together as a warm-toned bell ringing
Out of silence. We build our last refrain.

Some would tell you rage while the last light drains
From day. But night’s a black and perfect wing.
The gentle crocus hones* green blades of rain.
Out of silence we build our last refrain.

*It was very hard to resist using whets in place of hones all through this one.

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Dylan Thomas, John MacKenzie, Language, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Spring, The Sky, Villanelle, Wild Geese | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Midnight Finds Me Digging (a country tanka noir for Michael Leon)

Midnight Finds Me Digging (a country tanka noir for Michael Leon)

What I plant tonight
blossomed in red sprays today,
the scent thin and sharp—
waves of it in my nostrils,
salt and copper as the sea

We left the city,
its crenellated skyline—
our prison, she said,
but through all these nights I’ve heard
the sirens lament for me

Tonight I’m breaking
free of nights locked in stillness,
their killing silence,
their searchlight moon—white, restless,
sweeping the stark horizon

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, John MacKenzie, Michael Leon, New poems, Noir, Poem tweets, Poetry, Richard Stark, Tanka, The Moon, The Sea, The Sky, The Tibaldos, Twisted Tanka | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Dead of Winter (a pantoum resurrection pantomime)

In the oaks where the brown leaves loiter
as impetuous March approaches
singing empty promises of spring,
the blackbirds accrete in dark clusters.

As impetuous March approaches,
strung with palm fronds, smeared with ashes,
the blackbirds accrete in dark clusters
murmuring the rote forms of prayer.

Strung with palm fronds, smeared with ashes,
congregations gather—black masses
murmuring the rote forms of prayer—
begging the dead of winter to relent.

Congregations gather, black masses
singing empty promises of spring,
begging the dead of winter to relent
in the oaks where the brown leaves loiter.

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Atheism, Biology, Charlottetown, Consciousness, Delusional thinking, Epistemology, John MacKenzie, New poems, Pantoum, Poem tweets, Poetry, Quatrains, Religion, Skepticism, Social Commentary, Spring, The Brain, Winter | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment