The Sun and I Both

This morning the sun and I both
Rose reluctantly, clouds moving
Slowly across our faces
While, in trees behind the house,
The grey jays barked displeasure
About the changeable weather.
You took a long walk alone.
The rain came and went all day.

Posted in Art is lies, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, The Rain | Leave a comment

Looking Towards the Gulf at Evening

The wind is from the northeast this early
Evening and not as sharp as it often is,
Having worn out for now its cold
Chisels of water and sand sculpting

All day, as it has every day
For millennia, the North Shore capes
Into sparse studies of ravaged limbs
And torsos envied by Rodin.

I have seen my future there, and yours;
Our backs turned to the workman wind,
Shivers running up from our thin legs
Before we collapse into the gulf

Giving to crabs and quahogs and clams
The scant minerals of our bones.

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Geology, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, New poems, North Shore, Poem tweets, Poetry, Rodin, Science, Sonnet, The Earth, The Sea, The Wind, Tide, Time | Leave a comment

The Lindens are in Flower

On these nights in July
When you must be elsewhere
The bedroom still grows warm
And I open the window to breathe.

Outside, the lindens are in flower.
When I close my eyes,
Their scent seeps into the sheets
And I whisper your name.

Posted in Art is lies, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Lindens, New poems, Poetry | Leave a comment

The Stars Turn in Silence

Most nights when you are not here
I open my window and listen
To how the wind moves in the trees
Like your breath quick in my ears.

No wind tonight since sunset. The stars,
Restless as always, turn in silence
And the sheets are damp and tangled,
But all I hear is my own slow breath.

Posted in Art is lies, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, The Sky, The Wind | Leave a comment

river tongueTwo Tankas in July

The dunes open here
A river’s expectant mouth
Warm tongue unfurling
Into the heat of the day
Fresh water frenches the sea

—-

Full moon sinking slow
Over the west river’s marsh
Light leaking softly
To soak into earth and well
Up from the mourning dove’s throat

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The Feet of Blue Herons

If you happen to live in another town,
Or country, or even galaxy
As dim and distant in time as in space
From these words, this language, the narrow
Range of pitch across its plosive phonemes,
Do not worry if you’ve never heard of me.

I only make things of quiet lies arranged
To describe the folding and unfolding
Wings and limbs continually attempt
In lust and flight and contemplation;
I have layered these in slow variations
One atop another for year after year.

Do not attempt to distinguish them, one from
Another: If you do, you may see the seams,
For instance, where I have placed marshes
Between the slopes of hills and the sea; you may
Peer, puzzled, at how I hold it together,
Pinned with the feet of blue herons in shallows.

You may only live down the street from me
And smile when we pass in the evening under
The soldering moon I use to fasten
All the crows to the harbour after sunset
And still not know my name, nor I yours, and yet
We both know the sound of gulls at turn of tide.

But I can tell you it doesn’t matter
Who we know. Or if these are my lies or yours.
What matters is the sound of separation:
An endless tearing like the night by stars
Turning in it, or the friction of feathers
Slowly pulled apart by gravity.

Posted in Art, Art is lies, Art is theft, Astronomy, Astrophysics, Autobiographical, Blue Heron, Cosmology, Creativity, Crows, Epistemology, Gulls, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Language, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetics, Poetry, Science, South Shore, Summer, The Marsh, The Moon, The Sea, The Sky, Tide, Time | Leave a comment

Ocean Sounds in the Distance

You’ll find, if you sit under lilacs
And watch the people pass by,
The wind will bring you their murmurs
As sibilant and seemingly sensical
As the ocean sounds in the distance
Responding to gravity’s mumbled
Recitations of the numbers
Describing the algorithms
Our bones are built by; our bones
With their slow springs at the centres
The blood seeps from and rises
To the brains constructing daily
Coherencies from the meaningless
Shadows of lilac leaves in the wind.

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Astrophysics, Biology, Charlottetown, Cosmology, Epistemology, Evolution, Gravity, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Lilacs, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Science, The Brain, The Earth, The Sea, The Wind, Tide, Time | Leave a comment