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

Looking West Across the Marsh, Late Afternoon

The herons are preliminary
Scrawls, penciled faint against the sky,
Most with their bodies tilted at forty-five
Degrees to the imaginary
Horizon at the vanishing point,
Gliding in on barely discernible arcs;
Two are turning and curling their wings
In gestures of beckoning, invitation.

See now? Blades of marsh grass, one by one,
Lifted by the evening breeze from the sea,
Turn the colour of just-cooled iron
And fall, each severing its shadow.
Do the cattails waver? Do they gasp, or
Sigh as darkness bleeds over everything?

Posted in Art, Art is lies, Astrophysics, Blue Heron, Cattails, Cliches, Cosmology, Death, Epistemology, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, The Sea, The Sky, The Wind | Leave a comment

Lilacs Convulsed the Sea

Hello again, it’s been a while
Since we walked that lonely mile
Together to an empty beach
Full of silences we couldn’t breach.

The moon brimmed full—all promises
Of love and lingering kisses
And quiet mornings with words unsaid
That never echoed in either head.

It lazed against a midnight sky
Where eons of light fell down to die.
It pulled ragged clouds across its face,
A yellowing shroud of tattered lace.

A scent of lilacs convulsed the sea,
A wistful spasm of memory
That built itself before our eyes
And lay limp and heavy on our thighs.

The tide went out and rolled back in
Tasting of where we’d never been.
I said to you and you said to me
Nothing much (discontentedly).

Posted in Art is lies, Astrophysics, Cliches, Cosmology, Country song, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Lilacs, Memory, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Quatrains, Sea songs, Spring, The Brain, The Earth, The Moon, The Sea, The Sky, Tide, Time | Leave a comment

The Spring Wind Cannot

Midnight in mid-June,
Lilacs heavy in the air.
I bare my neck now,
But the spring wind cannot find
All the places your lips touched.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

As the Sun Goes Down

Do not mistake these for slowness,
Not a lazy evening near the ocean
With the gentle-seeming stirring
Amongst black strands of seaweed
In shallows—for this is only the waves’
Awed whisper of the weight of the sea;

Not the bank of a blue heron
Into a faint breeze so it may stall
And pivot on the long axis drawn
Wing-tip to wing-tip through
The careful cupping of its wings
To touch down in water to feed;

Not these straggles of wild grasses
Like untrimmed hair fallen out of place
Over the brows of capes
Undercut stealthily by wind and water,
And not the frenetically shuttling swallows
Stitching their lives into the cliffs—

Even they seem in slow motion
To sandhoppers scouring the seaweed.
Only the tardigrade might know
The true measure of time; its thready
Pulse of geological eras
And the sun’s brief moment of flame.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Looking for Lilacs

June 5—butter stays
Hard on the table—
I’d go looking for lilacs—
If I could find my long johns

Posted in Climate Change, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Lilacs, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Science, Tanka, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Spring Wind From the South

If age makes me blank and hum of piss
Remember that I now say this:
This inky apple blossom scent—
That perfumers from here to Ghent
Have tried and failed to reinvent
(With its aftertaste of a first kiss),
That every spring wind chases down
Our shirts and up our legs, and leaves

Our memories in fading tatters
Of home and work and other matters,
And finds all thoughts of stillness bound
Outside of time with strands of grief—
Only draws my mouth from your mouth
To close our distance, tending south.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment