American Goldfinches

Flagrantly flocking—
Though not fucking—in April
Quick on bare branches
They wreathe, in high-noted song,
A writhe of unseen blossoms

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Rust and Dust and Things We Must Consider (a birthday poem for K. C.)

There’s rust and dust and things we must consider
When age restages every page of the scripts
We thought we’d mastered.

Our joints have points we can’t anoint with any oil
Or balm, and qualms disturb our calm intent to
Simply go get plastered.

It’s late. We wait for every state once would come
With ease—all seized without a “Please?” Oh, fuck you,
Time! You greedy bastard.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Take it to the Bank, Cassandra

Downtown in April
From high in a ragged spruce
In the bank’s back lot
Like an unheeded alarm
A fledgling crow’s lonely squawk

Posted in Capitalism, Corporate Capitalism, Crows, Delusional thinking, Hunger, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Malnutrition, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Political Commentary, Poverty, Protest poems, Social Commentary, Spring, Tanka | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

As It Ever Was

As children and as teenagers
It was brother Robert could take
Everything apart. Was also
The one able to put it all
Back together. Or, if needed,
Make something new and workable
From the pieces. Head bent, molars
Grinding slow, you could see one white
Patch of scalp among his dark curls
Where the old brown dog bit him once—
Probably still spot it under
The gray if he ever took off
His hat while bent over plumbing.
Me? Then, as now—a few screws loose.

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Autobiographical, Cliches, Consciousness, Cryptomnesia, Epistemology, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Memory, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Sonnet, South Shore, The Brain, Time, Tropes | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Until I Swept

I went looking for another
Poem for you. I searched everywhere:
In the tang of marshes open
To the sea; in the billowing
Clouds spread across a winter sky;
In the neck of a blue heron,
Curved, questioning water. I searched,

And found nothing until I swept,
Finally, under the bed.
There the dust I drew towards me
Became stacks of fine linen sheets.
I tried and could not estimate
Their thread counts—woven as they were
With your hair over many nights.

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Blue Heron, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Marsh, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Sonnet, The Sea, The Sky | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Against Hope

I look at the apple tree in spring
And see how the blossoms fade and fall.
I look again in summer and see
How the fruit of its early promise
Now bend thin branches under their weight.
And in autumn I see what we know—
Even strong winds rarely take apples
Any distance at all from a tree.

Posted in Apple Blossoms, Art is lies, Art is theft, Biology, Cliches, Delusional thinking, Epistemology, Evolution, Evolutionary Psychology, Hunger, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Malnutrition, Neuroscience, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Political Commentary, Poverty, Protest poems, Religion, Science, Social Commentary, The Brain, Time | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Bartender’s Views

A shock of black hair combed back, thick, a bit oily.
Heavy in the shoulders and chest, widening waist.
The kinda fella always looks like he’s about
Two minutes away from wearing a turtleneck.

But born with a deformity, guess ya could say—
Deep pockets and arms a bit short to reach in ’em.
Guess he played football in high school, ’cause to this day
When change hits the bar? He takes every quarter back.

 

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Capitalism, Charlottetown, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Language, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Poverty, Quatrains, Social Commentary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment