Monthly Archives: August 2013

Vanishing Points (poems from old notebooks, October 2009)

Nearly sunset, and we can be seen walking beneath a sky smudged by the charcoal wings of crows. The angle of light postulates a geometry of shadows, sketches a corridor of non-parallel lines beginning at our feet and diverging, bent … Continue reading

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Back to the Bog, Seamus

I came late to the poetry of Seamus Heaney. Death of a Naturalist was his first collection, and the first one I read—it sat on my bookshelf for 10 years before I read it.  It was worth the wait. His … Continue reading

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In the Night

Guess I’ve decided I can’t let Andrew Griffin write all the good cicada poems. In the Night With you gone there’s nothing in the night but trees wild with wind and cicadas’ ceaseless longing

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The End of August (When a Whole Lot of Decembers are Showin’)

Conway Twitty – I’d Love To Lay You Down The End of August (When a Whole Lot of Decembers are Showin’) The end of August and, across the harbour, fields lay out brown carpets for autumn’s stark procession— we’ll strew … Continue reading

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Autumn, Harbour, John MacKenzie, Memory, Micropoetry, Music, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Summer, Tanka, The Sea, Time, Winter | Leave a comment

The Buddha Farts Tonight

Somewhere between Christ and Muhammad, Buddha farts tonight—how stained all their fingers are, and greasy, with saffron, long pork, and blood

Posted in Atheism, Epistemology, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Political Commentary, Religion, Social Commentary, Tanka | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

No Wonder the Gulls

No wonder the gulls ache in the sky all summer— the north wind whistles always in their hollow bones, holds their wings deep in winter

Posted in Art is lies, Charlottetown, Gulls, Harbour, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Summer, Tanka, The Sea, The Wind, Winter | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Strands of Grey Loosen

A week from September the purple thistles start to let themselves go. Strands of grey loosen. Morning light slices more precisely through cooling, thinning air. The ache in bone moves deeper. The smooth harbour water looks dense enough to cut … Continue reading

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A Brief Homeric Goodbye to the Moon

I was a lucky child; my parents neither directed nor censored my reading. So imagine my bliss, my rapture at stumbling across Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey at the age of ten or eleven in the tiny, one-room Crapaud Library. The … Continue reading

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The Deeply Set Moon

Every month I scratch at this patch of sky trying to scrape out the white stain of moon that keeps coming back, bringing your memory

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The August Evening Crow Agenda

Sunset and the crows fill the air with gossip, sky with black wings—leave us behind in the dark  

Posted in Art is lies, Charlottetown, Cinquain, Crows, Jason Arsenault, Jeremy Larter, John MacKenzie, Language, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Summer, The Crow Agenda | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Setting Moon, West Prince

If it weren’t long gone, the home my father was born in would be another one of these empty houses—blank windows, missing shingles— beside the quiet western roads of the Island, with their roofs that shift and groan all night, … Continue reading

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In the Kennels of the King (If You Ain’t Never Caught a Rabbit)

Elvis Presley – Hound Dog In the Kennels of the King (If You Ain’t Never Caught a Rabbit) Old hound dogs, limping through their daily rounds, stopping in shady places, still sniff all around every rock, tree, or plausible bush … Continue reading

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Aphorephemera

Buddha’d claim fragrance defines the rose no more than the thorn—I’d rather bleed for a sniff of a rose than wade through Buddha’s bullshit

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m1 • v1 + m2 • v2 = m1 • v1′ + m2 • v2′ (Momentum and Collisions)

A white scar on onyx— and the stars like glass dust strewn by impact—the August moon, risen

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Cinquain, Epistemology, John MacKenzie, Language, Micropoetry, New poems, Physics, Poem tweets, Poetry, Summer, The Moon, Time | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Late Summer Storm (with process note)

Late Summer Storm Cinquain* Two clouds then two clouds more and more till the sky’s all raindark as your eyes, strobe lightning, thunder *Back to the cinquain form for a bit. I missed it. Also, another example of how everything … Continue reading

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Cinquain, Consciousness, Creativity, Epistemology, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Process, Summer, The Rain, The Wind | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

August Thistles at Province House

Take it as read, of course, that this applies to the Prime Minister and his cronies as well. August Thistles at Province House Shaggy purple thistles slouch at Province House—still less seedy than the Premier, his caucus Var. August Thistles at … Continue reading

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Poe Vs. Cicadas

Was it these goddamn August cicadas Poe heard ring the thin moon all night against the high-pitched sky, or just fucking tinnitus?

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Cicadas, Edgar Allan Poe, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Summer, Tanka, The Moon | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Like Two People on Skates for the First Time (poems from old notebooks, December 2009)

The death poem still refuses exhumation (the good news, then, is that, while there is never a way out of death, for today, at least, there also appears to be no way in). I’ll get it yet, though. So here’s … Continue reading

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This Thin Shred of Moon

Was hoping to post a death poem I’ve been working on, but so far it’s refusing my attempts to lay it out…might have to wait for its rigor mortis to pass. Instead, another piece of moon to chew on. This … Continue reading

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Still Life by Moonlight

Where the moon will spill pale and cold through your window, I’ve left this green bowl of cherries and plums, taut-skinned over firm flesh—fragrant, wet

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