Monthly Archives: October 2013

The Red Tambourines of Deep October

Last night at work I saw a friend leaving with her red tambourine under her arm and said, “The woman with the red tambourine. Thought for a second, and added, “That should be a song—there’s the title, you should write … Continue reading

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The Bloom is not the Flower (Trailside Cafe Video #2)

The Bloom is not the Flower This one’s short, just over a minute. Probably should’ve posted it first, as it ended my first set while yesterday’s poem ended my second set. The text appears in Letters I Didn’t Write. Also, … Continue reading

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The Devil’s Bride (video from Trailside Cafe show)

The Devil’s Bride Over the next few days, I’ll be posting a couple more videos from a show I did with Catherine MacLellan and Chris Gauthier at Pat and Meghann Deighan’s Trailside Cafe in Mount Stewart, PE, on this past … Continue reading

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Watching Crows in Winter (poems from old notebooks, January 2011)

1 I watch the crows, and I wait, as they examine me from their pews of overhead wires and January’s bare branches, each restless, attentive head turning one dark eye and then the other on me. Beak after beak opens … Continue reading

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The Late October Moon Weaves

More than half-cut now the late October moon weaves between clouds all night stumbling and falling but still holding the last of its shine

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Let’s Forget the Sea

Let’s forget the sea and all its salt that gathers on, sharpens our tongues, forget how it swells, urgent in the night, a wet, rhythmic push of water on rocks, forget the sea at its evening low ebb withdrawn beyond … Continue reading

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Turn My Head (poems from old notebooks, August 2004)

The house is empty. I am not standing, Forehead touching your forehead. Your hands Are not gently gripping my shirt, tugging. The sun is out, but you are not here to walk with. Today I will smoke too many cigarettes … Continue reading

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d’Etre, Et Cetera (against a sea of troubles)

High tide has just turned, but already gulls descend— squall over prime spots on mudflats to be

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Yesterday’s Poem (notes on process)

I’ll get to yesterday’s poem, as promised, eventually. But first, some generalities. For me, these days, writing poems is a cold-blooded endeavour. I don’t wait for or depend upon a burn of emotion, a flash of insight, a moment of … Continue reading

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In the Company of Gulls (a sonnet on the rocks)

Today a poem. Tomorrow, a note on the process of writing it. In the Company of Gulls (a sonnet on the rocks) When you aren’t here I keep company with gulls on the shoreline cracking open mussels to eat raw … Continue reading

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Gulls, H. D., Harbour, John MacKenzie, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Roses, Sonnet, The Moon, The Sea | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Thinking of Your Absence (Down by the Harbour in Late October)

Across the water green slips silent from low hills intent on winter— over here gulls come and go with their rusty door hinge squeals

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

The Place of Skulls (poems from old notebooks, 1998 or ’99)

Can’t figure out exactly when I wrote this, though I can clearly recall smirking a lot while doing so. I’ve since pilfered at least one image from it to use variations of in other poems. Ghazal for Mary Magdalene is … Continue reading

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Field in Autumn

Late October geese circling in for one last feed honk their alarms too late—12-gauge shoulder slaps bring down tomorrow’s supper

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Built of Bone (poems from old notebooks, November 2002)

Midnight takes a turn. Moonlight so white it might be Built of bone. Nothing moves But dreams also (of screaming). Consider: He is considering The house and its place in time, Its duration in space, its editions And additions. He … Continue reading

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Everyday Math

The ring-billed gulls descending over the low tide slant of shingle toward dark mudflats are a litter of dirty-white scrap paper scrawled with derivatives measuring the changes of functions in differential equations. Across the harbour the calculus continues; considers a … Continue reading

Posted in Art is lies, Astrophysics, Biology, Cemetery, Charlottetown, Chemistry, Consciousness, Creativity, Death, Epistemology, Evolution, Gulls, Harbour, John MacKenzie, Language, Mathematics, Memory, Neuroscience, New poems, Physics, Poem tweets, Poetry, Prose poem, Science, The Brain, Time, West River | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Gritty Bar Poem (poems from old notebooks, October 16, 2004)

The kids is starved, the wife’s knocked up, an I just barfed the last rum up. Look, the tide’s out, the quahogs thin, so shut yer mout an git to diggin. Oh fill yer boots, ya useless gits— we’re outta … Continue reading

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Late October Night Frost

White glint of stars on an iron-black sky I’ve stuck my tongue to—again

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Lament for Lorca (poems from old notebooks, July 1999)

I recall writing this while reading a now-forgotten biography of Lorca in a Chapters store in Victoria, BC. Lament for Lorca Fuck Dali, who was born dead— his heart more bent than his clock— how long can one man’s death … Continue reading

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Quick in the Night

We all watch the moon swelling and shrinking monthly, rising and falling like our chests—quick in the night with a flutter of secrets

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Under the October Moon

Tonight your whisper drew me out to wait under the October moon— but there was the only the cold wind moving in the dry leaves

Posted in Art is lies, Autumn, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Tanka, The Moon, The Wind | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment