Author Archives: John MacKenzie

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.

After

No one alive now remembers Rain on their skin in October Or how it varnished ochre larch. The slow rise and fall of water Moving with the moon over sand, The deep breaths of a pensive sea. The languid foreplay … Continue reading

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Two Old Men, Arguing

I would paint them on a winter day, One facing north, and the other south; The western sky bruising beyond them, Grey stormclouds gathering at their mouths.

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Into the Narrow Days

It’s September now and the rain, After the heat of the summer, has got The dead rattling above their graves. The rain and its weekend gyrations To hurricane winds left the dead swaying Under the white of a wall-eyed moon. … Continue reading

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On Earth As It Is

Your father’s deaf as ever now And he still mumbles the same old stuff About bliss and sacrifice and debt and how This dust of stars is just his dandruff. His forehead is dry and creased now Above a nose … Continue reading

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A Window is Open

I wake, and a window is open. Out on the wires two crows are invoking A moon from billions of years ago. Their voices are harsh from old hoping That wells in their throats and keeps them choking On words … Continue reading

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White Spruce Lingers

There is a place inside my head where The rain falls slowly all the time On rocks and fields and slanted roofs And through the inconstancy of trees. The rain falls slowly through dim green Spaces where the odor of … Continue reading

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August Mourning Doves

1. August mourning doves Contemplate the coming dawn An ache swells my throat Listen—fields of corn grow tall Under the thin-bladed moon 2. August sleep is sparse Mourning doves murmur at dawn As I lie awake Hearing the corn ripen … Continue reading

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