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.

Nuance

There is no mystery In an onion—tear away All the tissue-thin Layers one by one. You’ll find Nothing irreducible.

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Consider That I Am Mistaken

I’m sure there is someone I almost remember Who may have once told me they’d never forget The blue of my eyes in mid-winter sunlight When the geese were long gone and the gulls alone Might be heard over the … Continue reading

Posted in Art is lies, Consciousness, Gulls, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Lindens, Memory, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Sonnet, The Sea, The Sky, The Wind, Wild Geese | Leave a comment

Snow In A Field At Night

I passed a painter all alone Walking in the night, her eyes filled With rods measuring remembered Skies and their uncertain hues Against wide wavefronts of blue Twisting particles and pieces torn From dying stars and galaxies Into figures like … Continue reading

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Astrophysics, Chemistry, Consciousness, Cosmology, Cryptomnesia, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Marie Fox, Memory, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, The Brain, The Sky | Leave a comment

Winter Solstice

I lay in bed not thinking until I thought of your breath rising slow Between me and the hill silhouetted Against the lemony western sky Towards the last thin peel of moon Curling away into the night. Below us, skin … Continue reading

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Brightest At Night (a country song for Mike Leon)

I don’t know about you But I’m a country star at heart In the smoky spaces of my brain The old standards are always About to start Each morning I shake off Sequins—they fall like dust from my dreams— And … Continue reading

Posted in Art, Art is lies, Art is theft, Cliches, Country music, Country song, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Michael Leon, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry | Leave a comment

The Movement of Hands

The moon is where now? I have forgotten to look. Time has tied itself To the movement of your hands On a keyboard in the night.

Posted in Art is lies, Autumn, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Micropoetry, New poems, Poetry, Tanka, The Moon, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

A Cold Wind

I know of others said to be better poets, Who claim to speak clearly and truly of everything; Whose eyes, they say, fall on mountains or rivers And see always the shape of the lips that urge them To freedom, … Continue reading

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