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.

How Manet Times

Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level. —Carlo Rovelli From tremulous-trunked Ash on a mountain down to The slow-heaving sea, What’s time but smeared colours, An Impressionist painting?.

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The May Moon

Against the sky the other morning, Above birds rehearsing endlessly, The moon was pale: the ball of a thumb The weight of everything pressed upon.

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When A Southwest Wind Stirs Magnolia Petals

So. We never did walk together in A cool May’s sweet and inky scent Whispering from white blossoms And now under Iowa soil you have Neither voice nor thought. You have no Knowledge of how spring pulls all This colour … Continue reading

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All My Dead Gather

I know all my dead gather on these spring days Under the ground, unreasoning, Their restlessness a writhe of slow-waking worms Aerating the newly-thawed earth. All my dead gather under the crocuses, Twist among the magnolia’s roots; They make the … Continue reading

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Walter, Down on Queen Street (on the Death of Harold Waite)

Hank is dead now as found his place Daily on the low step there A block below the liquor store, Cardboard cushioning his bony arse Against time and cold and the slow Tide of malnutrition that crept High enough to … Continue reading

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The Ocean, Still

Can you see the ocean still At high tide? Do you remember The windless harbour poised to spill Over piers and pilings and fill Our ears with hollow timbres? Can you see the ocean still? See black-backed gulls wheel and … Continue reading

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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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