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.

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

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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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When Frost Settles

I was born in the autumn And, though I hold no wishes Nor illusions of rebirth, I do like to wake early On these days when frost settles Heavy and white on the grass In the morning with the geese … Continue reading

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Charlie the Boxer Returns to Town (poems from old notebooks; April 23, 1990)

This road from the jail
makes better walking than driving; Continue reading

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Spin

Whenever light is dim, there is always The sound of crows confabulating. Mornings are different from evenings only By old accidents of spin direction. If all atoms were of reverse polarity, The soles of our shoes would still grow thinner. … Continue reading

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Someday

Someday the persistent illusion I suffer— that an I exists—will cease to exist.

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