Category Archives: John MacKenzie Poetry

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

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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A Light Wind Whispering

The August marshes matted by blue herons Passing from slow channel to slow channel In daily pursuit of the tides’ swell and decline Are scrawled between fields and the sea Cattails are thin pencil strokes slanting now In a light … Continue reading

Posted in Art, Art is lies, Blue Heron, Cattails, Crows, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Lindens, Marsh, Memory, Poem tweets, Poetry, The Marsh, The Rain, The Sea, The Wind, Tide, Time | Leave a comment

The Sun and I Both

This morning the sun and I both
Rose reluctantly, clouds moving Continue reading

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Looking Towards the Gulf at Evening

The wind is from the northeast this early Evening and not as sharp as it often is, Having worn out for now its cold Chisels of water and sand sculpting All day, as it has every day For millennia, the … Continue reading

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Geology, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, New poems, North Shore, Poem tweets, Poetry, Rodin, Science, Sonnet, The Earth, The Sea, The Wind, Tide, Time | Leave a comment

The Lindens are in Flower

On these nights in July When you must be elsewhere The bedroom still grows warm And I open the window to breathe. Outside, the lindens are in flower. When I close my eyes, Their scent seeps into the sheets And … Continue reading

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