Category Archives: Language

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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The Feet of Blue Herons

If you happen to live in another town, Or country, or even galaxy As dim and distant in time as in space From these words, this language, the narrow Range of pitch across its plosive phonemes, Do not worry if … Continue reading

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The Writing on the Wall

Looking for a virgin, Who you gonna call? What god’s got the virginest Virgins of all? You can find his number On the bathroom wall— The pimpest pimp in Pimptown— For a good time, call Allah.  

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Bartender’s Views

A shock of black hair combed back, thick, a bit oily. Heavy in the shoulders and chest, widening waist. The kinda fella always looks like he’s about Two minutes away from wearing a turtleneck. But born with a deformity, guess … Continue reading

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How often in March Counting the lengthening thaws Between ice and snow Do you listen for wild geese Straining against the moon’s weight?

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February Haiku

Snow piled to the eaves— now who complains we don’t live amidst abundance?

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Let Great Wings Descend

Morning and evening clocks constrict the day. If time must be measured measure it by when The blue heron’s shadow darkens the bay. Do not appoint an hour in which to play At work or work at love, sleep or … Continue reading

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The Moon Turns Over and Over

I’m gone out walking in moonlight With yesterday’s dew in a flask To count all the stars above me. They’re the questions I’ve never asked. The moon turns over and over, It’s a coin I’ve tossed in the sky. But … Continue reading

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Face the Table and Bend a Little Bit (a prostate exam villanelle)

The moving finger probes up where we shit. Listen: the doctor stretches, snaps his glove. Face the table and bend a little bit. Age can make all of our asses forfeit Their health to cancer’s greed. So we’ll speak of … Continue reading

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Why

Because this and that sperm and egg happened to be reasonably compatible, and the gestation period passed without major complications, and our conditions at birth allowed each of us to continue breathing. Because of random mishaps avoided or not through … Continue reading

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Connaught Square

Who mourns these elms, diseased, inconsolate, their long, undulant limbs dropping leaves earlier each year, small disasters splitting the rough bark of lesser branches, peeling it away from the tips down, little by little, while the wood begins to silver … Continue reading

Posted in Art is lies, Autumn, Charlottetown, Dutch elm disease, Elms, John MacKenzie, Language, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Social Commentary, Sonnet, Spring, The Rain, The Wind, Time, Winter | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Behind the Dance of Moon

Maybe tonight you will hear how the stars whisper behind the dance of moon tangling seaweed

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Another Night Done

Weaving home through crowds— another night done in this bagsticker July below clouds like torn, piss-stained sheets under the turnt up moon

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Another Year in the Minors

April Between pitches, the left fielder counts the green threading slow through last year’s yellow grass May Behind him the lilacs shiver at his passage, scent each throw back to the infield with desire June Scuffing his toes at the … Continue reading

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The Gentle Crocus Hones Green Blades of Rain (a villanelle rebuttal of Thomas)

Niel Gow’s ‘Lament for the Death of his Second Wife’ The Gentle Crocus Hones Green Blades of Rain The gentle crocus hones green blades of rain And whittles gaps in notes the small birds sing; Out of silence we build … Continue reading

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The Wild Geese are > Me, < You

More than three months since we saw the wild geese threaded into the invisible needle of instinct pulling their long and mournful strands into divergence while calculus stitched every long wing and wingbeat precisely into place in the turbulent slipstream … Continue reading

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In November’s Dark

In November’s dark the pitch of the wind shudders up and down octaves, wails diminished minor chords through the many fretted trees

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Never the Twain (poems from old notebooks, November 2001)

You know Tom loved the lissome Becky               just the way wax loves the wick.               And you know his curiosity made him want to be               the star of his own funeral               even if it cost him a lick               (or ten) of … Continue reading

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Primrose Path, a video reading (poems from old notebooks, July 2012)

The Oxford dictionary says “Phrases primrose path the pursuit of pleasure, especially when it is seen to bring disastrous consequences: blithely unaware of his doom, he continued down his primrose path [with allusion to Shakespeare’s Hamlet i. iii. 50]” Primrose … Continue reading

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November Evening Quatrains

Fever Ray—Keep the Streets Empty For Me   November Evening Quatrains Here’s what happens. The planet spins into night. The wind blows leaves round in a circle under the stars’ ageing light. Over the harbour, the darkness hiding its white … Continue reading

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Autumn, Charlottetown, Cosmology, Fever Ray, Gulls, Harbour, John MacKenzie, Language, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Quatrains, Space, The Earth, The Moon, The Sea, Time, Winter | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment