Category Archives: Lindens

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

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 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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Restless Particles (a Hallowe’en sestina variation)

Near the bottom of the street a crow’s nest rests high in a linden. A loose stick tap- tap-taps in the wind that oboes its moan through October evening eaves. That wind wept rain all day into the nest and … Continue reading

Posted in Art is lies, Autumn, Crows, Death, Epistemology, John MacKenzie, Lindens, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Sestina, The Rain, The Wind, Time, Tropes | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

At The Deciduous November Riverbank (TDNRB)

The elms and lindens scatter gold and the maples discard flawed rubies— but the stingy autumn oaks hold tight to tarnished pennies

Posted in Art is lies, Autumn, John MacKenzie, Lindens, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Tanka | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Early August Cinquain

August, and the lindens are spent. They’ve long since shed their pale, pungent flowers and gone to seed.

Posted in Cinquain, John MacKenzie, Lindens, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Summer, Time | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Under the Sweet Linden Tree (with short process note)

Another experiment in tanka that I came up with last night. This was fun—and damn difficult to get this close to right—and almost certainly a one-off; the rhyme scheme grew out of refusing to accept that I couldn’t repeat the … Continue reading

Posted in Art is lies, Epistemology, Gulls, Harbour, John MacKenzie, Language, Lindens, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetics, Poetry, Process, Summer, Tanka, The Moon, The Sea | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments