Category Archives: Quatrains

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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When the Magnolia Stands in the Wind

When the sun comes up in the morning On some ragged green day in May The magnolia will open its blossoms, Plant its fragrance square in your way. You’ll stand there with your bare face hung out As you realize … Continue reading

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I Grew Hungry

Sitting with you, I grew hungry again—though not the way starved men, weak, trembling with ravenous pangs, hunger, gluttonous past reason— my hunger was for the after- table quiet when slow tongues taste coffee, chocolate, blackberries in their warm darkness, … Continue reading

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Between the Lines

The crows are constant scrawls There above fields of dandelions Pushing up, yellow, indecipherable, Swaying in the wind of starlings’ wings. Sometimes at evening a raven calls At the edge of the bonefield sky Eroding till the first quarter of … Continue reading

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Mid-May Quatrain

Under the swelling moon last night the tips of magnolia petals flushed. Now the willow’s first green threads lengthen, tangled in the spring wind.

Posted in Art is theft, Charlottetown, Chinese poetry, John MacKenzie, Magnolias, New poems, Parallelism, Poem tweets, Poetry, Quatrains, Spring, The Moon, The Wind, Willows | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

May Afternoon

Magnolia buds creaking open to wide white blossom. Gulls over the harbour, shrill under the silent moon.

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Charlottetown, Chinese poetry, Gulls, Harbour, John MacKenzie, Magnolias, Micropoetry, New poems, Parallelism, Poem tweets, Poetry, Quatrains, Spring, The Moon, The Sea, The Sky | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Dead of Winter (a pantoum resurrection pantomime)

In the oaks where the brown leaves loiter as impetuous March approaches singing empty promises of spring, the blackbirds accrete in dark clusters. As impetuous March approaches, strung with palm fronds, smeared with ashes, the blackbirds accrete in dark clusters … Continue reading

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