Category Archives: Walt Whitman

Eidolons, Baby (recent poems, November 2012)

Eidolons, baby,* that’s all we are and all we make; we, our own ghosts, are the blurred after-images the pencil traces, what the waiting shapes. *This one came from a brief conversation with Andrew Griffin about the Walt Whitman poem.

Posted in Andrew Griffin, Art, Art is lies, Art is theft, Consciousness, John MacKenzie, Memory, Poetry, Recent poems, Walt Whitman | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Cradle Moon, Rocking

Cradle moon—tilted in the cooling autumn sky by the push and pull of planets and distant stars— rocking us to final sleep

Posted in Art is lies, Astrophysics, Autumn, Cosmology, Epistemology, John MacKenzie, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Tanka, The Moon, Walt Whitman | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

“I Lean and Loaf at My Ease” (No Rain On My Parade)

“I Lean and Loaf at My Ease” (No Rain On My Parade) Waiting under lilacs for an early evening thunderstorm that never comes, I content myself with all the storm- clouds gathering dark in the eyes of passersby and all … Continue reading

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Cinquain, Lilacs, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Spring, The Rain, Walt Whitman | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment