Category Archives: Wild Geese

Consider That I Am Mistaken

Posted on Sunday, February 4th, 2018 11:39 am by

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

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Posted on Friday, March 4th, 2016 11:39 am by

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

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Language, Micropoetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Spring, Tanka, The Moon, The Sky, Time, Tropes, Wild Geese, Wild Geese in Spring | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Cinquain in Late March

Posted on Sunday, March 22nd, 2015 11:31 am by

Cattails rattle, icy in the marsh; snow muffles the fields—and no geese call yet, wild, joyful

Posted in Cattails, Cinquain, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Marsh, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Spring, Wild Geese, Wild Geese in Spring | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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

Posted on Thursday, March 13th, 2014 11:39 am by

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 →

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Dylan Thomas, John MacKenzie, Language, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Spring, The Sky, Villanelle, Wild Geese | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Wild Geese are > Me, < You

Posted on Sunday, February 2nd, 2014 11:39 am by

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 →

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Biology, Cliches, John MacKenzie, Language, Memory, New poems, Physics, Poem tweets, Poetry, Process, Social Commentary, Sonnet, The Sky, Time, Wild Geese, Winter | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Sonnet with Wild Goose (Poached)

Posted on Sunday, November 3rd, 2013 11:40 am by

Boil up the potatoes, whip them good with butter, cream, and red onions to scoop in peaked mounds and bake golden. Lift down the hanging garlic and chop it fine with salt and crushed pepper to rub into wild goose … Continue reading →

Posted in Art is lies, Autumn, Food, John MacKenzie, Language, Memory, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Sonnet, Wild Geese | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Field in Autumn

Posted on Thursday, October 17th, 2013 3:57 pm by

Late October geese circling in for one last feed honk their alarms too late—12-gauge shoulder slaps bring down tomorrow’s supper

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