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 I whisper your name.

Posted in Art is lies, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Lindens, New poems, Poetry | Leave a comment

The Stars Turn in Silence

Most nights when you are not here
I open my window and listen
To how the wind moves in the trees
Like your breath quick in my ears.

No wind tonight since sunset. The stars,
Restless as always, turn in silence
And the sheets are damp and tangled,
But all I hear is my own slow breath.

Posted in Art is lies, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, The Sky, The Wind | Leave a comment

river tongueTwo Tankas in July

The dunes open here
A river’s expectant mouth
Warm tongue unfurling
Into the heat of the day
Fresh water frenches the sea

—-

Full moon sinking slow
Over the west river’s marsh
Light leaking softly
To soak into earth and well
Up from the mourning dove’s throat

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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 you’ve never heard of me.

I only make things of quiet lies arranged
To describe the folding and unfolding
Wings and limbs continually attempt
In lust and flight and contemplation;
I have layered these in slow variations
One atop another for year after year.

Do not attempt to distinguish them, one from
Another: If you do, you may see the seams,
For instance, where I have placed marshes
Between the slopes of hills and the sea; you may
Peer, puzzled, at how I hold it together,
Pinned with the feet of blue herons in shallows.

You may only live down the street from me
And smile when we pass in the evening under
The soldering moon I use to fasten
All the crows to the harbour after sunset
And still not know my name, nor I yours, and yet
We both know the sound of gulls at turn of tide.

But I can tell you it doesn’t matter
Who we know. Or if these are my lies or yours.
What matters is the sound of separation:
An endless tearing like the night by stars
Turning in it, or the friction of feathers
Slowly pulled apart by gravity.

Posted in Art, Art is lies, Art is theft, Astronomy, Astrophysics, Autobiographical, Blue Heron, Cosmology, Creativity, Crows, Epistemology, Gulls, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Language, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetics, Poetry, Science, South Shore, Summer, The Marsh, The Moon, The Sea, The Sky, Tide, Time | Leave a comment

Ocean Sounds in the Distance

You’ll find, if you sit under lilacs
And watch the people pass by,
The wind will bring you their murmurs
As sibilant and seemingly sensical
As the ocean sounds in the distance
Responding to gravity’s mumbled
Recitations of the numbers
Describing the algorithms
Our bones are built by; our bones
With their slow springs at the centres
The blood seeps from and rises
To the brains constructing daily
Coherencies from the meaningless
Shadows of lilac leaves in the wind.

Posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Astrophysics, Biology, Charlottetown, Cosmology, Epistemology, Evolution, Gravity, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Lilacs, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Science, The Brain, The Earth, The Sea, The Wind, Tide, Time | Leave a comment

Looking West Across the Marsh, Late Afternoon

The herons are preliminary
Scrawls, penciled faint against the sky,
Most with their bodies tilted at forty-five
Degrees to the imaginary
Horizon at the vanishing point,
Gliding in on barely discernible arcs;
Two are turning and curling their wings
In gestures of beckoning, invitation.

See now? Blades of marsh grass, one by one,
Lifted by the evening breeze from the sea,
Turn the colour of just-cooled iron
And fall, each severing its shadow.
Do the cattails waver? Do they gasp, or
Sigh as darkness bleeds over everything?

Posted in Art, Art is lies, Astrophysics, Blue Heron, Cattails, Cliches, Cosmology, Death, Epistemology, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, The Sea, The Sky, The Wind | Leave a comment

Lilacs Convulsed the Sea

Hello again, it’s been a while
Since we walked that lonely mile
Together to an empty beach
Full of silences we couldn’t breach.

The moon brimmed full—all promises
Of love and lingering kisses
And quiet mornings with words unsaid
That never echoed in either head.

It lazed against a midnight sky
Where eons of light fell down to die.
It pulled ragged clouds across its face,
A yellowing shroud of tattered lace.

A scent of lilacs convulsed the sea,
A wistful spasm of memory
That built itself before our eyes
And lay limp and heavy on our thighs.

The tide went out and rolled back in
Tasting of where we’d never been.
I said to you and you said to me
Nothing much (discontentedly).

Posted in Art is lies, Astrophysics, Cliches, Cosmology, Country song, John MacKenzie, John MacKenzie Poetry, Lilacs, Memory, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Quatrains, Sea songs, Spring, The Brain, The Earth, The Moon, The Sea, The Sky, Tide, Time | Leave a comment