contraband

there is contraband
on my tongue
the taste
of cigarette on my mind -
not all space is equal, squared
the leveling of our soul is weighed
unfair -
degrees of reference left
unkempt

i walk cement you have
laid, crawl the cracks you
lie between - there lives the mark
of memory made - a world
you shared with me

the tattoo i wear is permanent
internal - covered by my skin in printed sight -a world
to bright to feel its flame

i drink (drunk) on the love
you gave to me - addicted deep
to loves memory- of which i
can not, can never be free...a world
to lost to feel its flame

there is contraband
on my tongue - the laughter of a song
unsung - no one to blame or call
upon - to save a world you shared
with me - and as i collect the
words (the gift few
the days we had) the fire that we knew

not all space is equal
squared the leveling of our soul
it is weighed unfair

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

photo by Taryn Simon

cradle

discovering
a cradle with a conjured value
was assurance
my fiefdom did exist

the moon's fullness
readies to birth a god (gender exposed)
all mothers expose
their young to a universe - label
our course yet quick to cover
our vital shame

to step into a dreams hole
is not always reversible - some(things)
must be approached, awake

aware

the culture of the day
is short lived,  its rotation loses worth
along the way
insinuating a dying, rethinking
beginning

a shadow holds its own
energies - released on its own accord
to fall into such madness
is a discovery of self proportions
able to fit
revealed into a cradle once
lost


bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

Posted for Magpie Tales
and for Open Link Night d'Verse

weakness

there is nothing subtle about weakness
it falls all around us and gathers in rain

a subject we place in a vessel, we
drink it alone - absent of pride or virtue

this weakness, we do not control its nature
we do not control neither its sorrow

collecting only its rain within
walls of our making,  to sip
of its wisdom within a door well closed

there comes a holiness in absence,
founded in the core of surrender

uncommon its mercy, yet common in lesson

our heart marked as a porthole of transference
un-denied or un-turned  - we stand in our

weakness

face up to the rain to touch
the gift is its kindness,
gifting its tears of pain sweet

and we taste of  its promise
made in the hands of our living

there is nothing subtle about weakness
as falls deep within us, we drink of its rain
and covet its living....


bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

Posted for d'Verse Open link night

no ringtone

sometimes a wheel can lead
to time travel - sometimes a dot on a map
can be the end of a journey
a city boy never touches dirt nor faces night alone
the condensing are featured as yellow
listed and lost along an asphalt turf

no one has my number
and my cell phone bill remains unpaid
sometimes a dot on a map
can be called home - sometimes a man
prefers no ringtone
or woman requiring change..

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

Posted for Magpie Tales