papered wall

the sky
a bird of color
taken to the room
i feel the wing
the wind, the turn
falling as
i stand
hue in wall
light refined
a chair that now
takes flight
to this day
i will take the sun
reflecting
life and ink

a bird its own
i a cup half full, find
renewal
as there you silent sit
a pleasant thought
on plate of morning
buttered
without sweet

is it
because we love
because we choose it
happenstance
then not taste of it at all
that records
morning
suns swelling warmth
upon a papered wall

and is
it that we
have been broken
both willing
and right
that passion takes
mark to
heart of a summers room
fragrant as the  lilac's breath
dying to the sky
that we ask all "please take leave, all
but bird
that does not fly"


bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2013

curiosities

i was not raised
to be vegan
or poet
blood runs through my youth
torn and cut wide
with a fountain of memory
stood strong on
the pounding of flesh to flesh
pressed raw by environments cold
and serene

but, again it is
we all
come rooted, (you and i)
from a same earthly womb unkempt to violent
to be swaddled
in blood, and christened
by a consequence without godly reason
to be set aimless by nature
among both the weary
and those downing
a fragrance
of titles
and curiosities of talent

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2013

obsidian and amber

lest i forget
the moment, the radiance
of sky
obsidian and amber, plum-blue
ash against my door

lest i make
the day hold you

awake i will
to light longing for rain

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2013

Veils (i)

 i

there is a garden
there is lantern - unlit
table, too saint
consumed in their dying

i live in its shadow, its thorn and its berry
i dance with the ant
seek wisdom from the worm, as

the veil of my longing is know only to morning
the moss and the fledgling
laugh at her caul

i am loved by
the ivy, my mother mused virgin - concealed
she is skirted in creme and in dew
she nurses my foresight - she kisses my brow

not window would
find me, not line, not a word
i am given to the garden, given yet
denied, with

the veil of all longing known only to the morning
feathers once flown
laugh at the wind, as

i would delight in the still,
aware of  leaving  -  dealt
the unborn
the shroud of my breath

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2013


van Gogh 1889 - Tree with ivy in the Asylum Garden