no hands involved

there is something unsettling about
the timing of discipline
with no hands involved, no thought given in processing
self as subject -
it is a digital clock that reaffirms the need for change, all vitals
playing jeopardy
as the will to rethink standards loses face

faded
becomes the dateline for second chances
recollection: a memory of pages, brittle brown
having pushed limits; broken carpals
leave hours longing
for a regulated self
shadowing...............time

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

photo Savhad Lewis

Follow me

The old knight was in he last moments
alone, his body fading into the earth around him
calling out for guidance he heard a mans voice

“Follow me”

Where are you going? the old knight asked

"To Heaven"

I know of no heaven, replied the knight

Then another echoed

"To Nirvana"

I know not of Nirvana

And again

"To Hades"

No,I know no Hades

The old knight in despair on his knees continued to pray
When came the voice of a woman

"Follow me"

Where are you going, he asked again

"To Shangri-La"

I know not of a Shangri-La

And another

"To Venus"

And yet another

"To Troy"

I have no knowledge of these places, cried out the old knight
fearing now his soul lost for eternity
a young man in shining armor appeared to him

"Follow me" said the young knight

Where are you going?  asked the old man melting
away into the depths of an earthly death

"To Avalon"  replied the young knight


Yes, I have long been waiting for you, lead me
home, I am ready, said the old knight
and leaving his bones and his rusted armor
stepped through the mists and into Avalon

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Posted for Friday Poetically: One Stop Poetry

Krahe - Triolet

What laughter lingers in this pain?
Weathering all their words of sin
I cry for hope and pray for rain
Weathering all their words of sin

Who hears my cry, is all in vain?
I krahe, and krahe on my last bein
What laughter lingers in this pain?
Weathering all their words of sin


bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Painting: Krahe by Rudi Hurlzmeier

German : krahe means:   Verb - crow, squawk, cackle,
                                          utter a loud harsh cry
               bein   means:   Noun - leg

Posted for One Shot Wednesday and One Shot Poetry - Triolet Part II

Love's Manuscript

I began to script
line by line..this our love affair
as set over length and time, its muted voice
but that I had heard
in subtle breath placing it to word..
love's taste

love's touch, love's wine I penned
calling it to ledge to edge
of each page
a message of love's rapture spent, with my heart held
witness, held evident....and true
in truth
as one by one
the letters came then the words
like grace of want - of lace undone, falling
so willingly from my bed...scripting til' my soul
beseeched your kiss and once lay bled...and pressing
last will and testament to fervid, silkened,
ravished sheets 
I signed it, sighing with pausing breath
-as this Love's manuscript
complete

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

painting by Joan Griswold...you can view all her paintings at http://joangriswold.com/

Claim Jumper

Why did you cut out your heart and leave it at my steps?
You have no legal right -  You know the cat
staked claim to it years ago, years
And this fake diamond on my finger has no
meaning in gold country, no
mineral rights here, unset
to precious metal

That means legally ounce for ounce a dead rat has
higher status
then a vital organ pumping, spurting like an
oil spill...having no commitments
in stopping its flow or
choking of the
innocent

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Magpie Tales #51

Jane Austen dwells..

Jane Austen dwells
within these walls; toned once
impassive halls of dread - lost of heart
feared all love shed.   She
lit a lantern near
the stair - where I had kept her
hidden there, and with kindest word of discipline, she begged my heart
to let her in, to take

the jacket from the book, its
offering of leather grey, and 
read the pages
filled with a time - warmer, gentler than I
here could find, much kinder than I now
could find ,and as

the binding spoke to me, soft engraved with grace so rare
then to my heart with each word
read -  she took her step from room
to room to place her rest
nearest my bed - and with lantern lit
throughout the night
she held true to promise with break of day...

reciting love throughout
these halls... as, Jane Austen now dwells
within these walls

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Posted for One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry: Where Poets, Writers and Artists meet....

he was not mine....

"he was not ours...
      he was not mine..."
he was not who you might pretend he be
he was more than god....he was a man to me...

and I loved him such that breath
left low - as I find it now harrowing to let him go
as if this heart torn from my breast --

he was not sun
     he was not moon
he was not the hero you call from the skies
he was more than just love ....he was a friend to I

and last goodbyes are never well given
or spread - as they should in proper be... presented to
wind and sail freely across to rest --

he was not heaven
    nor was he grace
he was not the face sought by every sinners plea
no, he was more than a god...he was a man to me...

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Inspired by my favorite movie Out of Africa.....


Posted for One Shot Wednesday:...Where Poets, Writers and Artists meet...

lunacy

the definition
of lunacy has shadow boxes
requiring attention
the attic up above has split -  outdated
invitations for entrance and a lengthy visitation
have made their way into my hand -  it is
a decision of reversal i must take
into consideration (it being the fullest of moon)...one shadow
appears to resist conformity...holding separate
attic of its own...i think it is
there i shall hide the moon and write
regarding...

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Dedicated to the Full Moon of....1/19/2011

layers

i.

tragedy visited here
acceptance did not follow
cut they did her birthright, her hair
yet, she skated in memory
of its bloom
while the ice slowly melted
and life took exit
of the room

ii.

she took a pen name
and po box in a neighboring town
"your Mr. Carroll has many fans," said the postmaster
"and you?"  he added..
"i am just his secretary," she replied

"and your name madame secretary?"

"sir, my name bears no significance."


iii.

her passions were
canopied beneath petticoats
and proper performance, held
to private viewing
only within the mirrors of modesty
and girlish
self-discovery


bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Posted for Magpie Tales

Bohemian Highway

I took the scenic route
 - home, the
straight and narrow sounded
far too restrictive for a Bohemian
upbringing - dead ends

and places of no return seem to hold the interest
of poetic minds and ex-Russian spies,

appreciating
both the warmer climate, and an un-
orthodox faith in rhubarb pie
and bratwurst on a
stick...

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

posted for Jingle Poetry: Poetry Potluck Monday - Road ahead

Love Mortal

A Mortal Love I seek, I am not stone
Goddess's of past standing cold;
Rome's current shore- shown godless?
I have flesh, and
still it clings to supple bone, veined marrow

Comfort, none in promise
of a heaven that still thirsts
for my mortal soul, ... remorse held,
holding infinite death, that love would pass
from my partaking; and not
(... a martyr's fate - I refuse it's claim nor seek it's place
on a said judgement day)  For without it, Love...I am
but formless discontent, unforgivable by any winged angel or ether,
by any artisan's muse, lent full

Tell what earthen grave
would embrace  mortality's warmth/
expose an ashen soul to life? ...Love Mortal  itself is lone witness
to all posed as vital, human and willed perfectly finite....
as moon fulled to new
matched only by counted nights; Mortal?....I will
bear it in joy  -  Love, as word,or turn of tarot,
of fates
consecrating it - immutable
consecrating it - truth immortal...this

Love ... Mortal...


bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2010

Posted for One Shot Wednesday: Where Poets, Writers and Artists Meet

Blushed Flight

feathered, clouds blue light

painted pewter -  brush

blushed flight

 angel

wings

and

 hearts,  prone to

innocence

bkmackenzie

copyrighted 2010

Glory Days

When a country goes for broke
it begins craving a hero
someone new, one that can - put on,
tighten up the laces of a pair
of running shoes or a prize fighters pair of gloves
and go all twelve rounds

It's focus changes as politics, politicians
fall from stature, fall from favor
in want of cause that can deliver it
from a state of hopelessness and ready to
carry it through hard times, like a Woody Guthrie song
played to a lonesome whistle....

It prays quietly around a thanksgiving table
of last blessings for a triple crown winner, a little
team that could (can) take on a giant and conquer the world
And it waits..with its last breath of plenty
for this hero, shy and unpretentious to drink
from the cup of Victory, impatiently -
while everything is silent, still
hanging on for a Max Baer to enter the ring..
a Sea Biscuit to turn the back stretch
ready to wear the roses, and wave
the flag...once again

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2010

Magpie Tales #42

An Untold Fairytale.....

Driving north on US 101 in my search for Sasquatch I turned and entered the redwood forest. 
I parked and taking  myself and my time I began my search...
when shortly it was that I came across large prints in the red soil...
I followed as gingerly as possible...when
behind me came a deep voice.   

"Where are you going little girl?"....

It was coming from a large brown bear...who looked at me
and drew a large smile...
I told him I was looking for the legendary Sasquatch.
...he replied

"I have not seen this Sasquatch, but I can show you where Goldilocks keeps her bed."

I was mesmerized with thought of seeing where this girl laid her head and agreed to follow him.

Shortly ever after...we came upon a log cabin - we entered and I awaited
the viewing of this talked about bed that she slept in....
there was a bed but no Goldilocks and soon
realized that this sly bear had locked the gate to the forest
 and threw away the keys....he had captured me...as his own...

Within time I gave birth to a golden haired girl who slept in that empty bed.....
as she grew I knit her rainbow sweaters to wear with her beautiful
dreadlocks of gold.....the large bear....called me mama
and played Dylan for us on his harmonica.....

We only ate organic produce and twice a year met with all our neighbors
for a block party in the three acre wood.....where last year...
Hansel and Gretal came carrying Mother Goose  in a pail....they had saved
her from being sold off at a market square.....and for her gratitude she
laid us a golden egg....which we would not eat..
because we all went vegan years before.....

bkmackenzie
2010

Moral of the Story....if you ever enter the Redwoods in Humboldt County CA....be prepared to see Mother Goose riding in a pail and fairy tales come true right before your eyes.....bkm

Mister Moses

Sultry is a song that
rhymes with sweat, a sinful sound that
calls for scotch on the rocks with a twist
of a lustful mind...
Sultry calls for the hum
of bamboo ceiling fans and a heated discussion, hot with the
displeasure of life -tempered by the passion of what
is about to be played out in front of you - the scene, the silence shattered wide open
with a thundering voice, throwing gravel as it
paves its way straight to that which you want have kept

in wrap -the warning of an encompassing storm
within -
and your palms sweat

across the wooden floor
walks a man -
that man who you have
only known of in the recesses
of dreamless nights
and there he stands,
the lines on his face
the calluses on his hands -
applified
by a shirt soaked, stained
in sweat  -

you breathe in the moment
and know you will finally be shown
the promised land
- you will arrive,
your Mister Moses has arrived...

My God you have wandered so long in that desert.....

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2010

This post is for Think Tank Thursday at Poets United.....the word is Sultry