Sunday, September 29, 2019

when time before




"...and then, I have nature and art and poetry, 
and if that is not enough, what is enough?"
Vincent van Gogh


is it possible that an existence beyond our-self 
is within a simple sight?
or that  i should  touch a blade of grass 
or fathom distant light

is it stillness that stops this beat once
 known only to my heart ?
or the mist within my reach that gives 
cause for me to stare

the sky a million miles away i hold here in my hand 
what to wonder on its gold
 liquid as a dream
as between the clouds its firmament
 graceful and contrite 
  blue eye to gray 
gray to white - its lighting of my soul

a breath of want to want-less
brings my repentance of all need 
that one could give so willingly 
the shedding 
of their night

   who?  placed this here upon my life
as mine and mine alone
 a silent song of such regard 
un-penned 
 by one
 said keeper of my days

that (i) should forever touch its grace
when time before
it was so neatly tucked away

well out of mortal sight



bkmackenzie 2019
copyrighted

photo was a gift from a friend 


posted at dverse poets Open Link night

Wednesday, September 25, 2019

framed



the characteristics of my shadow
can be framed and thought
no structure or reform in this dwelling place
i (alone) can sit here fixed
upon layers of green
         why? blue sky so subtle
         cottoned, combed white

(i) could leave this framed world
only to be lonely,
transparent - so lost on a prismatic stage
of character...

this world preferred
thoughtless but those my very own
emptied and purged
that god (alone) make himself so willingly known
in the freeing of a tear
as (i) gaze
          upon his face


bkmackenzie 2019
copyrighted

photo a gift of presence

Monday, September 23, 2019

amber rain






i love you like this
i mean like the sweet kiss of
cranberry clinging to its bark
like a blue sky 
kissing its once young leaves
now bent in grace

but then it is easy to love you
warm and kind 
like amber rain falling
 upon the wellspring of heaven 
that is seen only by 
those who seek its elusive door
through natures tender
 hand  

bkmackenzie 2019
copyrighted

Thursday, September 5, 2019

writing it down




we come to writing as if it were simple
and at times it is; at times painful -
but we come to it none the less - placing words
on a page blank or otherwise, sometimes
lined, sometimes stained; stained
from years of drinking coffee and ink dripping -
stained from years of visitations in your head,
nagging like a ringing in your ear driving you mad --- "write it down,"
it says "just write it down."
so you find paper, any paper, a pen, pour the
coffee - and do as you were told
(if only to stop the voices)....."that's it, write it down
before you forget" ---( if only to appease the voices )... but they never stop....
and you will simply never stop....

writing...

bkmackenzie 2010
copyrighted reworked 2019