pull the walls away

pull the walls away
stone wash the sky - slice thoughts diverse
as towers of babel fall; "a prism
bends no light" so the blinded
say

stone wash the sky - fells
the rain blue and i - pull
the walls away - between scenes
of loving you

a pail stands half full - thrown syllables
of the day - simple affairs
wet the lips - i pull the
walls away


bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

Magpie Tales - Post

sushi

you can not move through the room without noticing her there, without
the smell of her perfume can you? i mean move through the room.   it is like
a pillow of down asking you to rest your head or sit on a chair, there is the
breeze filtering through the half cocked window and that 
plate of something being passed around
and the perfume, did you notice?  all that has transpired has been replaced 
with a thought of who she could be and the perfume she wears.  the stairwell
is filled with the coveting, wife's are not vigil and the waiter carries sushi on a
platter.  one most take notice of everything that has measure and there she sits 
with a room built for her, with hands extended and armchairs drawn and all asking 
about the perfume and -
where did he find her?


bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

border lines

i wanted
to get away from

writing about
dreams - and mustard yellow
bricks          

    i
wanted - want

to get back--- to lines
to grey matters - to thought
bound

with
border; associated
meanings; channels of straight passage
the wants 
tell much about human soul

lines appear as truthful, clean - contained
there in lies deceit (contagion color)
it pains

this tongue - torments
this inner eye - like a curved body, like a barbed wire
twisted tight around my mind - calm me
sooth my heart
with

slate - Do NOT EVER..make my
rose

red....

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

the eternal embryo

the eternal embryo i am, aged beyond my virgin skin
with all the oceans i have met - that long for purity again


i taste the salt upon my face, i know the sun that calls rebirth
yet my heart will not embrace, the place that human named as earth


i am a liar, infertile wench
tied to weed of sea so bound
and so frowned upon by god and men
i hear not an angel nor earthly sound

eternally waiting, i unborn
eternal as the unlit star
i stand within a cloud held silent
and conceive of a land that lies so far

from this faint and beating heart, from this place
in which i stand (alone) - eternal
as an un-christened captain - still awaiting blessing
from the throne


an eternal embryo i fare, aged
and tattered life taunted thin, and
cry the oceans (seven) i have met
that long to taste of earth again, taste

but so faint now my hearts
last beating - taste, that so longs to taste
of an earth again....

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

posted for Magpie Tales and d'Verse open link night

Botero's Babes

all babes are
born of babes - fat and round
round-ton babes - the world view
is round, round and rough - filled with lust of roll'in
round, roll'in round
with babes

babes are birthed between the thighs
between the round and sweating sighs
between the sheets a mother
lies - lies and sighs and cries her
birth - birthing babes so round

the men they watch
as watch they do, the birthing and the boring of
the round as rounder a woman (babe)
she rolls and rolls  - til moon and babe cry at night
cry for a mother's breast so full, as breast
so round so warm with milk, suckle, suckle it
all gone dry, all gone
those round-ton babes

as babe is born
of full and fat and roll'in babe - of round and thighs
sweet and whole, flesh on flesh
so full and round - til milk is dry all fall
round...as all fall down

as babe it born
of babe---

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

January Moon

it January
and the moon has fallen
head first, head first into
the night to sit quietly on my lap - a white rabbit
finds no followers
in his frostbit, unfed sleepy world , this is an unknown lesser meaning
of the winter - where gossamer wings
can not fly - where zephyr winds die quickly, dying
unheard - winter is that forbidden
side of living; with snow
leaving his fingerprint
on my open window - winking at the moon
to the beat of a quiescent
human heart

i seek only
to comfort this pale
allowing forbidden estate, a room in my presence; for
together we will query the righteous
and call the waxen
to rise

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

a Sunday Afternoon

i never knew my great uncle
in his youth, never knew
what he did for a living, or saw him
tie his shoes

i only knew him by his laughter
his wit, his sarcasm and twinkled eye, only knew
his aged walk and candor - only knew
him as my grandfather's
older brother

together they could fill
a room, gather an audience
no charge, no tickets
no back stage pass - lucky i thought myself as
a child able to move closer
steadily between legs, between pastel printed shirts, between
gossip and an off balance
center table, til

up i looked at him, this uncle
sitting on a tall
wooden stool, his elbow on the bar
his hat next to his beer - that
is how i know him
i could not know his childhood
my grandfather's brother - together

in suits and ties, in hats
with brims, in vests with memory lined pockets
tied shoes -
calling out tales, first one
then the other, proud and pronounced

they sat
bar-stool to bar-stool

"You" this and "You" that
"He" this and "He" that,

a woman moved to sit down, ordered a Seven-Up
seemingly familiar in scene
as hat to hat,
as beer to beer
these old men sat
filling the room

as only laughter can
on a warm Sunday afternoon

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

my Great Uncle Mike ( in picture) poem of how I remember him

posted for dVerse Open link night

give it up

i step on tile
because i prefer the cold
the slower
the heart beat equals longer life - even grey life
is a way of living i suppose

i have always been forced
to look up to you, drown myself
in sky, wear colors that do
not become me, jewels are for spoiled dogs
and feathered whores - i want

black on black, grey
on black and the chill of ice
brilliant and blue
over a vodka soul - slow it down
burial rites have become all
to common in the land
of no-bodies, give it up for a those
creatures who walked these
streets without reservations, give it up
for a grey existence - before kingdoms
and presidents wrote
their own biographies and man
did not need rainbows of promise
or abstract art

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

posted for Mag 99

i come here

i do not want
to write like everyone else - that is not why

i come here - i
do not understand the building
of a sameness, a repetition of therapies
that have failed to produce

produce corollary
emotion maybe

i have
so very long ago fallen in love
with passion  - should - has it kept me
at bay? - there i long for it even
the more - as a narcissistic reflection
longs for self, longs for as any mirrored
image - hidden within
a self deception- who can

comfort me, can console me?
any phantom lover can provide release
only the truest
passion can write
itself into existence - tally all your
wears, place them on the hearth

bread does not bake
itself - a daughter knows this
at birth - not so
the poet, not so

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

Clarity

it was the matter
of a U-turn
that found me here
against your shore - even

a natural high
can be hard to come
down from - my whittling was
not an art form but
a nervous condition - thinking
i could forget
the way you wrapped
around my mind
thinking
the fog was something
i wanted to give
up for vision
and blinding clarity

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

Posted for Magpie Tales