laughing Buddhas

i.

  walk

through dimension

 a world

worn wisdom;  bone of my bones - word without word

passing off

illusion as

life

ii.

standing

on a continental divide

drawing in

east to west

a pendulum rests

stilling time to Tao

iii.

movement

fades between

the ribs

of my ancestors and the ghosts

of laughing

Buddhas

bkmackenzie

copyrighted 2011

Posted for One Shoot Sunday...Photo by Neil Alexander

i read

i read about

you, right above the snow line

you left word to reach

up, up toward the blue

to hold tight to the miminimal shore line

life it too little, it's days too few

that falling bares

 something

colder, shorter, unkinder than thoughts

 of a sky

i read you reached

for a heaven, left this earth

that you never really

as i read just

 died

bkmackenzie

copyrighted 2011

Posted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry
photo by Chris Galford

party line

i followed
the phone lines
and found myself
in the back room, time
collected, had
collected itself, no
mirrors involved

i waited on
another parties ring
peered out
towards their farm
i chose to listen
intent on
hearing your voice, intent
on writing your name
over and over again
as if my own, that had
been my intent,  i cut

the line - writing
a shorter name, yet the time
stands still in a room
that refuses dusting

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Posted for One Shoot Sunday - Rob Hanson

drowning

it was tranquil
the drowning,  i lay back
and slip into the muse
a new world entices me to let go
fall, fly

fly into fins, sail into deep - blue, blue-green
beneath the foreseen end
that all marked as epitaph, my, the I's dismal demise
deeper to the realm of a gods golden
glory breathing in a cosmic ocean
of rebirth, down, drown beyond all the callused crags
of soiled sinners
graced by the spoils of a sea summoned, surrendered
to receive a solitary seafaring soul

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Posted for One Shoot Sunday - Photo by Rob Hanson

aqua-blue heaven

spiritually green
i raise my hands
to an aqua-blue
heaven

spiritually leveled
palm of hand prays
for a heighten breath
till capillaries of a praying heart,
brilliant bright, boldly - burst forth grace
attest...

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Posted for One Shoot Sunday...Photo by Fee Easton

Eye of Sahara

a jeweled feature
pierces - eye of the Sahara
maker of myth

blood dried, bound
by sand, salten
by faith, found on
the wings of windswept scents spiced
absconding all worlds
un-knowable

bkmackenize
copyrighted 2011

Photo by Rosa Frei - One Shoot Sunday

i have lived

i can tell you
i have lived, i can tell you
i have loved
i can tell you to live
and to love - but not as i
for age to age we
gather different seeds
and walk unfamiliar roads
yours may be a little harder, or shorter
mine fading as the sound of my voice
but i have loved, and lived
and traveled enough
for one lifetime, and i am tired
and well enough
the rain falls today, and well enough
i have loved, and lived

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry Greg Laychak

Monkey Town Blues

Heading to a blues, a brand
new blue monkey town
I am head'n there,  head'n to Monkey Town
I am goin by way the 12 O'clock news, choosin
a phone call from out'a here, I will be goin
somewhere,

somewhere to play me around.  I'm goin to play me some blues
I'll be head'n over, head'n somewhere,
head'n down
these feet goin too...face a place,a place called Monkey Town
goin by way of news - on a road
that road where a body could never,  if
ever know me as blue...on a road, a Rhythm Road...
scoping up,
scoping down a tale
maybe two, play'n, sway'n the Monkey Street blues, walk'n
on past, walk'n on down
away from anyone know'n, remember'n
having me - my monkey around

Head'n on down
just my monkey, this monkey and me
We'll be head'n straight up, my monkey
and me head'n down
gonna play us some rhythms,  play us
some blues, in a place called Monkey Town, can't
trace us back, no tracks to the blues, we're goin get there,
by way of after-noon news, can't be late
for this home, our home of the blues, we're goin free
you'll see us there, that's it
that's where you'll find a blue monkey and me
you'll find me in Monkey Town

play'n the....Monkey Town Blues

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Posted for One Shoot Sunday featuring James Rainsford's Photography

Down Towner

there is a classic
vacancy
that does not hold
signage, singling itself
out - of commission
out of time, out of prospect
out of

loneliness - VACANCY

down towner, morph
completed to
down and outer, down
further...then soul should ever find itself 

so(lo)

giving
traveled points accumulated
little redemptive
quality - even with
premier or upgraded
parking status

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

posted for One Shoot Sunday...photographer Lauren Randolph

really liked this particular photo...bkm

it had to be us....

you asked me to capture
the moments of our loving
you desired something tangible
to carry with you without edit or digital content
you professed  that
you would pin it to your heart
you would wear it as a name tag for love
it would have to define all the details of our soft nights, soft lights
our mused moments, touch...

it had to be the Leica
it had to be the darkroom
it had to be us

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Posted for One Shoot Sunday:  Photo provided by India Hobson

marked consumption

the stockyards
have been shut down
for decades,
stench

of
dead flesh lingers
for marked consumption, or
decay

Pan yields to flawed
abilities
in quickening a body's,
renaissance

concedes, instrument
to a
younger god

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Posted for One Stop Poetry - One Shoot Sunday, Photographer Fee Easton

a tree grows

a tree grows in Brooklyn

 not for me, my  friend

my days have reached a number

marked nearer than near the end

yet, I have played king

too a pauper, The

Bard's Othello

recited Yorick's cold bitter end

and alas, a tree grows in Brooklyn

but not for me, my friend

this heart has

held the moment, the pause

applause, ovations that knew

not end

but now, all lighting has gone dark

the castle walls collapsed

within

and still a single tree does grow in Brooklyn

for someone, not me dear friend

as the sits have

long been empty, curtain

lies as worn out thread, and no
  more for me parts are offered, but in the one last

 undertaking - of

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
are Dead

bkmackenzie

copyrighted 2011

Posted for One Shoot Sunday: Photographer Jacob F. Lucas

from the blue

sometimes I tire of reading, everything in blue

and choose an earthen stone

to ease this crusted mind

a blanket breath
of copper that begs this mortal heart

 cast a shield
 cast an armor from the blue
 from all that is given or known of time


take passage, take a wisdom, take rest

in solitude of still

 where a boundless sun

knows capture by a lady, a goddess of his own

with a virtues bail required
allowing life's repose - composed by harp of Lyra

 to an ancient siren's song

(blue) awaiting

 ransom by a Pharaoh
 or a
wistful cloud that

drifts along

bkmackenie

copyrighted 2011

Lyra is a Northern Hemisphere constellation - the Lyre or Harp

posted for One Shoot Sunday - Photo by Sean McCormick 

Speculating Dream - Haiku

falling into light

speculating flight in dream

rainbow bleeds all night

bkmackenzie

copyrighted 2011

Posted for One Stop Poetry: Sunday

photo by:Sean McCormick you can see more of his work at
One Stop Poetry

Great Expections

photo courtesy of : Danielle Kelly

accept for the delivery
of donations
she sat ready, parasol pink
at prefect angle; Great Expectations
had her looking seaward, binding
time to shells - collecting, basting sunrise after
sunrise into a smile
frozen
with salt; clothed in promise

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011



Posted for One Shoot Sunday: @ One Shot Poetry: Where Poets, Writers and Aritists Meet

timezones...

photo: claudio - One Shoot Sunday

she stepped into

the New Year, shedding

skin and timezones

bkm

2010

Collecting Sea Shells

photo by: Andy Ilachinski

I have always known there is a time and place
for collecting sea shells.  Of late the sky has turned
towards winter and my feet now appear to find more comfort
at sea level then in once loved designer heels. That
and with the sense of wheels fulfilling another cycle
through this wound up sundial I have worn faithfully -
it seems that all those quests and dreams of over the rainbow
have faded into the shores of gray, the blended colors
that rest upon my shoulders.

Can it be all those mountains I have climbed
are now the very shores I walk upon, crumbled to pebbles
and sand clinging to this soul?  I reach down, lift
an empty sea urchin, look into the once living, moving
creature and realize that this is that time, that place
to embrace what is, has been my life and complete
any collections - be they thoughts remaining unwritten
or sea shells in need of their own glass jar...

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2010

One Shoot Sunday - Where Poets and Writers Meet

Out of Africa

in my veins flow

Africa

in my eyes - i carry the world
the Serengeti lays down before me

and sings of my crown

the Masai suckle from my swollen breast

children of my

flesh

i cry out to the east

the sun rises

i drink from the moon

the world dreams

 Africa....

i weep

and the earth weeps
for

Africa...

bkmackenzie

copyrighted 2010

Posted for One Shoot Sunday....

Remain

lacking sail

here i will remain

in paradise

bkm

Posted for One Shoot Sunday