sales

i am writing a book, a book about my husband.  his life has undoubtedly
been more interesting than mine.  even now he is in
Bogota, Columbia and i am sitting on the couch.  he is heading for
Brazil next month and i will be here.  i suppose that
is how life goes and you take it for what it presents.  not that i do
not like the couch or where i live or that i am not happy.  i have always
been a happy person you could say, just not very interesting i suppose.  so i
will start this book about him (my husband) give it a shot in the dark
as all writers do (again supposing).  i could put together something i have done,
self -publish and throw it out there - to the wolfs -though i do not think
even the wolfs have time to read all the self-published Amazon print
on demands, but truly i see no profit in it.   it is (truly) a dog eat dog world 
and they say (they being the science types) that this little four legged
 furry thing licking himself here on the couch has descended
 from the wolf (canine furry-one) which is still hard for me to believe.  but enough said 
and sought as it now only a matter of clarifying a timeline and the use
of the F...word in the text that needs to be determined in this book.  it is what it is
though - reality - and to  glamorize it i say would be like glamorizing 
sex with the word love and then placing it on the shelf with great romance novels
where as reality places things  like sex on a shelf in the adult book store. 
(what's right?)  it is all based on social order i suppose
and what is being tweeted around this globe and what is actually selling.


which is why i am here - my husband he is a salesman....


bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2012

From Jonah to Mona

Normal is living and dying.
Normal is not placing yourself in a bait bucket
awaiting turn to be devoured
by a winged whale - "now taking seats B-1 thru B-30."
Great I'm B-1
(and I'm supposed to be happy with that)  seems a repeat
of high school..always missing an A by one point...here nor there now;
I going in  -
(one of those first come first serve seating airlines) wiggling my way
down the esophagus of this monster; envisioning Jonah
being swallowed by that whale; stuck for three crummy days.
Finally I find myself settling in a F seat,
always seeking fame and a window - window yes, I like to look out on the landscape in case
this baby surfaces on uncharted territory -  scoping out the area that
my eternal soul will haunt, once lost.

I settled in along the walls of
this whales belly, iPod - Check, Phone off - Check, Water - Check.
Grandma White takes E next to me, figures out how
to buckle up, pulls out
picnic basket of homemade dills, lady fingers
and sliced apples. (why didn't I think of that)

Up this mother whale ascends - I feel elated
plug in earphones; tune in my iPod to a downloaded
podcast of Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac
await room service, in time they arrive.

"Beverage?"

"Diet Coke"
E asks for orange juice - looks at me and starts in
"I get bladder infections and can not drink coke anymore"

"Oh really?"

"Really", she says then continues, "What do you do?"

"I am a writer."

"Writer now interesting, novels? I like novels."

"No, poetry."

"Poetry, lovely.  Are you famous?"

I look straight into her dill pickle face and ask,

"You don't recognize me?"

"Well, now that you mention it" she said.

With that she went back to her ladyfingers and I to Keillor, until
this whale finally beached herself at MSP and began belching....finally
my area is purged.  I head past the gates, thinking
I should stop and take an Alka-Seltzer ( later,
I thought just get to a taxi).

"Taxi Mam?"

"Embassy Suites, St Paul"

"Yes, Mam"

Once over the river and into St Paul I suddenly start feeling the
aire of the 30's, Italian mafia, U of M, St Paul's Cathedral
and The Fitzgerald..the real reason
I am here....at the Embassy
I check in, "Are you here on business or seeing family?"

"A bit of both" I said. "I looking to meet up with an area writer to collaborate on a book."

"Oh, that's nice.  Your in room 824 take the elevator just to the right"

I headed up to my room thinking, he did not seem to impressed.
Oh well, I had my plan, check out  the Fitzgerald to see if Keillor
was hanging around or at least find a frequented coffee shop
maybe drink out of the same cup he did. 

Finally I get loose of bags and books and head out to the street move towards the famous landmark between Wabasha and Cedar sucked in the air and the moment.  Did not want to appear like a Keillor groupie so I pretended that I still lived in the area though I had been gone for a few decades and even when I lived here farm girls like me did not go to the city often. 

I took my time strolled through the shops, picked up some postcards at the Trattoria De Vinci, one of  Mona Lisa and one of The Last Supper, but figured Keillor would probably not be eating there so I kept my eye out for a coffee shop and for red shoes hugging the sidewalk.  Then with my iPhone camera ready I settled into a cafe not far from the Fitzgerald and feasted on some potato cheese soup and a Reuben sandwich.  I finally muster up enough nerve to ask the waitress if she had ever seen Garrison Keillor come in here. 

"I don't know him, but let me ask the cook."

I said, "No, no don't worry about it." 

"Are you sure? It's no problem."

"No it's OK, really."  I figured the cook probably did not know him either.

It was starting to get dark and I thought well so much for my publishing deal and what was worse I could not even think something up to pen highlighting my gamble that did not payoff.  So I headed back to my hotel room thinking about the events of the day, about Jonah and his stay in the belly of the whale.  For three days Jonah was in there and now he is famous being in print for thousands of years.  I called down to the front desk and request two more nights stay, what the hell I thought - it worked for Jonah.

Pulled out Mona Lisa and addressed her to my sister in Idaho.

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011
Posted for Magpie Tales

Note: this was one I started after my last plane trip in January ...and thought I would finish....bkm

Fear of Falling

there is this fear
that haunts me. it comes over me
each morning sipping coffee from 220 feet; like
a spastic eyelid trying to focus
on the world in its
naked truth. so wanting to scope it out for what it is;
with what remains of my analytical sense before I see
myself just a mirror image of those
misguided fools down below.

they walk aimlessly drinking in the
words falling from above.  obliviously moving
to the cadence of a city on chaos.  and another sip, sucking up
time enough for my hand to stop shaking and
rest in the mist of this habitual insanity. an insane
myriad of subjective and objective phrases
falling into the shadows
of trees and park benches where the homeless
gather them up, carting them off,
waiting twilight when with words they make their bed,
laying their head to dream on print of empty promise - and souls
without hope left, stagger to the gutters
baptizing their worthlessness with piss one last time
before sentencing them to the underground.

few still notice any usefulness
of letters set to type, but only to complete that last section
of yesterday's crossword or to fire up a heated discussion
at Tuesday night bridge with the boys; all in all
not a bad lot for breathing in 80 years of this city, (we all should see
such a day).  but this new

class of twitter, they
have little time to ingest value
from any truth or lie presented, puncuated
in paper or plastic, as instant news only needs
bandwidth and buyer of time.  and this leaves

only god knows, the same condition (that condition)
our fragmented un-human humanity, unaware
of the real fallout all around us.  thinking the delivery mode
of madness really can change
something larger than self - and while I keep puking
out parables from a skyscraper, youths superiority
is skyping our demise from a street cafe. the only difference
being they pay extra for coffee flavored, while I
still sip my watered-down folgers expecting
something new to excite me....

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011
 
Posted for One Shot Wednesday: Where Poets and Writers Meet


 

I did not get his name.....

it was one of those seeming holiday's
where thought did not seem to hold much meaning or mercy
for celebrating beyond the realms of raising a finger
or fork to a simplified recreation ...so me and my Canadian counterpart
headed for some syncopated sin time
and  I found myself sited in front of a mystical lotus flower
tapping a lit button like Pavlov's dog awaiting
enlightenment and a free trip to Shangri-La
usually I find that in this state of transcendental mediation
awareness of those around me is blurred
and unfixed as any hell bound hallucinating dream renders
but here is where clarity
took hold of me and I stopped, an elder gentleman
in his eighties tapped my shoulder -
"I do not mean to bother you," he said
he face blessed with age and good clean living, now alone
"I have an extra ticket for the dinner being served tonight, and
wonder if you would like it, not meaning that you go with me," he
quickly added.  "I just to not want it to go to waste."
I stood up from my chair, as I could not help but notice his
WWII veteran hat.  it carried the blue and gold of the US Navy.
I asked where he served and watched as his eyes lit up with recognition
he said, " I was in the battle of Iwo Jima."  
I said Thank You Sir, and reached to shake his hand.  he thanked me
for my acknowledgement of his contribution.  I then told him
that I too served in the Navy as a corpsman
"We sure counted on those corpsman, yes those corpsman saved many a life." 
and we continued to exchange a few more tales of salt and ships
then I thanked him for the offer of the meal but would probably
be eating later with my banker.  with that
this proud gentleman thanked me again for my conversation
and my minutes of time.  but as he walked away
I thought how does one
fully repay the mighty for making the world
a safer place to be
inherited by the meek ...

I did not get his name....

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011



Posted for Poets United - Thursday Think Tank- Uniformed Service

from lemon to garlic (continued..part II)

continued from Magpie #55

he just stared at her....

"Chrissy!  Didn't I tell you I do not need you to mother me?  I will take care of it myself, where is the neosporin?"

"In our bathroom drawer, and there are bandages there too," Chrissy added.

Devon headed towards their room.

How she did not know what to do, but she quickly thought and decided to scrape off a sample of the blood on the screen with a knife into a sandwich bag.  She did it and then stuck the bag into the corner of the most unused kitchen drawer just before Devon returned.

"Now," he said, "let me clean up that mess I made on the computer."

Chrissy had no choice but to leave everything as it stood.  She fully understood that Devon was adamant about her not treating him like his mother did.  He had not spoken to her in over a year he just could not take the way she interfered with everything in his life since he was little.  She coddled over him and treated him like a little child even in high school, and as of late he began despising her and anyone that treated him in the same manner.  She decided to let the murder mystery go, besides he had never laid a hand on her or any other woman and so why should she be so suspicious.

That is at least what she thought for awhile.  For she found herself caught up in following the case of the murdered girl in the apartments not far away, watching for news updates as well as newspaper and internet articles.  It appears that the young woman was seen going into her apartment with a man about 10 pm that evening but no one had any details on his age only that he was Caucasian with a middle set build. That could be anyone Chrissy thought, or it could be Devon.  The investigators had no fingers prints to go by for it seems that this guy knew exactly what he was doing.  Chrissy even found herself driving by the apartment building as if that was going to tell her anything. 

What was the worst of it all she had started looking at Devon as an all together different person, lying in bed at night remembering an interview of a woman with Oprah where her husband had been killing woman and burying them on there property for years without her knowing until someone came across a skull.  For years she thought and his wife did not even have a clue.  Here she had evidence, either the blood was Devon's or it was someone else's, maybe even the murdered girl's. 

Then one evening she was in the kitchen fixing a nice Italian meat sauce to go over Vermicelli.  Devon came in and offered to assist.  He set the table and was going to help make of fresh garlic bread, laying the garlic cloves on the cutting board to chop up and mix with some fresh butter before spreading on the bread.  His cell phone rang. He answered it.  It was his mother and she started in questioning him.  He whole demeanor changed, he started yelling over the phone.


"I told you not to call me, I told you I did not want to talk to you and I meant it."

Quiet

"No, my life is none of your business and that is that, "  he hung up.

But that was not the end of it.  He did not want to talk to Chrissy either, he took the large cutting knife and started chopping and pounding the cutting board with the garlic on it, garlic started flying everywhere.  Then he threw the knife across the kitchen and ran out the front door, got in his car and speed out of the driveway.

Chrissy knew she now had to do something.  But what was it....?


Posted for Magpie Tales #56


Tess posted more food...so I had to continue the story....

when lemon's lie

Chrissy woke early this beautiful spring morning, noted her husband Devon still sound asleep one leg half off the bed.  not disturbing him she went to the kitchen and started water for a cup of tea garnished with honey and lemon.  she looked out the window, inhaled and sighed for the wonderful life she and Devon had together for the past 3 years.  she felt blessed.  

Chrissy then turned on the small tv in the kitchen to catch the local morning news and weather.  finished garnishing her breakfast tea and went looking for the laptop, unsuccessfully, then remembering that Devon took it to a meeting last night and getting home well after she had gone to bed.  the computer she thought would be in his rolling office bag.  there it was, she pulled it out and headed back to the kitchen counter, set down the computer and sat herself down to check her writing blog and emails.  opening the laptop she quickly noticed that the screen had a hand print on it, a hand print that looked like dried blood it startled her to say the least.  she went to the sink to get a dish cloth to wipe off the screen when the news announcer started talking about a murder in a set of apartments a few miles from their house.  a young woman was raped and stabbed in the late evening last night and anyone having any information was asked to contact the sheriff's office. 

at this point Chrissy's mind started rolling all over the place and she did not know what to do.  it could not, no Devon would not do something like that, no there had to a simple explanation to the hand print.  she moved towards the screen to start wiping it when Devon walked into the kitchen.

"good morning," he said, "what are you doing?"

"oh there is some blood on the computer, i figured you must have cut you hand and didn't have anything to wipe it off last night"

Devon quickly replied, "yes, i did in fact.  here let me wipe it off for you"

"it must have been pretty bad honey, why don't you let me have a quick look at it.  you may need to put some neosporin on it......"

he just stared at her...


bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011


Posted for Magpie Tales

Blood Meeting

Never knew what blood was until I married
into a family from Viper, Kentucky, separate forks
of Maces Creek merging in Viper, pumping blood enough
into the Kentucky River to ensure plentiful offspring
and slow venom into the veins of stray trespassers.

Viper sits south end of Perry County with
Black Mountain in Harlan County
the only stone holding it back from rolling straight
through Cumberland and right into Virginia. But

you do not have to go to Viper to know its blood or
taste of its venom, but you do have go to understand its whys,
its ways - such as a voodoo doll hanging in the hall,  next to a finely
embroidered "Don't Take No Shit Off No One" sampler,
with a pot of green beans and bacon always on the fire.

Roots run deep for many families, but never as deep
as the blood running throughout these hills, covered in kudzu vine,
coddling babies and mamas, daddies killed in mines or dying
in the still'n of moonshine, tucked away under alabaster
in make shifts coffins feeding the hills with blood and memories.

God has his kind of mercy for these people, knows
his peoples sorrows there, so he blessed Perry County
with the dulcimer, the Ritchie sisters and Amazing Grace
voiced in perfect pitched acapella choirs, trained by time, by
the pain and the promise of  Blue Diamond Coal.  So too, by
lightening and storm pouring through make shift shack's
sending the copperhead migrating and feeding
the springs and blood of family.

As a non-blood you never quit pass acceptance
and taught soon on that voting rights or attendance
to a Blood Meeting is strictly forbidden and enforced.  That
the only thing less excusable then asking entrance is to
bring non-blood children into its folds.  As such evil cracks
the lines and shifts the flow of the creek and sleep
of the viper.  Time being no measure of transformation
whether you sign its name in the presence of preacher
or notary (coal cinders over time weigh heavy on a soul.)


But God in his own amazing grace has a way of knowing
all his people even non-blooded and allows one safe passage
through the hills of Viper and streets of Hazard to face its
apparitions and its visions.  Imprinted gifts that are not meant
for interpretation until well gone and reflected upon....for

beneath the coal and blood of a forked-tongued creek there
is gold.....a precious metal, hand quilted around babes
on a porch,  foggy mountain side gardens, cool water springs
and an eternal muse singing throughout the hills...of its history
and of its beauty; ensuring that God does know all his children, and
that someday He will call them together Blood and Non-Blood
alike, thank them for their sorrow, their strength and their faith,

it just won't be in Perry County, at a Viper, KY Blood Meet'n

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

Ritchie Sisters - Singing ,  Blue Diamond Mines

Still Life

Magpie Tales #33

You took the a Acqua de Pama
bottle from my dresser
placed it on the newly inherited
Queen Anne vanity
in the corner of the bedroom...just so,

along with freshly cut
and fully stemmed apricot roses
to reflect the shades of morning
sunlight filtering through the
lace curtains, and going

to your designated chest
of drawers - pulled the silken scarf
that was your mothers
and rested it ever so gently between
scent and full bloom.  Always you

the artist by nature; perfection
worn like a royal, with eye skilled
at absorbing and mirroring to canvas, still life.
Still life, it was to became the crown
you donned for your court.   I lied

on the bed and took in
the genius of your process, watching as you
released but a touch of fragrance
from the petite well creating a palette of mood
and as the room filled with colour you began

sketching.   Sipping the morning I
felt life stir within me, encapsulating my
fantasy and flesh to the point of
wanting more than sips of sunlight  - so
lifting myself off the mattress, I

moved hurried towards the hall - you kindly
asked where I would be heading; and
could not reply, as I remembered so clearly
you did not sketch nudes, no
your mother never did approve
of it...

bkmackenzie
2010

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

The First Day

the ancestors watched as their world died

the waters stopped flowing

the mountains turned to rust

they died too..

the Great Shaman fell into a sleep
out of sorrow

for all that was lost

his sleep spanned half an eternity

he dreamed of the ancestors
they were crying many tears..

as he awoke
from his dreaming
he yawned across the universe

his breath surrounded the silent world
of the ancestors

the planet began to bleed again
blue waters

and it was good..

 this happened

on the first day

of the Great Shaman's Awakening

bkmackenzie

copyrighted 2010

posted for Magpie Tales #27

Moral Majority

Magpie Tales  #24

when i was younger i campaigned for the moral majority

accepting your vows of chastity and obedience 

as gospel -
the black and white world created found

my dreams consumed with murky, muddy water

 where i was continually fighting for
life's breath -

in desperation i suggested yellow wallpaper

you ran from the bedroom screaming,

harlot, whore!!!

my fantasies stood on the bed

cheering as you left

your fantasy ran after
 you

i locked the front door

placing red roses 

in the foyer

to ward off all evil 

bkmackenzie

copyrighted 2010

My Song for the Asking...

I have a photograph in my mind
of another time  and I wonder how
I got here -

here in my kitchen with a cup
of coffee -still using cream (no sugar)
after all these years -
when with a tap on my shoulder
Simon and Garfunkel being wording - I have a photograph
they showed me - a preserved memory
as their voices begin to softly

guide me back  through the years, talking
me back to my dreams of organdy and
memories clothed in crinoline -

back, back  when I first walked off
to look for America
leaving my Emily Dickinson, my Robert Frost, to
sit in a railway station in Chicago
trying  to ignore the whores on 7th ave
and hiding in the comfort of my lonely room,
and wishing I was home again, back
in my little town, but

instead  they showed me
when I got a ticket
east thinking my poetry would
protect me - knowing  homeward bound was
not an option - I feared stagnation,  its dangling
conversations - its couplets out of rhyme
and I was driven to move further from its
hazy shades of winter -

when in a car on the Pennsylvania turnpike
I met a Mrs.Robinson she said, she too was
looking for America, but had to
hide it from the kids... lost I turned off
the radio and found myself seeking only the
the sounds of silence - and then all alone, walking among
leaves of brown, snow on the ground
I turned the music back on

loaded my car
and hit the road west -

spanning America this time, meeting a boxer
reciting Dylan in a coffee shop, he was not really
mak'in it, I realized he or was it me
just  fak'in it...until finally
reaching
land of  El Condor I met others
like me who would rather be
hammers than nails, and began
building a life with them --

and sending for my Emily and
Robert - those old friends I finally
placed them in bookends
where today they still
remain my bridge over
troubled waters
as I sit with my coffee
writing -
my song for the asking
sipping on
sounds of silence


bkmackenzie
copyrighted  2010

My entry for Poets United Think Tank Thursday #7 (Sounds) --you can read more by clicking...bkm

Lucky Strike - Mrs. G

He said the lipstick stains left on her cigarette filters turned him on.
That was not long after they were married in 58’
Lynndy was 18, Al was 25 –
Lynndy was just out of high school.

Al was an insurance salesman.
“He has great potential,’ her father blurted out,
you couldn’t have found a better guy, he will provide for you,
just like I provided for you and your mother.”

During their honeymoon at Niagara falls Al made it clear,
“No wife of mine will be caught smoking an unfiltered cigarette
or caught drinking beer out of a bottle.” He looked straight into her eyes …
”My wife will have more class than that.”

Lynndy came to abide by the rules, Al’s rules,
that is until Charlie showed up at the back door -
with a ½ gallon of milk,
and a quart of orange juice
Charlie was the milkman.
Charlie also went to high school with Lynndy, he was a few grades
ahead of her, now he was - her milkman.

“Hey, Charlie! Do you happen to have a cigarette?” she asked one morning.
“Sure do,” was his answer. He pulled out a pack of Lucky Strike’s.
“Thanks,” was her reply as he gave her a light.
“You know Charlie, you know what would be good right now to go with
this smoke, a cold bottle of beer, don’t you think that would be good
right now Charlie?”
“You sure are right about that Mrs. G.”
Charlie never called a married woman by her first name,
even if he had known her for years. "Manners,
he called it, my daddy always taught me to treat a lady like the lady she is.”
“You know Mrs. G if you like I could bring you a cold beer tomorrow.”
“I would like that Charlie, see you tomorrow, thanks for the cigarette.”

That was the start of a weekday ritual for Charlie and Lynndy. Every morning
after Al pulled out of the driveway Lynndy waited by the kitchen window in
watch of the local milk truck. Charlie would offer Lynndy a Lucky Strike and a cold
bottle of Hamm’s beer. They would sit on the back porch
and talk about high school and  how the world was changing right before their eyes.
They would talk baseball andif the Cub’s were going to have a comeback year.
They would laugh. Lynndy loved to laugh. Then Charlie
 would end the conversation everyday with

“you know Mrs. G.. one day, one day I am going to strike it lucky
and have enough money to take you away from all this.
Then you and I can smoke cigarettes
and drink beer from a bottle everyday.
Wouldn't that be fine Mrs. G?"

Lynndy at that point would pick up her ½ gallon of milk
and quart of orange juice, open the back door and reply-
“sure would Charlie, see you tomorrow, right?”

“Right, Mrs. G-“

bkmackenzie
copyrighted

Posted for Alphabe-Thursday - Random Letter Week - Letter G click here for more of the Alphabet