Signed.....bkm

silk

2019-10-25T09:23:00.000-07:00

one does not
have to join a convent to be a nun
one can experience resurrection
or eternity in the cleaning of a
scarred kitchen sink

lit candle & vespers
are not for the faint of heart
but for the heart
knowing the path
it has drawn

pick up that crucifix
and wipe the blood from your eyes
you will see clearly the portion
of your earthly breath

whispers echo through
the chambered halls of ones
mind

the rectory is empty now
leaving the re-stringing
of beads
to the fatal silk moths
last ascendance

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2019

photo
Cecropia Silk Moth - lives only to reproduce can not eat or digest - parishes within 2 weeks

when time before

2019-09-29T14:22:00.000-07:00

"...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

framed

2019-09-25T08:28:00.002-07:00

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

amber rain

2019-09-23T10:39:00.000-07:00

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

writing it down

2019-09-05T16:29:00.000-07:00

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

Poetic Resurrection

2019-08-30T09:48:00.002-07:00

i stepped onto - now hallowed ground,
in search of bones upon to dwell
bones still seeking to be heard,
through poetic voice,
in word transformed

my search spanned o'er a 100 years
i could not find, not one bone
in need of contemplation, not one bone
in need of resurrection

all the bones had taken flight
graves robbed by poets come before
writing lines of life now gone, no bones left
to dwell upon for (me) to free
in poetic verse -
and make grave light

in sweet regard to these empty stones
i turned by heart away
my need for pen and ink not lifted, as noon
felt dusk now nearing; soul and bone
long past leaving

my eye when caught beneath a willow
its limbs weeping - a
robin calling (now silent in her sleep)
her bones now speaking - to my bones
that sought release
through grace and ink - to look beyond
this worldly face seeking

in the quiet of her silence - she
spoke of her days
of children bore in spring and fields
laced trees webbed in autumn seed,
flowers transformed by wind and time -
the sun she loved the world she knew
her wings now heavy

my hands raised to ink her life
to pen her dreams, her song at rest
as with each word a long laid feather lifted -
from her silent breast
as with each word my heart made light
a transformation written - touching dusk
to guide the flight
as together our bones now lifted

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2019

the truth

2019-06-10T14:41:00.001-07:00

i am not here to tell you exactly what went on that night, but i am here to tell you the truth. at least as much of truth as i can tell and that's all the truth i know. well it started to rain in the south with a sky warm and still going blue-black fast. the wind picked up in that dust bowl kind of way that blew through the calm like an open window on a Oklahoma Sunday, then there was the lightening to the tree about a mile away that fluttered the screen-door having Sarah’s cat running to the barn as if pursued by Frank Jefferey's German Shepard Buggerbad. when far away an interrupted cry showed the face of a girl that spoke to God… everything stopped and a rainbow covered the earth she just laughed and smiled right at me….

bkmackenzie 2019

copyrighted

posted for d'verse Prosery #1

there is truth in death

2019-06-05T06:17:00.000-07:00

there is truth in death

be it a whale, a gull, a

mother

blue and green and warm and

loving

she weeps and weeps

not unlike Our Lady of Sorrows

and yet we her blessed

her chosen

choke her in greed and

convenience

of polymers set

in colors or in clear

but what is

clear is that

there is truth in death

in suffocation

in the strangulation of a turtle

in the toxicity of

breast milk feeding the chosen

whatever you do

to the least of my people that you do unto me

unto me and my mother

for as she continues to give

until her last breath

one thing is clear

there is truth in death

and when she

takes her last breath

what can we ask ourselves

paper or plastic?

bkmackenzie 2019

copyrighted

posted for Poets United - Plastic

native

2019-06-04T06:46:00.004-07:00

i am native
here; my blood is real, it is long, it runs deep
like the river of my spirit, i cloth my skin in your skin
brother it is my skin ,the length of it, the longing
of it to movement - towards the great waters - towards
the laughter of the crow-bird, of the fleeting fox, i

am women
i dance to the rivers within me, i dance to
those spirits i carry they
dance to be born...
they dance to be born...through my river...

i am native, i
am woman
i dance to the songs of the mother who sings
to me, to my spirit whole and long with breasts unbound
by words un-tongued; i am ritual
the rain weeps on my feathered wing and

i dance

it calls me run, it
calls me dance
it calls me dance towards the dusk time red and starring
towards the morning dark longing for my light, i call
the wind, i call its eagle, i call the unborn
to sing and quicken within, i am native
i am woman

skinned in my sacred brother

i dance

bkmacenzie 2019
copyrighted

in honor of my beautiful mother...whose dance was not long enough

imaginary garden with real toads

first soprano

2019-06-03T08:05:00.001-07:00

a
be-headed

(time-pieced) observes

words
fly out of my piano key

slicing
quarter
notes to meet
your
need

to be-come
surreal (really)?

i spread orange mar-mal-
aid
its
silvered
image
bleeding openly on
my
toasted
tomorrows

as
range of emotion
delivers
first soprano to your
other
love

to your other lover

obscure
the missing hand
paused
(me)
silent

us?

question:
aria
final per-formance

bkmackenzie 2019
copyrighted

posted for d'verse Open Link Night

first june

2019-06-01T13:13:00.002-07:00

(i) speak
to the fawn
eye deep, wide and lashed, and
too the hare that senses
the day-
still and warm and calm and full
taking shadow as a dream

where
moss and morel caress
the trees, against sole heartbeat of a
wandering bee, stay too

trillium -
close to your forest
floor, while paintbrush colors this
first June sky

and (i)

sit and witness time slip by, towards
the
promise of a summers
day

when fawn and lily will come to play
yes,
when the tiger lily
again
does come to play,,,,,

bkmackenzie 2019
copyrighted

a gifted photo of trillium
poetry pantry...poetyblogroll.blogspot.com

peace

2019-05-29T07:01:00.000-07:00

what peace means to me

silence in realm of ancient
flow in breath of waters rage
   touch in beginning of day
gathered leaves in dying of self
loves gift in ribbon of kiss
shadow wash across open door
laughter after broken heart
grain of wood before cut
  sweet written in a glance
prayer flag in aftermath of war

that
means
  peace to me

bkmackenzie 2019
coyrighted

posted for poets united

incomplete thoughts

2019-05-28T06:30:00.001-07:00

why? would you move
why? would you pass holding onto what is less than love
this day has wings and copper resting for moments remembered
why? would you not descend on words silent behind a chained door
its grace - i know you my morning of longing and what? is an evening
painted, placed, rusted and pilfered not traveled a... before

and

why? would you move
holding less than (this)
winged and plated in remembrance
unspoken words left to descend bound without latched key
grace me you my longing of the day
pilfer me, travel me, color me ....unspoken

love....

paint me ...unspoken

bkmackenzie 2019
copyrighted

photo credit Vivian Maier

exposed

2019-05-27T07:31:00.002-07:00

over exposure

my greatest fear

if a secret self

is to be maintained

then

a place of possibility

must

be guarded and stationed

a shoe box

is to obvious

a broken

door knob

turns a greater security

i am safer

behind the mirror

and

in the shadow

my face was

not made for the sun

my smile

was not made for film

it's all in

the lighting

and the silent

shot

there appears to be something

sexual

in the hidden

something deeper

than

a holy mystery

if the

(i)

wanted to be a mystic

i would

have fallen

in love long ago

it's all in

the film

the history of a soul

sacrificial obsession

that is the why

in the

(me)

and once dust

the wind

will carry away

this instrument

leaving

only

(art)

exposed

bkmackenzie 2019

copyrighted

Photographer Vivian Maier

whose incredible work was not discovered until after her death

documentary Finding Vivian Maier

filled empty

2019-05-26T08:34:00.003-07:00

what? is a love affair

(a) love affair

the tree is fogged and without

the air is still and silent ---empty and alone

footsteps travel the marks

left in the wood - years do that and comfort

is acceptance

in a dim light....

there are two chairs in different rooms

and a song heard but seldom

in unison....

(it is) love

it is life

it is everything dreamed of and hoped for....

that is what vows are for....love, life, dreams...

laughter is still heard (muffled and guarded)

a kiss goodnight

a grocery list complete for the morning.....but

what? is a love affair

a love affair is everything vows are not

a love affair is one passion, one song, one promise ...to always and forever

be separate, apart, distant

a love affair is maybes and ifs and whens

it is little wicked i love yous ....whispered and untouched

a love affair is a promise

(a) filled empty....

bkmackenzie 2019

copyrighted

artichoke hearts

2019-05-25T09:06:00.001-07:00

how do you fall in love at a
restaurant
between
artichoke hearts
and the course of action taken
when spilt wine became a
concern

my dress was wet
yes, but your eyes were wetter
and i laughed
at the waitress as she raised
a brow - i raised my skirt to
dry
you bit the (last)
heart
i bit the corner of your ear
with asking for
a towel
to dry
while ordering
the special of the day.......you

dressing? (yes)
on the side...please

bkmackenzie 2019
coyrighted

sleeping beauty

2019-05-21T17:15:00.002-07:00

i see the street sweep

is here

it is early and more

needles will be dropped after

his routing - i love heroin - what a

novel

it makes of a city, what character
characters

it displays along

with the jealousies of all those
perfect people

not partaking

"recovery is not as fulfilling"

beauty

last spoken

"she is just sleeping" says the street sweep

...........

bread soaked in blood

can take one to heaven, true, true but....

heroin's wait time is of

shorter duration

the street sweep was blinded

by the light

said the local dispatch

his start time will need re-

adjustment

"but before the sun sets on her sixteen birthday, she shall prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die"....die, die, she shall die.....

bkmackenzie 2019

copyrighted

dverse poets.....
poetry pantry
photo Mary Frances
quote from Sleeping Beauty

embezzlement

2019-05-17T14:48:00.001-07:00

there is an embezzlement
of the
characters that fall
between us
and the sandcastles
built beneath us

there is a breeze
that floats over this stellar sky
as the rhythm
of heartbeats ripple across shorelines

un-emptied, un-touched...a crab,
a shell of something once was,
a thought wrapped in a tide pool of

un-certainity

but, i love you.....said

i will take a second look
at this moment - as chances seldom come twice

once a thief always a thief?
i do not know

i should ask the crab ...... (i)

sup-pose

bkmackenzie 2019
copyrighted

posted Poets United Poetry Pantry

painting by Joaquin Soralla

there are mostly fairies

2019-05-15T07:34:00.001-07:00

Darling, let's
do a picnic today under this
blue haven sky; let's take
your favorite blanket to
the trees and lie

Oh Mommy, can we
take my teddy bear too? Can
we dress him in his green
jacket and yes picnic shoes?

And what? will we see there under

the trees

Will there be lilies and sweet

honey bees?

My Darling, there are lilies
and beetles and bees

but mostly there are fairies

that hide in the leaves ---so let's

fold your blanket and dress
your sweet bear and gather
some morsels
to nourish us there...

We can talk to the fairies, and sing
with the bees, and laugh long

with teddy

under the trees

bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2019

painting by Jessica Wilcox Smith

Poets United Picnic

apart

2019-05-11T19:17:00.001-07:00

if i allowed myself
the pain of it i could see you there
in the corner of my soul -
between our meeting place
between the space where we did never touch
but in want of it

but i knew you
and so you me - and if i allowed myself
the pain of it
the memory would be as clear
as the day i saw you
there - before the pain before the memory

before we were apart
before the pain

bkmackenzie 2019
copyrighted

imaginary garden with real toads Apart

ice kissing

2019-05-09T09:30:00.002-07:00

i can feel the sky
it's closeness to the bark of me
the circumference
of what lies hidden beneath the melting white
and beneath the bark
there are a few moments of
ice kissing
the awaiting of green
a spring
there is a sense of wonder on the blues to come

by the sand crane
and a winter rabbit still

bkmackenzie 2019
copyrighted

the Snake River --- today Minnesota
Poets United Gifts ---this photo was a gift

words others live by

2019-05-07T09:51:00.001-07:00

words that
others live by....

crawdads
semi-colon; undone

not everyone's fantasies are the same in nature or texture
sexual or contemplative

i contemplate various images throughout my day
usually of you

but, not eating crawdads
or throwing in last bit of sauce into a heated pan

usually you
are doing what you do best

and sometimes i think of
other words

bkmackenzie 2019
copyrighted

some children

2019-05-07T06:01:00.000-07:00

some children
wear brass ankle bracelets
whose keys have been
lost -
their guardian angels have all gone on break and
the gatekeeper
misplaced their map of
innocence
so they wonder off
into
lands of thunder clouds
and adulthood sins

some children
look in the mirror
in search of their angel
and the lost keys but only see
themselves as guilt
and broken

like the mirror
like innocence

bkmmackenzie 2019
copyrighted
let us pray for all the lost children of the world, torn by abuse, war, poverty and bullying.

vessels (i)

2019-05-06T10:13:00.002-07:00

this image
a putrid vessel
in leafless wood - who are you in
there?

troll of my sorrow..?
thought haunted?

stirred by a storm pulling at my last
clinging leaf
of season -
grace me

for

i am not Wiccan
i know no Warlock great enough

to contain you
and?
who will release you
who will hold you at bay - and?

what shall i name you? without answer
i must take leave of this
wood
take leave of my love of it and seek appointment

with a sainted George
and his collapsing steeple

bkmackenzie 2019
copyrighted

saint george...the dragon slayer....

imaginary garden with real toads

green velvet altar

2019-05-04T18:15:00.000-07:00

he made her his queen and
placed her in a box
he called it a castle and he gave her
colored stones to play with and silken sheets
he gave her a title ...(placed)
it in paper
on a green velvet altar with

a signed photo of god

but she did not want to be a queen or wear
her crown
reflecting god's photograph on his green velvet altar

she wanted to be a whore
dressed only in ripped blue jeans
and a crimson blouse with the tiny stones
of her own
so each night in her dreams she slipped away and made love
to the grey wolf
who stripped away her jeans and all her sin
with his eyes
- while the moon watched, the stars smiled

and the gravity of her god raced
through the night volum-ed but untraceable
to the green altar of his making

when she woke again
in the castle box she looked upon all the perils
of promise and his --wet dreams
but he could not hold her for she had been
bitten by the moon
and a
reflection of the

grey wolf

bkmackenzie 2019
copyrighted

linked to Open Link Night