tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14649601868596729682024-03-08T04:43:17.883-08:00the busy pen of JDM"The human condition is a symphony that resonates universally, and lost illusion is the title of every work" ~ Maxine Hong KingstonJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.comBlogger101125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-69074895444978965132012-06-01T09:06:00.001-07:002012-06-01T09:06:20.321-07:00DisclaimerWorking on an introduction for a new collection of poems but cringe at the idea of doing something conventional or predictable. Any ideas? This is what I've come up with so far...
The thoughts expressed in this collection
are strictly my own
and do not represent
the teachings of my old department
nor the official positions
of a well-intended editor
any of several previous religions
current or former lovers
known literary traditions
or my ancestral tribeJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-2745748822633178482012-05-25T15:10:00.001-07:002012-05-25T15:10:40.586-07:00I hate re-writingbut sadly I'm sitting on dozens of poems that feel like they are 90 to 95% there but definitely not finished. I'm having a hard time working on new things while knowing there are poems I've already written that need a lot of work. I'm the Octomom Poet. Squeezing out new ones has become more important that caring for the ones I already have. Maybe I'll get a visit from the Poetry Social Worker, who will find a home for the older ones and raise them properly? Or maybe there's a workshop to help me with this?J. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-4070185672240294822012-04-26T16:25:00.001-07:002012-04-26T16:32:02.270-07:00What you dream while he's away at Model United NationsI. Perched up in a high corner of his room
you hear his alarm and see him motionless
you never lost your fear of SIDS
it sounds your own alarm
He’ll grope for the snooze button
and sleep in late because he can
he sleeps well in hotel beds
they're newer and bigger than his own
and because you’re not there
with your muted morning sounds
and the unspoken lure of white mocha
II. He’s a well-prepared diplomat
with detailed policies and positions
but he’s caught by surprise
when the ambassador from Zimbabwe
gets all precious and blocks his resolution
Bono shows up to smooth things over
but these things take time
so everyone agrees settle things
over World of Warcraft
and Red Bull over ice
III. Trouble finds him because he’s still really young
and lacks street smarts
A brown belt
(while better than nothing)
can’t stop the vicious gang from Singapore
who target young, healthy quarry
so they can knock them out
and harvest their organs
IV. There’s a big dance on the last night
and he meets a nice girl
maybe not as nice as you’d hope
but nice enough for him to loosen up and dance
You worry that she’s a little more experienced
a second child with a rapacious older sister
her parents have full cable
you know she’s seen it all
She talks about Burning Man
and getting her own place
Her face morphs into something predatory
you wonder if there’s a Latin word
for Skankasaurous Rex
and you scream a scream he’ll never hear
V. He appears old and it takes a while
for you to know it’s him
If he’s that old
it means you’re either frail or dead
and you wonder if you’re seeing him from now
or through the lens of the Summerlands
VI. He comes home intact
and you’re both tired
him from his travels
and you from fevered dreamsJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-48720816553512800832012-03-02T21:49:00.000-08:002012-03-02T21:49:22.247-08:00Grave Accent<i>The grave accent is a diacritical mark used in Breton, Calalan, Corsican, Dutch, French, Greek, Italian, Mohawk, Norwegian, Occitan, Portuguese, Ligurian, Scottish Gaelic, Vietnamese, Welsh, Romansh, and other languages. Until very recently I misunderstood what this term actually meant.</i><br />
<br />
Sometimes <br />
there’s the meaning we believe <br />
the real meaning known to everyone else <br />
and we’ve no idea they’re separate things<br />
<br />
I was certain that term <br />
<i>grave accent </i><br />
meant the reverent tone <br />
reserved for graveside services<br />
our dignified whispers <br />
saved only for the grieving and the dead <br />
<br />
But no, it’s a linguistic thing <br />
a diacritical mark taught in the academe <br />
and known from Corsica to Wales <br />
<br />
First used by the ancient Greeks <br />
it marks a lower pitch to accentuate<br />
the higher pitch that follows<br />
<br />
On this mournful day<br />
I hear grieving Tuscans<br />
gently intone<br />
<i>morì <br />
virtù <br />
portò </i><br />
he died <br />
with virtue <br />
and was carried here<br />
<br />
I was wrong<br />
I didn’t know<br />
but in my providential world <br />
where graveside visits are rare<br />
and higher pitches follow<br />
my tone would have been <br />
just rightJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-60512463139741490542012-02-07T17:30:00.000-08:002012-02-07T17:30:58.203-08:00The Dad turns 80<b>Legacy<br />
</b><br />
To begin each day <br />
early and with purpose<br />
<br />
To know the first secret of life<br />
showing up<br />
<br />
To imagine results <br />
before they’re achieved<br />
<br />
To plant and harvest<br />
hunt and dress<br />
<br />
To build monuments <br />
outlasting us all<br />
<br />
To have loved and lost<br />
remembered both<br />
<br />
To guide those who’ll listen<br />
Give back where needed<br />
<br />
To balance the certainty of faith<br />
with the magic of wonder<br />
<br />
To create a legacy and pass it along<br />
<br />
Arriving a commoner, retiring a king<br />
<br />
This is a life well lived<br />
<br />
<i>My Dad turned 80 this month. We have never pretended to understand each other well, but I've grown to love and respect him. He can't imagine a hobby that doesn't involve firearms or power tools, and I can't imagine a waking moment without the joy of language. Here's to genetic mutations. </i>J. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-4775353046424879282012-01-26T16:14:00.000-08:002012-01-26T16:14:53.615-08:00Sorting and PitchingSomething about this time of the year, I'm going through piles of old stuff and pitching what I don't want or need. It's easy with material things. If you doubt that, you haven't any clothes left from the 80s. <br />
<br />
With writing it's different. I can store five years of work on a $4 jump drive. Just don't ask me to find anything quickly.<br />
<br />
I did manage to find the outline for a workshop I led last May on the Poetry of Protest. It was a lot of fun, great turnout, and forced me to gather together some examples from my own work:<br />
<br />
- Artist of Discarded Instruments (returning veterans)<br />
- What Do You Fear? (Bush White House rejection of poets)<br />
- Julia, Who Can Speak Now (Sudanese refugees)<br />
- Trudy, From Cameron Parish (British Petroleum Oil Spill)<br />
<br />
Protest is hard work and I'm tired. Starting to think about more uplifting topics like love and redemption. What are you writing about? Inspire me. You know how.J. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-46372592944324425262011-12-21T12:59:00.000-08:002011-12-21T12:59:02.682-08:00Winter SolsticeI’m intrigued by the Solstice. Though never officially diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder, my endurance and warm disposition are tested by the short days we get here, just below the 45th north parallel. Jimmy Buffet said it best: tempers in need of repair. <br />
<br />
We like our stories with arcs and twists, and our universe delivers by tilting the earth so that nothing is ever the same. When it’s winter solstice here, which usually means things are cold and wet, the sun is directly overhead along the Tropic of Capricorn, places like Sao Paulo and Brisbane. What to do if you’re both fundamentalist (which I’m not) and light-loving? Thou shalt not covet those savory UVs. But we can’t help it. We like the light and miss it. And we can’t wait for it to return. That goes for all of us, pagans and Christians and everyone else.<br />
<br />
It’s a well-trodden fact that most Christmas symbols were borrowed from folks who lived well before the arrival of the Baby Jesus. And though there’s some compelling evidence his birthday was actually in the spring, there were (and are) a lot of compelling reasons to celebrate it on or near the solstice. The ancients were used to gathering then anyway. Stored food didn’t get any better if you waited a few weeks. There was still plenty of firewood, and the beer and wine created from the last harvest was just about ready. When it’s that cold, why not stay indoors and celebrate?<br />
<br />
I looked into traditions of earlier peoples. Many cultures – too many to list here - performed solstice ceremonies. Many contained common threads: eating, drinking, storytelling, hooking up, setting things on fire. Their motivation? Probably a superstition that the declining light might not ever return unless we (humans, or the deities we asked) did an intervention. <br />
<br />
The Mesopotamians may have come up with the earliest version of the 12 days of Christmas. Their 12 day festival of renewal was celebrated for the purpose of helping the god Marduk calm the monsters of chaos for one more year. Wanna bet that some form of monsters of chaos has probably been translated into all known languages? Or that Mardak had kindred spirits in other places?<br />
<br />
It’s not difficult to see how many of our current traditions (unity, giving to others, candlelight, feasting, evergreens) are modern versions of what our ancestors did before we had rural electrification or office parties. <br />
<br />
And what did they do? Wiccans burned Yule logs to encourage the return of the light and honor both life and death. Scandinavian families placed all of their shoes in one place, believing that this would cause them to live in harmony for the next year. Romans honored Bacchus by (what else?) drinking heavily during their festival of Brumalia. The Chacoans (ancestors of the modern Pueblo people of New Mexico) gathered at the Sun Dagger site of Chaco Canyon and danced the sun back into their days. <br />
<br />
No Christmas letter from me, at least not here. I love this day because it represents a convergence of so many things I appreciate: light, enlightenment, physics, forgiveness, redemption, boundaries, friendships, hope. But today, mostly light. I hope the light is shining where you are.J. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-32703854281533368592011-12-20T10:55:00.000-08:002011-12-20T10:55:42.853-08:00I Imagined Stopping<i>We've had a few days of cold, enough for the water in the fountain to ice over and the roads to get slick. So be careful out there, okay?<br />
</i><br />
Once I rounded the corner <br />
saw your tail~lights through bluish steam<br />
your tracks through drifting snow <br />
halting at the aspens<br />
I imagined stopping <br />
to aim headlights at your bad luck<br />
grabbing for a blanket <br />
and hurdling toward your car<br />
<br />
I heard my knuckles tapping <br />
on your vapor covered window <br />
hoping the only red I’d see is lipstick<br />
that you’d still have all your life-signs<br />
and my breathing could resume<br />
<br />
These images I formed <br />
because my mind's eye loathes a vacuum <br />
I cannot picture blankness <br />
when the story line’s unclear<br />
<br />
I imagined stopping <br />
while our narrative’s still forming <br />
as our lives are intersecting<br />
grateful I’ve got time to chooseJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-35331371490433880462011-12-05T21:14:00.000-08:002011-12-05T21:14:06.910-08:00Survivor<i>The Teen-in-Residence is reading Whitman for a school assignment, which led to questions about Meaning. I don't remember much about Whitman but do remember connections to nature and changing seasons. With temperatures dropping into the twenties, our season is changing here as well.<br />
</i><br />
<br />
That last remaining leaf <br />
on the windswept, proud pin oak <br />
has earned my full respect <br />
<br />
With her pluckiness and grit<br />
I’m pulling for her <br />
hoping she holds on tight <br />
to the only life she knows<br />
<br />
And when it’s time for her to leave <br />
I hope it’s on her terms<br />
that the fall to earth is gentle<br />
her only sound a joyful noiseJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-60455527428070157232011-11-30T16:30:00.000-08:002011-11-30T16:30:59.208-08:00Office Hours<i>Not sure if I've ever posted this one before. My educator friends can all relate, it's something we've all been asked at one time or another...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
When you asked me <br />
if we covered anything important<br />
I didn’t pause to wonder<br />
<br />
I got into this work <br />
because it’s all important<br />
<br />
But since you asked<br />
then yes<br />
I imagine we did<br />
<br />
We watched a bootleg copy of King’s I have a dream speech<br />
took turns playing Vivaldi on the Stradivarius <br />
correctly calculated the date of the rapture <br />
made routine repairs to the space station<br />
hosted a gymnastics team from Sweden <br />
brokered a peace deal in Palestine <br />
isolated the gene for breast cancer<br />
produced an Oscar-winning film<br />
blew up some shit in Chemistry<br />
solved Fermat’s Last Theorem<br />
created a masterpiece in oil<br />
<br />
And did some prep for the final<br />
<br />
Missed youJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-71248116810819313592011-11-08T08:40:00.000-08:002011-11-08T08:40:11.084-08:00Things that could have stopped meA normal childhood <br />
without pharmacology <br />
<br />
Never learned Latin<br />
<br />
My parents stayed together<br />
<br />
Don’t own a tweed jacket<br />
<br />
The voices inside my head encourage <br />
but never scream<br />
<br />
Incessant cries of the breakfast flock<br />
<br />
Living in countries <br />
where poets are killed<br />
<br />
Time changes and the dark seasons<br />
<br />
Red pen withinJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-47324087684096087612011-10-21T15:58:00.000-07:002011-10-21T15:58:08.588-07:00Celebration of Clay Art<i>This evening, I will have the good fortune of co-hosting an event commemorating a new collection of rare and valuable Northwest ceramic art. Every meaningful event in life deserves a poem...<br />
</i><br />
Earth, long before us<br />
alive, now and forever<br />
today, source of joy<br />
<br />
<br />
.J. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-79769096727550071032011-09-30T14:22:00.000-07:002011-09-30T14:22:14.064-07:00Narratives From Her ReturnIn loops reminiscent of planetary arcs <br />
she’d sail to the far corners of the earth <br />
then return for some respite and a soft, clean bed<br />
<br />
While there<br />
as here<br />
she lit up doorways and gained favor <br />
by learning the ancient greetings of her hosts<br />
peering into their worlds through newly borrowed words <br />
<br />
Once home, she’d unpack new stories<br />
of long hikes, throbbing feet <br />
and close calls<br />
each one starting with a greeting of place<br />
<br />
From the cabbie in Guangzhou <br />
<i>Have you eaten?<br />
</i><br />
The warriors of Masai<br />
<i>How are the children?<br />
</i><br />
In the rarified air of Bhutan<br />
<i>Is your body well?<br />
</i><br />
And my favorite <br />
from the Twi of Ghana<br />
<i>How is your soul perceiving the world?<br />
</i>J. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-28175043213504154912011-08-19T22:51:00.000-07:002011-08-19T22:51:50.930-07:00Showering with Perseid<i>It's August so I've disappeared, on the bike for long pulls, in the kayak for long paddles, and writing without posting. It's catch up time.<br />
<br />
</i>This time is ours <br />
but only while I’m kneeling <br />
at her altar<br />
<br />
Paddling through the blueness <br />
of the deepest lake I know <br />
precious time before moonrise<br />
I feel her stinging sparks of light<br />
assaulting every pore <br />
<br />
Exotic sounding neighbors<br />
with their names so unfamiliar <br />
make me pause enough to wonder <br />
if the Soho field is artsy?<br />
<br />
Is Virginis Gamma blushing? <br />
<br />
Does Elenin need a friend?<br />
<br />
Half a world down under <br />
just beyond my line of vision<br />
there’s an unseen comet burning<br />
on a mirror of glassy water<br />
swirling dust across the outback <br />
<br />
I still think of her at night<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
J. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-80303063839630152612011-07-08T15:49:00.000-07:002011-07-08T15:49:19.704-07:00Rescue Team<i>God help me but the next time I see this kind of cruelty I may be forced to lose my sunny disposition and take up weapons...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
My angel saw him first<br />
fur coat and glassy-eyed<br />
stunned by the heat <br />
of that first scorching day<br />
<br />
Blame my devil for hurling <br />
the brick through your windshield<br />
knowing the freedom <br />
that broken glass bringsJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-22230161038868264762011-06-16T15:41:00.000-07:002011-06-16T15:41:59.354-07:00Office Hours<i>Okay, the academic year is coming to a close, so what's a little cynicism among friends?<br />
</i><br />
<br />
When you asked me <br />
if we covered anything important<br />
I didn’t pause to wonder<br />
<br />
I got into this work <br />
because it’s all important<br />
<br />
But since you asked<br />
then yes<br />
I imagine we did<br />
<br />
We watched a bootleg copy of King’s <i>I have a dream </i>speech<br />
took turns playing Vivaldi on the Stradivarius <br />
correctly calculated the date of the rapture <br />
made routine repairs to the space station<br />
hosted a gymnastics team from Sweden <br />
brokered a peace deal in Palestine <br />
isolated the gene for breast cancer<br />
produced an Oscar-winning film<br />
blew up some shit in Chemistry<br />
solved Fermat’s Last Theorem<br />
created a masterpiece in oil<br />
<br />
And did some prep for the final<br />
<br />
Missed youJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-35005594115055176682011-05-25T10:21:00.000-07:002011-05-25T10:21:17.821-07:00ToastsOn this beautiful day <br />
draped in regalia <br />
and the echoes of droning speeches<br />
our story concludes<br />
with the toasts we didn’t make<br />
<br />
To that tease of a thesis<br />
who kept taunting you <br />
until the last possible moment<br />
when she finally got dressed <br />
and made it on time<br />
<br />
To the lecherous advisor <br />
who finally backed off <br />
during your senior year<br />
<br />
For the untold hours <br />
spent holding hands <br />
watching the IV drip<br />
because her parents <br />
wouldn’t understand<br />
<br />
To the vapid electeds<br />
who waited to undermine <br />
higher education <br />
until you walked<br />
<br />
To the girlfriends <br />
who used reliable birth control <br />
<br />
For running out of champagne <br />
before Gramps got too loopy<br />
<br />
May we all die in the proper order <br />
May our suits always fit so wellJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-86716397593455911182011-05-22T17:05:00.000-07:002011-05-22T17:05:31.203-07:00Truly Alive<i>Ackkkkk! It's a beautiful day in our little town but the work was piling up so I snuck in to the office catch up on some things. Even so, there is nothing like a poetry break to invigorate the senses...</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Through these high rise windows<br />
I stare at the joy of smiling dogs <br />
catching sailing disks<br />
little ones practicing the May pole dance<br />
runners with endorphin highs<br />
<br />
There’s a woman today<br />
who seems too old to swing <br />
but she’s doing it anyway <br />
getting really high <br />
<br />
Her face is filled with joy<br />
so much that I want to go out there <br />
drink in her contagious smile<br />
invite her to stop <br />
so I can give her a big hug <br />
<br />
The kind of hug that says <br />
thank you for sharing<br />
and steer clear of careers <br />
where the only possible joy <br />
is staring at verdant parks<br />
at others who are truly aliveJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-64828757054367965022011-05-09T14:51:00.000-07:002011-05-09T14:51:22.425-07:00NW Poets' ConcordOn Saturday I had the rare pleasure of attending the NW Poets' Concord in Newport, Oregon. In its third year, there were about 100 poets in attendance. It was a real treat to look around the room and note "I had a class from her" or "I just read his book and it rocked" or "he's the guy who sent me that one rejection letter last year." Oregon is a small, mostly rural state but we are blessed with an abundance of creative talent.<br />
<br />
I especially enjoyed serving on a panel for a discussion about political poetry, along with Marianne Klekacz, at the invitation of friend and poet Catherine McGuire. It was our intention to stir things up and from every indication, we were successful.J. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-2180122663600261612011-05-02T11:35:00.000-07:002011-05-02T11:35:33.075-07:00DoneApril is over and with it National Poetry Writing Month, the challenge of writing a poem a day. I managed to write 40 original poems - still having trouble with directions, I suppose. I'll probably back off on the writing a little and do some serious re-writing, as most of these were written in less than seven minutes. Some are truly dreadful and others might look better with a good bath and a hot meal. We'll see.J. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-42004320448976720222011-04-29T08:44:00.000-07:002011-04-29T08:48:54.265-07:00Ode to the Partners of PoetsWe wake up and gently reach over <br />
your silken bare shoulders<br />
for the notepad that captures our dreams<br />
<br />
When you’re thinking romance <br />
we’re thinking Petrarchan sonnets<br />
<br />
You rarely have our full attention<br />
as we scribble on napkins <br />
and read back snarled lines<br />
<br />
As you hear our torrid Sestina <br />
the one that makes your heart pound<br />
you briefly pause to wonder<br />
last Valentine’s Day at the cabin? <br />
or daydream of the latte’ girl at Starbucks?<br />
<br />
Once April arrives<br />
you’ve already made a list <br />
of good books and films <br />
you’ll have to see alone<br />
<br />
Our husbands, wives, and lovers<br />
here’s to you <br />
for all you endure <br />
<br />
<br />
<i>[prompted by Poetic Asides]<br />
</i>J. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-81523741035109241792011-04-25T08:25:00.000-07:002011-04-25T08:25:02.302-07:00A Fine Line<i>[From a Poetic Asides Prompt, Falling]<br />
<br />
</i>Having survived the best and the worst of dreams<br />
grizzly looking in the tent<br />
nailing the Idol audition<br />
naked dissertation defense<br />
it took reading Ryan and Jong<br />
a few months on the running trails<br />
and the steadfast support <br />
of family and friends<br />
for her to learn the fine line <br />
that separates falling and flyingJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-5641563239547392402011-04-24T09:13:00.000-07:002011-04-24T09:13:12.917-07:00Unity PrayerBased on a half-life of travel<br />
long hikes from the vortexes of Sedona <br />
to the wet cliffs of Moher <br />
the top of the stairs at St. Peters <br />
to the Tsing Shan Monastery<br />
<br />
It’s abundantly clear: <br />
we’ve the same dreams<br />
the same hopes for our children<br />
the same longing for the sacred <br />
<br />
Whether searching for the elusive Kedushah<br />
the baby Jesus or those ubiquitous purple Peeps<br />
may we find the unity that was there all along<br />
<br />
Let your many prayers flow together as oneJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-77138717386600719332011-04-22T09:33:00.000-07:002011-04-22T09:33:41.475-07:00Dream of the One Place<i>Based on a Poetic Asides prompt, one unique person, place or thing.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
There’s this one place <br />
first visited in a dream<br />
where I can create what <br />
I’ve been put here to create<br />
<br />
Inspired by Elysium <br />
it’s backed by the green peaks of Cascadia<br />
plied by clean, flowing waters <br />
swollen with urgent salmonidae<br />
perched on a gentle slope <br />
linking the new world and the old<br />
<br />
The homesite well-built<br />
with Walden-like basics<br />
room for drama-free travelers<br />
and filled with monastic quiet<br />
<br />
My creative space has bookshelves rivaling Trinity<br />
reams of receptive paper and infinite inkpots<br />
one chair that makes me more clever<br />
smells of leather and lemon oil<br />
maps that don’t change every year<br />
<br />
One point<br />
one foci <br />
one place<br />
<br />
As the one who joined me <br />
at the headwaters of this magical journey<br />
step now into my dream <br />
help me draw the maps and charts to land us there<br />
to find our one place<br />
where all of this becomes realJ. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1464960186859672968.post-6830570437303927452011-04-20T07:43:00.000-07:002011-04-20T07:43:14.108-07:00Lest Ye Shall Not<i>Based on a Poetic Asides Prompt, Message in a Bottle</i><br />
<br />
<br />
To whomever finds and reads this<br />
know that not everything you read is true. <br />
Just because it’s on the web or reported as news <br />
doesn’t guarantee it’s fact<br />
<br />
If you’re opening this up on another shore <br />
which would mean your own and not ours<br />
know that we’re mostly a good people. <br />
There are crazies everywhere <br />
and it’s likely we have more than you. <br />
Ours are just more visible and we always<br />
have enough of them to export.<br />
<br />
But for every Fred Phelps, Sarah Palin or Charlie Sheen<br />
we have cities filled with caring and generous people. <br />
For every distraught mother who drives her kids swimming into a fast moving river, there are twenty million good moms. For every arms dealer who beats plowshares into swords there’s a family owned farm helping to feed the world.<br />
<br />
On the balance we’re a good people. <br />
We help out when your city is flattened by an earthquake when it’s time to quash polio, when the wall of water sends isotopes pinging off the heavens.<br />
<br />
If you only believe one thing you read today, let it be this. We are not as we sometimes seem, we are better. <br />
Peace be unto you.J. D. Mackenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10188487574377344543noreply@blogger.com2