BOB MACKENZIE

 

The Silken Wind

 

Sliding down the sun

like a sky hung hawk in flight

I will follow you

through this timeless space

and ride the silken wind for you.

 

Like a clipper ship

on an endless sea of love

I will sail beyond

all the worlds I know

and ride the silken wind for you.

 

Like a drifting leaf

seeking some new home in fall

I will turn and turn

though the fires may flare

and ride the silken wind for you.

 

And by you obsessed

I will fly and sail and drift

and will drown for you

and will burn for you

and ride the wind for you.

 

Storms Never Last

 

All the lonely people came

then the crows appeared

and the sun went blacker

than night of a winter day.

 

Parked car conversations

in the courtyard of the

hydroelectric power station:

the wilderness of mirrors.

 

Spirits of tulle whirled

the dark of wind and rain

raised us up in transports

of joy and gossamer terror.

 

Pressed close by darkness

stopped hearts became one-

brave new worlds in silence-

began once more to breathe.

 

Out of darkness came light

demons of wind and rain

mist like wrapped the car:

only the awesome silence.

 

No mere sunset this,

the temple's in flames,

our world is burning,

entire nations weep.

 

Snapshot: December 17, 2013

 

in this black sky there is no noon sun     

the dark smothers all sense of daylight

silence has fallen across the land

a pall of smoke forecasts coming death

sirens wail against the still quiet air

 

spreading across the land like cancer

the shadow of some black predator

hushed hunter seeking some final end

and the flames! Oh bright flames growing

sun fallen to earth to devour all

 

in the heavens an ancient man hangs

the shadow spreading to take him in

fingers of fire reaching to take him

an ancient man hangs waiting in hopes

an angel will pluck him from this sky

 

the holy choir below is silent

the seasonal concert is cancelled

the angel voices lost in the smoke

the inferno spreading like brimstone

this is no occasion to rejoice

 

out of the dark and flames sparks of hope

stars against that terrific sky spread

everywhere light against the darkness

against the fire’s eager appetite

human souls holding back the darkness

 

The Rain

 

it seems like forty days and nights it’s rained;           

pennies from heaven could become deadly,                         

or hail the size of baseballs, as I’ve seen,          

could batter even cattle in the fields.                          

 

pennies from heaven could become deadly                          

ballistic missiles sent from America,                          

could batter even cattle in the fields,                          

send shopkeepers fleeing their market tents.            

 

ballistic missiles sent from America,                          

indiscriminate as bees in a swarm,                             

send shopkeepers fleeing their market tents,            

leaving dogs howling after in the ruins.                     

 

indiscriminate as bees in a swarm,                             

death rains down for days on faraway lands              

leaving dogs howling after in the ruins;                     

as rain falls in the dark and children cry.         

 

death rains down for days on faraway lands,             

guided by boys at video terminals                              

as rain falls in the dark and children cry          

and we ask just who are the terrorists.

 

BOB MACKENZIE

 

BOB MACKENZIE grew up near the foothills of the Rocky Mountains in rural Alberta with artist parents.  His father was a professional photographer and musician and his mother a photo technician, colourist, and painter.  By the age of five, he had his own camera and ever since has been shooting photographs and writing poems and stories.  Raised in this environment, young Bobby developed a natural affinity for photography and for the intricacies of language.  He now lives and writes in Kingston, Ontario, Canada. Bob’s writing has appeared in more than 400 journals across North America and as far away as Australia, Greece, India, and Italy. He has published nineteen volumes of poetry and prose-fiction and his work has appeared in numerous anthologies.  He's received numerous local and international awards for his writing as well as an Ontario Arts Council grant for literature, a Canada Council Grant for performance, and a Fellowship to attend the Summer Literary Seminars in Tbilisi, Georgia. For eighteen years Bob’s poetry was spoken and sung live with original music by the ensemble Poem de Terre, and the group released six albums.