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Nathan MacKrith Feb 2019
Love is a disease
it starts with a carrier
unaffected by the pathogen
it knowingly spreads

Love is extremely contagious
so much as a single look
is often enough to infect

The carrier finds a victim
unaware of the danger
as eyes meet, hearts palpitate
spreading the venom quicker

Pheremones flood logic centers
neurotoxins inducing insanity
the jade wasp walks its prey
towards the regrettably chill flicks of net

That compel roaches to walk off cliffs
carrying flowers and chocolates
seeking a rainbow bridge of hope
finding no more than pretty-colored moisture

Nurturing parasitic demon babies that burst out of a scooped clean chest
a dine and dash leaving their guest
to pay the unsettled romance cheque
and the hotel room? left a wreck

Befouled by graffiti on room walls written
in what smells like Odin's *****

Roses come in more hues than red
Violets are violet not blue
There's more to romance than what's said
On some card conveying love to you
~
NM
2/19/17
A poem written in a style influenced by the antipoetry movemement:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anti-poetry

presented as part of a Dawkins’-meme based poetrycollection at the “Trash Talkin’” literary Conference at the University of Regina, in Regina, SK, Canada
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
I am runningshuffling awaytowards meyou
Underover inout updown
My skin’s creepingcrawling a walkjogruntrot
offon myyour bodybuddy
stuckmoving througharound
my contentupset stageaudience
screamwhispers whyhow iamamnot
happysadgladangrydisgustefplease

I do not not want to not not want whatwhowherewhenwhyhow
Iknowyesnomaybeso can’trepeat canremember
the questionanswer problemsolution
Dramaticpragmatic topsyturvy jaggedcurvy
butteredunbutterflied catapillcocoonsburyresurrect
christanpagan nonnotunsmoking holysacrilege
donundone wonlost underover sunmoonlightdark

Singsungsanging a lullabyanthemrhymenomore
Instagrams socialanticipation partwholly couthun
Kaurrupillaurelsfordrivel I wantneedtogostay
Writeunwrite my thoughtswords publishredact
alovehate wedunwed wonlost wasneverwas
realitydreamsoffairunfairaffairsofheartstreamgulch
He­reliesstandsthere once wasis afairyunjust conprehensivegyst of tallsmall taletelltolduntold

I want to not not want you wantneed youme
to alwaysnever nowthen so I cancouldshouldwill
be presentpassive in athe time of troublesuccess
so wemeyoutheythemus werearewillmightbe
awareunaware silent and listen have the same lettersvowelsconsonantssoundsunsounds
Shakespeare shookshakes spearssparszounds
Inoutupdownleftright lifedeathcradlegrave
~
NM
01/08/20
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
A smudge and gift of tobacco tie  
Given to me on the urban forest’s edge
Alive with spirits dancing with soles’
Muted drumbeat as the rhythm in their song

Lost sisters
Without their shoes

Lost sisters
Leave their markings

Velvet footprints
Next to Big Bear’s

Scarlet on  
Big Bear’s Path

Remembered Sisters
Dance with us again

Daughter
Mother
Sister
Aunt
Grandmother
Lover
Best friend
Cousin
Classmate
Neighbor
~
NM
Included in Limited Edition Chapbook "They Sing to Us" (Ed. Brandt, Di, 2016, Radish Press). Unfortunately my surname was misspelled as "McKrith".

"They Sing to Us"  was inspired by the Walking With Our Sisters Exhibit that was hosted at Brandon University in March of 2016. The exhibition featured 108 moccasin vamps created to honor the lives of children whose lives were lost in the residential school system. The original Walking With Our Sisters exhibition features 1,808 vamps commemorating the 1200 + Indigenous women and girls who have gone missing in Canada since 1980.
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
Love,
lost or unrequited, cuts the very soul more deeply than all the
socio-culture-quasi-religious-politically-unable-to-correctly-in­fer-idio-ology
hokum this world can produce,
proliferate through propagation

There is no soul so grieved as one wading through the murk-stained waters of what once was a garden of carnal delights

The edge of love, discarded or disdained, is the Cosmic Surgeon's scalpel, bifurcating each person, paring the genius from the idiot and throwing away the genius

            L. O. V. E. D.

Five letters, for esoteric sages, three times trysting in amour’s lapsed too true virtue, powered by one ringing heap of dazed, confused hot mess to rule them all.

Take care, beautiful “I love you still”
Good luck, good night,
Go with God
Tell him I whisper a fond adieu
~
N.M.
12/20/16
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
Oh Canada
You are one hundred and fifty years young
And across this great nation our many
Cultures are proclaimed as asset
Rather than liability
Or so the Head mouths
Until the Head attempts to ban its own niqab

How can We truly be free
When the Head proclaims:
“Smile, you’re on camera, oh patriot
You have nothing to fear if you but OBEY

If you allow our shears to slice
Your liberties free from you
A twisted plot device  
To put in motion
Taxes, taxes,
Bombings, bombings,
So We don’t fall down!”

The Mouth tells us:

“Your safety comes at a price,
Oh Canada
Safety is not a cheap commodity
Oh nation

We owe it to our southern Big Brother
To help enforce peace
It is time for us to pay the bank
What we are owed
Oh country

Like unto what Ginsberg once said;
‘It’s them Russians, them Russians,  
And them Chinamen.  
And the terrorist Boogeyman.’”

Head smiles approvingly at Mouth
As the Hands share Their gospel:

“Children, do not fret,
All is well so
Keep calm and carry on
we act to protect your safety
Feel the comfort of the
Flak jackets of the Watchmen
Strong and secure among us
Patrolling with tanks, guns, and teargas
All is well, little ones,
Let us tuck you in with a sweet THC sleep
we act as we do in your best interests.

The match which lit the state-approved ****
Snuffed out by the wind of the vox populi:

“We cry
Oh nation
Over the spilled blood
Of the unarmed soldier who died
Protecting the epitaph of the nameless
We mourn for the nation’s first
Whose land was unjustly taken
Their wealth pillaged
Distributed amongst *******
We weep for the babies  
Who cannot get into hospitals
Whose waiting rooms filled for hours
Because the doctors are too overworked
To deliver the children
Who will grow up to find
They have none of the skills
For any of the jobs

We cannot keep calm and carry on
Freedom is in peril
We must defend it with all our might
Protect what’s ours by right
The right to grow love
Not nuclear third arms
The right to be known as a people
Of bravery and longevity
Not platitudes and brevity
We have the duty to remember that we
Are the True North Strong AND FREE
Oh Canada
Your People Stand on Guard For THEE
~
NM
07/01/17
* in response to Allen Ginsburg's "America". An idea conceived after the 2014 attack on Canadian Parliament, and perfected with  Canada's sesquicentennial in 2017 in mind
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
“Hey, how's it going?”
What a terr-
It's a nightm-
Awf-
Unbear-
Unbelie-
Ba-
Not gr-
Horr-
Wors-
So stres-
Tire-
Hung-
Hur-
Sic-
No goo-
“Not too bad. And you?”
~
NM

11/18/16
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
Dance
ahead of explosions
that threaten to burst from your soul into your soles.

Dance
for your elders, mother, father, brothers, sisters, friends,
for those before,
those here now,
those yet to come.

Dance
with grace that makes the eagle envious,
playfulness that makes the otter serious,
more strength than a bear,
deeper courage than the badger.

Never let someone to say
"you cannot dance"
no one can
claim, usurp, conquer
your affair
with beats of beasts.

Dance
in today,
the movement of yesterday is ghost,
the motions of tomorrow are shadow.

Dance
beyond explosions that threaten to burst
your soul and soles.
~
NM
5/25/17
Nathan MacKrith Feb 2022
S--oh not wanting to m--ingle
~
NM
02/09/21
Inspired by the style of E.E. Cummings
Nathan MacKrith Jan 2021
As I lie here, half awake
my brain juices stewing
your memory makes me quake
with absolute longing

You come in quietly
sit on my mind’s edge
soft pads silent as Cait Sith
perched on a dream ledge

Your face is never the same
it’s what is within that I recall
I don’t even know your name
still for you each time I fall

We walk the dream land
your hand light on my wrist
our sweet union unplanned
a reaching through mist

It seems I arrive as you’re
on your way to leave
your foot through the door
offer me your bed for reprieve

It’s so hard to let you go
let go of essence effervescence
for your return I don’t know
beyond reminiscence

of those golden hours
when being with you’s my bliss,
O shape heart’s mind scours
from depths so often remiss

during the hours I am awake
so at night my heart will play
make my essence quake
wish never to go back to day
~
NM
11/29/20
Nathan MacKrith Feb 2021
...in...hale...ex...hale...

When threatened with an absence of life’s essence,
we grab out where we can,
cling to primal effervescence.

Pure panic produces piety
when under a threat of death,
to quell our expelled anxiety
we hold on to Brighid’s* breath.

In streets of pandemonium
devastated by Death’s bell,
blooms the Chrysanthemum**
a bit of Heaven amidst Hell.

Just one more breath
before the dying day’s gone,
given over to the kiss of Death
a memory of long gone dawn:

planted, secure, in my arms
is an organic bit of hope,
for salvation from harms
a tender vine-like rope:

This too shall pass
there is an end to the storm
a return to lush grass
caressed by the sun so warm.

...in...hale...ex...hale...
~
NM
01/31/21
This poem is commentary based on  a news story about how the people of Japan are turning to plants in seeking comfort during the C-19 pandemic.

*Brighid is the Celtic goddess of poetry, spring, birth, and renewal

**The significance of Chrysanthemums in Japan:

https://www.sacbee.com/entertainment/living/travel/article3326026.html
Nathan MacKrith Feb 2021
O Eldest Tree,
I look at your gnarled hands
which have witnessed all our history
as you sit in Time’s grassy lands.

You were already ancient when
we capped the great pyramid,
Long before that, you were Gilgamesh’s Haven
Under your leaves Adam hid

Methuselah scrawled his name in your bark,
your siblings built Noah’s Ark,
for Moses your leaves blazed in shame

Jesus smiled upon your leaves,
Buddha pondered the universe, your branches eaves
of the Great Prophets.

O Eldest tree
sheathed in mystery
all life bows before you,
including Ozymandias- who fell and swore.

When we knew no words
you spoke daily with birds,
before we built our Babel
you knew the River’s gabble.

O Eldest Tree
When you look at me,
So short lived, so tiny,
what is it that you see?

Am I even a drop in
the ocean of eternity?
To you, Eldest Tree,
where does my place begin?

Eldest Tree
please look at me
tell me I have meaning
something from me worth gleaning

For I feel like a wind
tossed in your leafed tresses
another of Earth’s messes,
O Eldest Tree.

O Eldest Tree,
Set in Time’s Sands,
Old when we capped the pyramids,
O Tree of Merlin’s staff,
I try to etch my name on you,
but my knife’s too dull
to pierce your adamantine skin.
~
NM
2/12/21
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
God gave us the stars to shoot for
so we would have ***** other
than our sister or brother
eager to reach the shooting range we slammed the shuttle door
on our captain’s silver crown
in a sea spilling from His ichor
sack punctured by our hubris we drown-
memes and cat videos worth dying for

We set fire to the shuttle
gasp as our air begins to leave
Amazon(s) choose to scuttle
trees land and humans need to breathe
a musk most putrid rises as we cannibalize our space ex
who’s so far gone as to not come back
her zombie bridezilla tirade wrecks  
our plan it removes futures from the trajectory track

God gave us the stars to shoot for
so we reduced our target to soot
we revelled in our high score
not feeling the pain in our shot foot
and the cats still in secret revery dance their funny jig
sardonic wit stuffed still in every blank screen -small or large-
on the skeleton of our ghastly ghost space rig
reduced to rubble by a friendly depth charge.

God gave us the stars to shoot for
it was we who chose to use a gun
we chose to ram through the door
not checking if it was open
God gave us the stars to shoot for
leaving the details for us to decide
rockets to be built to make war or explore
as shuttlecraft for a human slingshot ride
an arching advance into the beauties of
our Creator made for us to enjoy in love
~
NM
08/25/19
Nathan MacKrith Sep 2019
God gave us the stars to shoot for
so we would have ***** other
than our sister or brother
eager to reach the shooting range we slammed the shuttle door
on our captain’s silver crown
in a sea spilling from His ichor
sack punctured by our hubris we drown-
memes and cat videos worth dying for

We set fire to the shuttle
gasp as our air begins to leave
Amazon(s) choose to scuttle
trees land and humans need to breathe
a musk most putrid rises as we cannibalize our space ex
who’s so far gone as to not come back
her zombie bridezilla tirade wrecks  
our plan it removes futures from the trajectory track

God gave us the stars to shoot for
so we reduced our target to soot
we revelled in our high score
not feeling the pain in our shot foot
and the cats still in secret revery dance their funny jig
sardonic wit stuffed still in every blank screen -small or large-
on the skeleton of our ghastly ghost space rig
reduced to rubble by a friendly depth charge.

God gave us the stars to shoot for
it was we who chose to use a gun
we chose to ram through the door
not checking if it was open
God gave us the stars to shoot for
leaving the details for us to decide
rockets to be built to make war or explore
as shuttlecraft for a human slingshot ride
an arching advance into the beauties of
our Creator made for us to enjoy in love
~
NM
08/25/19
Nathan MacKrith Apr 2019
We met when you were small
a tiny white puffball
I placed a band blue
round your neck to
show you were my kitty

I knew so exactly
what you should be
good, kind, lovely, sweet
smart, fun, strong, complete
the package with loyal

and you were, so royal
without blemish or soil
upon your pure white fur
heart free of smudge or blur
your name was Snowbell

you grew to know it well
from birth to when you fell
crimson mottled splotch mess
stained your angelic dress
a broken vessel as am I

speaking of how you did die
your life story in my eye
tale of cuddles, head rubbed
rolling joyful in the mud
you spirit confined

by man’s wall defined
freedom’s what you pined
for ever gazing at door
shut stuck wanting outside

Petite Cherie, where now you reside
may sweet freedom fully abide
may you live without doors
fields of grass be your floors
enjoy them, please, it is your right

for this world which held tight
to be lost in pursuit
finally allowed to be you
I let go the band blue
but never my love for you

Petite Cherie, run, be free—
please wait patiently
for the time when we
both have naught but grass floor
no remnants of that shut door.
~
NM
04/06/19
In memoriam of Snowbell (2005-2019)
She was the best feline companion this fellow has ever been blessed to have.
RequiesCAT In Pace, Petite Cherie
Nathan MacKrith Feb 2020
The room is pale in light
Quivering as dawn after night
Prickles run down my cold bare skin
Turn to throbs when she walks in

She is the most beautiful woman
I have ever seen and I can
feel my heart beat like hummingbird
wings as her lips sing I grasp every word

“You are too young to worry about chest pain,
take care of your heart and I’ll see you again
in seven months, you carry so much weight
Lose some of that and you’d feel great”

Her expert hands are strong yet soft
Like dove down on my chest as I cough
“Keep positive and love will find you
Go out even if you don’t want to.”

She leaves me to dress myself
Pick my coverings off the shelf
The room is as blinding bright
As when night gives way to daylight.
~
NM
02/04/20
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
Her fingers are velvet
Click SUBSCRIBE
dipped in aptitude
swift sure masseuses
We NEED your support
kneading loose
voices carved in
a wooden prison
Subscribe
assuring them sweetly
A like would really help us
there is no need to fear
their mother is here

DON’T FORGET TO LIKE
the voices (LIKE US) speak
and in turn are
LIKE SUBSCRIBE LIKE
loosed wild herd
SUBSCRIBE SUBSCRIBE SUBSCRIBE
hurricane stirred
LIKELIKELIKELIKELIKELIKELIKELIKELIKE
undeterred until
c   a  l   m    
ssswweeeppppsss
Like
    t—  (like) R— (Like) —I. C —(LIKE)  —
k.  L.—LIKE!!!—-In. —/SUB —Ggg— SCRIBE—in

bows-LIKE US
tring- ON
taut-FACEBOOK
tight
crickcrackling tingling
AND INSTAGRAM!
RRRlectric
     s (hare)  li  d      (Like us)e
   g  l  i  (NOW)  e.  Subscr i  {be (LIKE US)}
                          p (lease?)

S( like)      
                            W(e/I need your support)    
           subsc (R) ibe
(Li)ke      
      
                             (S)ubscribe!!!

SUBSCRIBESUBSCRIBESUBSCRIBESUBSCRIBESUBSCRIBESUBS­CRIBESUBSCRIBESUBSCRIBESUBSCRIBESUBSCRIBESUBS

STUPPARE! bring low the crescendo!

...
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SUB-no!
...SCR-SILENCIO!
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LI-FULL REST! ...
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     ... .... ... .... ... ....

They want me to subscribe
seek to prescribe
me Their prognosis of capitalism
content only when
I approve Their content

Her prophetess grace
unravels unlaces
Their societal disgraces
chastises the beasts
of Babylon with a wrist flick

I hear freedom ring
as Her fingers sing
cajole the oppressed
voices before drowned, now
staccato into stiletto
her tryst with strings
Joy their union brings
Her ac-cello-batic
prowess shrining springs
loose raven’s wings
each note a miracle brings
into world new hope
Subscribe? NOPE!!!
~
NM
5/17/18
for Alanna, a comment on her final recital
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
I was busy chasing rainbows, dragons, and unicorns
I probably caught a leprechaun or maybe the Jackalope
Do I regret being busy? Nope!

I was busy solving the world’s problems with love’s power
So busy I forgot to shower
And grew my personal jungle
Where I was busy chasing tigers with the help of bears and panthers

If I say I was busy
I was actually a bee
or maybe a bee’s knees
Because nothing’s more busy
than a bee collecting pollen

If I tell you I am busy
A volcano exploded,
and my path’s corroded
by lava pits perilous
and hungry magma monsters

If I tell you I am busy
I may be counting sheep
for little Bo Peep or to sleep
Trying to cuddle with my stuffed buds

If I tell you I’m busy,
I’m busy in a way most people may not understand
but you do, because you’re grand
~
NM
03/17/20

*for Harly
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
Heaven’s pale
Earth remains
Fog obscures
Ground sustains

Heaven is still
listen for His voice
to know His will
cratered in choice

Heaven’s pale
God sustains
Fog obscured
Life’s remains

Heaven is wintry
as it remains still
frozen like a sentry
upon the hill

Heaven’s pale
lines between earth
angels become blurred
waiting for words of worth

Heaven is placed on earth
frigid borders pocked
scarred pilgrim’s valley
sacred treasure locked

Heaven is pale
while we remain on earth
Heaven is still
there when we leave earth
Heaven is wintry
days giving way to spring
Heaven is placed on earth
so each valley is treasure unlocked

Heaven remains
when fog obscures
Heaven is still
to know His will
Remains still
Upon the hill
~
NM 09/29/19
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
Her dreams are sky-dance
streams of on-high romance

Her life remains planted
adored by all who know
her beauty's not taken for granted
Yet she scorns earthly lovers

Child of divided genes
part sky part ground
seeks heavenly rather than earthly scenes.

Her life is sky-dance
Her reality buries romance
~
NM
07/06/14
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
Winter is coming
with glimmers of snow
this at least I know
because of sky growls

Winter is coming
I watch fowls
wrapped in their feather cowls
head for warm relief

Winter is coming
gasps the last leaf
unfurled from its mortal sheaf
when Night King’s sword swings down

Winter is coming
tremble, under Ice Maiden’s frown
when the sight of her gown
dismays rather than awes

Winter is coming
with its silent claws
so much pain it will cause
its enemies will know defeat

Winter is coming
there is no soul so fleet
as to successfully retreat
from Winter’s adroit wrath

Winter arrives at Winterfell
taking a hail and sleet bath
contented growls cause pause
spikes rained down
cover advance of a thief
whose nefarious shadow’s prow
stifles light so darkness may grow.
~
NM
4/11/18
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
Is what her profile reads
I feel this statement needs
More than minor revision
For her words malign my vision

Of an exquisite lady
(a bit plump, maybe)
yet her eyes are a sweet fountain
Where my heart longs to remain

Her hair is a lush wonder that fills
My mind with life like the Pembina Hills
Her plush skin is preciousness bronzed a ***
Kissed softly by they passing of Apollo the sun god

There is no “just”
about her I must
become more aware
of a beauty rare

Could this lovely
lady speak with me
Seek to see what the stars mean for there to be
If I am to be meant for her, and her for me?
~NM
08/31/19
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
Dear You,

I've been here, waiting
for quite an awful long while
my Christmas tree’s a skeleton
my Mistletoe’s missing the toe
my ugly sweater’s an attractive doily
the eggnog’s mould spores unionized
while I’ve been here, waiting for You

I don't care about composting tree,
missing toe, changeling sweater,
or mould spore solidarity

All I care about is You,
who cannot be
bought packaged bagged sold,
I have not one use for gold
trimmings or fancy paper,
I can live without things
baubles toys trinkets rings

All I need
All I want
for Christmas
is You

Truly Yours,

Me
~

Nathan MacKrith
11/28/17
Published in BU’s “The Quill” Vol. 109, Issue No. 14 Dec 4, 2018
Nathan MacKrith Jan 2021
Oh so dear a flower
I spend every waking hour
Dreaming of how we met
It seemed Fate had set
Our paths with cosmic power
Intertwined as strings in net

I was drawn to her grace
As the pale of her face
Let Life’s colour enter in
As we two begin
The end of the chase
Started conversation

And we danced away
Words and minds in sway
She lets me take the lead
Her trust plants the seed
For a new better day
Where I can meet her need

To feel resplendent
Beauty not dependant
On the pomp and circumstance
Of a perfect romance dance
My steps lead but are pliant
Give misstep a millionth chance

I adore her
She loves me
Deeply
Intensely
Completely
She and me

I need to be near her
Hear her heart whisper
Suckle the sweet residue
Of joy from knowing who
Is my true lover
And how her heart’s red

That should we ever part
My world shall fall apart
Leaving me grasping for air
Drowning without her there
As oxygen flees my body only a Gasping grasp for her care

I’ll always want her love
Swoop down from above
Greedy for lovers’ grub
Vie for it in the hubbub
While I am no dove
My heart’s no ****** stub

Oh dear oh dear
I beg her stay near
For she is my cover
My dearest sweet lover
Brush me here
Provide my cover

Oh so dear a flower
I was drawn to her grace
And we danced away
To feel resplendent
I adore her
I need to be near her
Should we ever part
I’ll always want her near
Oh dear oh dear
Oh so dear a flower
~
NM
01/19/20
I wrote this after viewing the nature photographs of a Danish artist, His photos were so beautiful they moved me to compose poetry.
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
“Am I the fairest of them all?”
asked the Moon.

Said the Ocean
“Dear lady,
there are ripples in your skin
that skim like dolphins,
Your colour is colourless
shifting from whites to yellows into darkness,
crackly crags bumpy skin
like the coral; rough, full of life.”

Moon thought for a moment, then smiled
and said to Ocean

“You shift and swirl,
never the same in two moments,
your surface is rippled
like the crags of my cheeks,
yet as I hold your gaze
there is clearly calm within,
your colour is no colours
so it seems I see a lot of me in you
oh you are much like me
beneath your liquid skin.”

It was then that they shared their first kiss,
a moment now revisited
nightly;
because
the moon was so beautiful
that the ocean
held up a mirror.
~
NM
11/06/19
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
I know that face,
I’m quite sure I do

It looks nearly like
one I daily reflect
upon as I brush
teeth and hair and foster
good proper hygiene
linked to my well being
I sip serial from a bowl
put on shoes whose sole
purpose is to cup feet
walking to complete
different destinations
under the same stars

I know that smile
gone from my life for a great while

It has been called treasure
which many try to bring out
a smile borne on shoulders
similar muscled boulders
yet its teeth stand taller
making me feel smaller
like I have been told to be
I do not see him suffer like me
he has a good job, loving wife
free from all my strife
a vision of what could be
possibly what should be me

I know that face,
I’m quite sure I do
but all the rest
belongs to you
~
NM
08/24/18
Nathan MacKrith Jan 2021
Sleep sweet, child
the new year comes
all yesterday’s troubles
gone as time outruns

the fear of yesteryear
the new year comes
what happened here
more than zeroes and ones

turning, ever turning as
the new year comes
remember what is dear
by the beat of drums

marching without retreat
the new year comes
full of joy, love, and hope
for what is to be done is

Sleep, sweet child
the new year comes
today has its own troubles
come as still time runs.
~
NM
12/31/20
*For Manar
Nathan MacKrith Sep 2019
No I will not write a poem
Obviously I will not
There’s no way anyone can make me
How come people keep trying
I know their efforts will fail
No matter how hard they try to
Great, now I’ve written a poem
~
NM
04/11/19
Nathan MacKrith Jan 2021
This is not my skin
I will not, can not fit in
suited for some other guy
Left here to wonder why

Why the hand-me-downs
a shortage of cosmic gowns
too many orders in my size
a flood seeking my prize

To find which is my skin
have what’s out match within
a fit made perfect right
no pinching not too tight

chafing ended the tightrope
walker’s life scratched hope
for feeling something without
ends in a flight of doubt

I am sure this is not my skin
they tell me doubt’s a sin
well king of sinners am I
watch my eternal life die

ever wonder where I belong
on which fork turned wrong
where direction unravelled
took a path well-travelled

By those in others’ skin
outside differs from within
wearing the suit of some guy
merchandise we did not buy

stand here middle of the road
burdened by my heavy load
left here to wonder why
my eye cannot find I

Aye, this is not my skin
a shell I try to fit in
like a hermit crab’s shell
my personal little hell

flames fan desire to know
where did my true self go
for surely there is another
my misplaced other

who also feels within
“this is not my skin”
I wonder how, wonder why
I cannot trade with that guy

Left here to wonder why
suited for some other guy
I will not, can not fit in
this is not my skin.
~
NM
01/06/21
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
I see it in her eyes
behind projected cloud-free skies
a storm she adeptly hides
where her real self abides

A place without roof or floor
beyond any window or door
where sunlight’s golden gleam
is not hidden by structure beam

I see it in his eyes
he does not realize
nor care for what’s beyond the cloud
happy in his hollow shroud

Of attainable worthless goals
given in fictitious roles
fulfilling any whimsy or wish
a delightful glucose dish

I see it in my eyes
I long for cloudless skies
where no storms abide
only countless pleasures reside

Where I do not need to be
constrained by the reality
of glass ceilings and halls
barricaded with translucent walls
~
NM
03/30/18
*inspired by the movie Ready Player One

presented as part of a Dawkins’-meme based poetrycollection at the 2019 “Trash Talkin’” literary Conference at the University of Regina, in Regina, SK, Canada
Nathan MacKrith Jan 2021
Practice
Others-Centered
Empathy

Keep
It
Simple and
Serene
Every
Second
~
NM
07/29/20
2020 was one heck of a year for many people. I lost Cleo, the second of two cats who’d been my companions for the last sixteen years of life. She had to be euthanized due to disease and old age.

However, as Cleo left my life, Poe entered in. Poe is my new cat, named after the great American poet, Edgar Allen Poe.

Like his namesake, Poe’s early life has been marred by grievous tragedy. His mother was killed by a car, and the other cats on my aunt’s farm were very unkind to him. I intend to give Poe a good and decent life from now on, as free from tragedy as I may provide. Poe, we are each other’s silver linings in an era of deep sorrow. You are the kiss of life in my hour of strife, O Poe Dearest <3
Nathan MacKrith Jan 2021
When today is all red
but yesterday was full green
    -remember, we’re all in this together

When you feel your belly wriggle
due to their infectious giggle
   -know that there’s sugar with the spice

If you are doing three
transfers in fifteen minutes
   -remember, we’re all in this together

If you feel the garden hose spray
of their amazing joy-full day
    -know that there’s sugar with the spice

At times when the top of the first
feels like the bottom of the ninth
   -remember, we’re all in this together

At dawn of Thursday’s Eve
as you feel a week’s worries start to leave
    -know that there’s sugar with the spice

When the bus has not arrived
but your patience has departed
   -remember, we are all in this together

When success smells like sweet grass
freshly cut, or a masterful CLP class
    -know that there’s sugar with the spice

Should the day’s turmoil find you throwing
your bowling ball down the wrong lane
   -remember, we’re all in this together

Should you feel your day’s ride’s
Slick with joy like a waterslide
   -know there’s sugar with the spice

Oh when today is red
but yesterday was full green
remember, we’re all in this together
know that there’s sugar with the spice
and for all of our sakes
keep your stick on the ice
~
NM
*In loving memory of
Jon Wiebe (1993-2019)
Currently I work in a private residence with individuals who live with disabilities. Before Covid-19, I worked with these persons in a day program. No day programs are running now, so all staff have been shifted to the participants’ residences. Our people are in need of long-term/lifetime care. There are beautiful moments, and times of struggle. Considering the world zeitgeist of when I’ve posted this, I think we all can use reminders that we’re in this together from time to time. I know I sure need these reminders sometimes.

I dedicated this poem to the memory of one of the people in my program who passed away the year I started my current job. Jon’s favourite sport was hockey, thus the hockey metaphor to finish the poem.

CLP stands for Community Learning Program. We teach people the skills necessary to function to the best of their abilities in society. Stuff like hygiene, or knowing what kinds of clothes are appropriate for the weather, usage of traffic conventions when biking/walking, etc.

A transfer is when someone is moved from one spot to another for rest/exercise/hygiene purpose. We use mechanical lifts for this process.

A lot of the activities and metaphors in this poem are related to real occurrences/hobbies/interests/routines of the people I serve daily.

Pogrom is a word meaning “massacre”. Some days I’ve left work feeling like my day’s been massacred. Especially since Covid started. This has added exponentially more stress into my days. It is unbelievably heartbreaking having to routinely tell one of your residents you can no longer hug her, and watching her weep for hours, no matter how you try to frame the situation for her to understand. Or require people who are already deprived of social connections and social outings to remain sequestered in their rooms because of their being sick.
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
In a rained-out world
painted in shadow
smeared by waters
and bus stop-
undeterred,
her red umbrella
burns crimson through
desolate darkness
like random library
selfies of beauty
buried in paper skin,
shielded by her
red umbrella

In an overcast world
stencilled in sorrow
her umbrella-
so red, so shiny-
reaches out to me,
taking all my woes
and weary waters away
when I hear her say-
"Hey, write me a poem
about a red umbrella"

In a sunny world
etched in joyance
dabbed in frappé-
my four-wheel red umbrella
drives us from
country to café,
where perfectly good
grand pianos meet
symphonic chaos,
amicably amplified as we mingle
under our red umbrella
~
NM
09/20/16
For Ms. Kaitlyn Reider
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
I like to watch
you squirm
worm

I enjoy picking
off your wings
fly

It delights me
to unravel your web
spider

I savour
crushing your skull
snake

I long to pull
off your horns
bull

I like the box
I built you
worm

I enjoy the
tweezers I bought
fly

It delights me
how you used my posts
spider

I savour crushing
your head under snakeskin boot
snake

I long for you
to see my red shirt
bull
~
NM
04/28/19
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
I will have you know that you are in the mine-ority
If you don’t look at my pic and insta-click “like” on me
I thrive in this weblight, you subsist in ambig-you-ity
Mine is the looking glass of Aphrod-I-te
The un-My-ghty look on my aesthetic perfection and despair

I am the reason there is an earth
All was designed to usher in my triumphant birth
You are just hateful ab-you-sers and mis-you-sers
YOU are YOUVENILE YOULINQUENTS!

I am the oh-so-fleeting truth  
Present in a world obsessed with youth
I am only worth what others see in me

I embody the my-jority
My onscreen attention antics
Are the me-ssential components
Required to build a thriving Me-ocracy.
~
NM  
10/17/14
presented as part of a Dawkins’-meme based poetry collection at the 2019 “Trash Talkin’” literary Conference at the University of Regina, in Regina, SK, Canada
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
I
I m
I m I
u
u r
u r u
I n u r 1
u n I r 1
1 n 1 s 2
2 n I
2 n u
4 I's
4 a's n2
I n 1
s I+u+1
I n u+ In1
1i
1u
1onewon
u+n+i
=7,461,536,077++us1
=01010101 (u)
=01001001 (i)
=1
~
NM
11/02/16
Nathan MacKrith Feb 2021
The world grew sick
it happened so quick
and so the people prayed
in spiritual foundations laid

the people went to see
the healers to be set free
hurt souls seek relief
and beyond belief-
     ~the healers got sick

songs lathered in Purell
as the death tolls swell
ringing out the Sioux band’s
cared for with gloved hands
    ~hands that caught rain
       now wracked with pain

Standing Rock tumbles down
as fits of coughs drown
    “My girl, I don’t know what to do-“
the words of a dying healer
once free to roam
in death
kept far away from her  home

When they pass on
all that knowledge gone
the words and ways of old
lost as voices go cold

Breath taken away
also yesterday
is gone around the bend
ways of old set to end
     -the sacred fire untended

No more secret Candy
or cherished smiles
veterans vanquished
peacemakers in pieces:

Porcupine
Bear Soldier
Running Antelope
Cheryl and Jesse Taken Alive

lovers from the start
Cheryl and Jesse died
only a month apart
holes in the Taken Alive heart

Their moccasins remain still
big shoes for others to fill
Standing Rock’s hills rolling
as graves keep filling
    
  ~the healers got sick
     hands that caught rain
     now wracked with pain
     the sacred fire untended

... still, the fire burns
out of the ashes, Nola, a child
of those Taken Alive learns
to hear the call of the wild

Young pup’s paws will fill the boots in time
though Standing Rock’s still,
still it stands
rain to be caught by fresh hands
new ears record the tree’s chime

“We’re still here,” Nola said
Taken Alive stands still
at Standing Rock
~
NM
01/15/21
The Indigenous people of North America are being disproportionately affected by COVID-19. Indigenous elders are dying at a rate of 2:1 in comparison to White North Americans.

This poem was inspired by the true lives and stories of the people of Standing Rock and other Indigenous communities.
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
The Revolution will not be pay-per-view,
Streamed online, or listed in the TV Guide,
The Revolution will be LIVE ON AIR
Rush seating No reservations First to come are first to serve
The Revolution will not be monetarily politicized,
the Revolution will be patronized

Next, On the World Today Network: Revolution This Way Comes

The Revolution will not be a mutually exclusive for
CBC, BBC, CNN, YouTube, Facebook, SnapChat, or Instagram
The Revolution is more than digital trolling,
It will be a Counter-Electronic-Magnetic-Pulse

Do you have your passport for the Revolution?

The Revolution is unauthorized
Written for and by all the people
The Revolution is radical, hands-on, and requires assembly
Batteries are not included and there is no manufacturer’s warantee,  
The Revolution will be uncomfortable for those living in leisure
For it has been bred to cause the Elite displeasure

Revolution 99% Uploaded
Press [ENTER] key to initiate collective action
~
NM 10/17/15
*After Gil Scott Heron's epic "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised"
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
-your hands-
are on top of mine,
their touch bringing to life myriads of memories.
These hands, worn, well-used hands,
are lovely liver-marked and wrinkled
with the best days of warm caring,
well-acquainted with the bliss of a caress.

Even though they ache in the rain,
these hands are still the rudder of this sailboat,
guiding home a sailor in the setting sun.
These hands unlocked the greatest gift
that one can give another.

A gift you gave me fifty summers ago
when I asked for your hand and you took mine
with these hands that have not
-now I know will not-
ever let mine go.
~
NM
06/21/13
Full Disclosure: I am not even fifty years old. I am also single and have been for what seems an intolerably long time. So this poem is not written from experience, and I do not personally know anyone who has been married for fifty years. However, to me it seems that the truest love there is would weather the tests of time and emerge triumphant. While rare, I am sure there are some individuals who still embody the "til death do us part" ideology. Legendary Radio News Broadcaster Paul Harvey was married to his one and only wife, Lynne "Angel" Cooper Harvey for 68 years. Former U.S.A. President George H.W Bush was married to Barbara Bush for 73 years! My father was married to my mother for exactly 30 years. My mother passed away suddenly at 12:11 AM on the day of their 30th anniversary.

My personal amorous methodology includes what I call the "wrinkled prune method". I try to envision a potential lover as a wrinkly old prune of a person. If the experiences I have had/could have with them, what I know of them and their personality,personae, and true nature at this point and time still leaves me attracted to them, then they are someone I should consider dating/marrying/spending my life with. There you have it, my romantic ethos: One single poet seeking his attractive wrinkly old prune ;P

I am not sure if what I long for is achievable in my own life, but I still aspire to find this lifelong love nonetheless.
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
I pray this pupil’s prayer,
penitent for desiring
an end to this madness
of clearing away snow,
only to find more, compact,
beneath the loose surface
      No two snowflakes alike
each snowflake falls with grace
absorbed by tuition fees,
books, books, books!
O the books pour down
clusters of refurbished
cognitive technicalities
      Each unique in its crystal formation
drench my shoes to full with repositories
of Professor gods’ wounded knees and sore egos
do I leggo my Eggo
to feast on academia’s wine
glut on the ambrosia of fine whine?
      What privilege to live in Snowflakia
the snowbanks are too high, Sir!
-still I climb, seeking purchase-
It takes too much time!
-yet I wade through the drifts-
of alabastards’ Judas kiss
       A Snowflake ingrate nation
in turn taken for madness
I cannot find a flick
to fling away wet sopping masses
of absence from classes
brain drain juices taste like molasses
I revile the texture of their pasty *****...
       You haven’t a chance in Hell-
-Ye Gods! Mea Culpa!
I am sorry, O Ponderous Purveyors,
for my blasphemous prayers
I will see the glass is
full of wine not molasses,
I will be a good snowflake and fall
into my pre-planned place
       Your liquid body will purify the well
I want to fall with grace
so I may rise without disgrace.
~
NM
02/04/19
Nathan MacKrith Feb 2020
I drove by our Stella’s today
the one on Grant Avenue on the way
to that crazy all day concert where I danced
and your big brother was romanced
by those super cute Winnipeg girls
me; dog chasing my tail in twirls
I frolicked Closer
sashaying further
on my own
yet not alone
I always returned home
no matter how far I’d roam
dancing as our souls swayed
in tune with electro beats laid
until at the end of the night
when the time was just right;
brilliant bursts of light in the sky
watching all the cars go by
oh yeah, we ain’t ever getting older
Memories made -with time- grow bolder
~
NM
11/24/19
*for Mairo Ahmadu
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
Well That Flopped

It’s a rainy Friday’s Eve
I’m sitting near Sally Ann
who’s banging it out on the piano man
about angry dwarves’ revenge

A day februckt
a goose half-cooked
a poem I never finish
I lose inspiration after the bell

what was going (if not well)
somewhere north of hell
Dwarven Revenge is fantasy art
a faked ****** of the heart

Friday’s Eve becomes Monday’s ****
~
NM
03/02/20
*Low-German word pronounced
feh-BROOK-ed.
Means ‘broken or out of place’
Nathan MacKrith Dec 2018
Or did the cliché use me? It infected my mind, stole my words, and left me linguistically bankrupt. Every dog has its day, and yesterday was most certainly not mine. But all’s well that ends well, unless the well is actually a drowning pool, or a rat graveyard. Only Time will tell-unless I cut out its tongue and use its guts for garters. But without Time we’re all Living on a Prayer seeking a Stairway to Heaven borne by our 99 Red Luft Balloons with nothing but Faith, like Major Tom we’re floating away. Will Another One Bite the Dust before the the finale of this Bohemian Rhapsody? Whatever will be will be, and I will set forth my Long and Lonely Hallelujah long locked in my Heart of Gold, because I’m getting old Under Pressure screaming “let me out”-STOP! Hammer Time!  I may be Lost in the Supermarket, but Great Scot! I’ll get my guaranteed personality because in Nana-Land Anything Goes!
~
NM
12/12/18
inspired by my Muse, Monica L.

presented as part of a Dawkins’-meme based poetrycollection at the 2019 “Trash Talkin’” literary Conference at the University of Regina, in Regina, SK, Canada
Nathan MacKrith Mar 2019
Is there anyone out there who still isn’t clear about what doing the Tinder Tango does to your emotional and mental well-being?

Okay, for the last last time...

Oh magic love guru box,
fulfiller of hookup dreams,
hope’s dope flocks
to your **** screen’s

ability to match
humanity’s what’s-left
for me with the right catch.

Lovertoy,
do you know I’m not bereft
of personality,
in lieu of a flawless selfie
of a perfect body
what I have is me;

hopeless romantic,
unabashed geek,
fantasy lunatic,
my D & D game’s sleek

as any bikini ***,
I’m your family size
deluxe dad *** god,
hope she’ll realize

I’m the right one,
in a world that’s left
her with no sun,
I hope she swipes right,
or there’s no hope left

matchfaker, matchfaker,
lose me a find, miss me a catch...

Tinder; it’s like putting a gun handed to you by a stranger into your mouth and pulling the trigger
~
NM
03/05/19

— The End —