"mackenzie" poems
*We lose so much talent to addiction
Some of you may not care, but I do
This is my tribute to them*
**Alan Wilson
Canned Heat
Jimi Hendrix
The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Janis Joplin
Jim Morrison
The Doors
Brian Cole
The Association
Billy Murcia
New York Dolls
Danny Whitten
Crazy Horse
Gram Parsons
The Stooges
Gary Thain
Uriah Heep
Elvis Presley
Gregory Herbert
Blood, Sweat & Tears
Keith Moon
The Who
Sid Vicious
*** Pistols
Lowell George
Little Feat
Jimmy McCulloch
Wings
John Bonham
Led Zeppelin
Darby Crash
Germs
James Honeyman-Scott
Pretenders
Pete Farndon
Pretenders
Paul Gardiner
Tubeway Army
Gary Holton
Heavy Metal Kids
Phil Lynott
Thin Lizzy
Andrew Wood
Mother Love Bone
Brent Mydland
Grateful Dead
Steve Clark
Def Leppard
Johnny Thunders
New York Dolls
David Ruffin
The Temptations
Kristen Pfaff
Hole
Shannon Hoon
Blind Melon
Bradley Nowell
Sublime
John Kahn
Jerry Garcia Band
Jonathan Melvoin
The Smashing Pumpkins
Billy Mackenzie
Associates
West Arkeen
The Outpatience
Nick Traina
Link 80
John Baker Saunders
Mad Season
Bobby Sheehan
Blues Traveler
Wes Berggren
Tripping Daisy
Allen Woody
The Allman Brothers Band
Carl Crack
Atari Teenage Riot
Layne Staley
Alice in Chains/Mad Seasons
Kurt Cobain
Nirvana
Dee Dee
Ramones
Robbin Crosby
Ratt
John Entwistle
The Who
Howie Epstein
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
Jeremy Michael Ward
De Facto
Tim Hemensley
GOD
Dave Schulthise
The Dead Milkmen
Rick James
Kevin DuBrow
Quiet Riot
Ike Turner
Gidget Gein
Marilyn Manson
Jay Bennett
Wilco
Michael Jackson
The Rev
Avenged Sevenfold
Paul Gray
Slipknot
Mike Starr
Alice in Chains
Amy Winehouse**
*We are not bad people, we just have bad ways
Yet, not many understand*
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
Canoeing
written March 7th, 2021
I have spent the last few days
canoeing the Mackenzie River
making the journey in a book
with maps and words.
As I read it takes me back
to canoeing in my youth
the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness
along the northern border of Minnesota.
I can feel the paddle
pulling through the water
and hear the loons
crying at night.
The land around me
almost untouched since
Huron, Chippewa, Cree
Dakota and Ojibwa eyes
were the only ones
that had ever seen it.
Now I travel in thought and memory
the clear cold waters of the lakes
the portages through forested hills
taking me from one gem
of a lake and a memory
to the next.
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 7:38 PM UTC
Hush now, my love
Don't you cry
Nightingales sing your lullaby.
Rest now, my love
Close your eyes
Sweet dreams till sunrise.
Oh, my precious one
You're the song I sing
To Heaven above.
Close your eyes
And dream sweet dreams
Sleep now, my love.
--Mackenzie Ferry
2/2/2013
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
I am the walrus walking, with Lucy in the sky with her diamonds, talking about going to Mr. Kites show tonight and then we'd have dinner at the Octopus's garden in the shade with Father MacKenzie. She said that Rocky raccoon was going to be at the show too and I remembered that Lady Madonna will stay for a bit if she earns enough money. I bet you didn't know that Sgt. Pepper's lonely hearts band will be there to play a bit. They are going to arrive in the yellow submarine with the nowhere man. then they are going to strawberry fields to play. I am going to meet up with them tomorrow at Abbey road and then go visit Jojo with them. From there we'd go to play for the Blue meanies and their bulldogs. What a wonderful place Beatle world is, but I have a ticket to ride the Magic mystery bus back to reality. Too bad I can't stay awhile longer!
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 6:43 PM UTC
Queens Loves Poets. (for Em MacKenzie)
———————————————————-
*Kings love making war,
no wonder, the people,
remember well fond
their femi-mine
rulers with femi-fervor,
Queens, who loved poets.
You fear Jesus,
Adore Mary,
generosity of understanding.
because it is hard
for woman to do
cruelty,
till she has been abused
by men who thought
they were kingly by being
beknighted, unbeheaded
for now at least.
Men who invented Brandy,
in the be of night,
were stupid men,
they forgot alcohol, the
Brandy of Channing,
is not fit for manning,
for it is a*
toxin, like me, like me.
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 3:14 PM UTC
Somewhere between
Hunter S. Thompson and
Charlie Mackenzie,
I find myself to be
something
it throws me loops.
Somewhere between
Clark Gable and
Crispin Glover,
I am stuck in
a whirlwind
of perspective.
Somewhere between
Justin Timberlake and
Biz Markie,
I sit silently
wondering how
I got here.
Somewhere between
The Waterloo Bridge and
Westminster Abbey,
an American boy
misplaced
his mind.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
Faded Magnificence.
Faded brush strokes and overgrown pots,
Hint to magnificence lost to yesteryear.
Garments preened and tailored to perfection,
fashioned upon the season to which they adhere.
Scruffy untamed edges gone awry,
A once was glory now hidden beneath the brambles,
scruffy untamed edges gone awry.
Suffocating elegance under weeds and ivy,
despair now heavy on the eye.
The sunny yet sharp disposition of the dandelion,
entangled yet proudly rearing its spiky crown.
Assuming nobility amongst the weeds,
refusing to have its regalia pulled down.
The cobbled path barely visible from the weathered door,
A secret path known only to the past.
The dainty old lady aged and weathered herself,
has given up the ghost, to the weeds which grow too fast.
Her hands tremble as in vain,
she tries to snip and trim.
Desperate measures to regain the beauty from her mind,
with unhelpful uncoordinated limbs.
Each day committed she treads the garden path,
into the gardens midst.
Wrinkled eyes adoring the last upstanding rose,
who continues to persist.
A full can sprinkled each day by trembled wrist,
intent on feeding it with love.
Scarlet periapt resplendence, which once the garden
in its entirety was reminiscent of.
Brambles snag her petticoat,
Tugging at her frail frame in a tug of war.
Yet refusing a helping hand she proudly remembers,
how beautiful her garden sang and the melody of both their core.
The old lady existing for these moments,
to which they are juxtapose.
Existing upon each others love,
the old lady and the garden rose.
©Helen Mackenzie
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 7:44 AM UTC
My demons and shadows are placing bets against me,
black is heartbreak and red is destruction.
They watch the wheel spin so intensely,
holding their breath so strongly that it’s creating suction.
The winner of the jackpot round
will play Russian Roulette with my life,
it’s inevitable, fated, destined and bound,
‘cause I brought a pen to a knife fight.
I’m winning in a debate,
on a topic for which I don’t care,
it won’t change the structure or state,
for a system that will always be there.
Who are we alone? Who are we together?
Drink the marrow straight from the bone,
so you can savour my blood forever.
I lost all faith in my last name,
as a MacKenzie- “I shine; not burn.”
But I feel the heat from the blame,
and the scarred mark I was born to earn.
The funeral pyre is already lit,
the flames flicker and engulf my strife,
I’m too stupid to halt and call forfeit,
‘cause I brought a pen to a knife fight.
Empty hands, and broken fingers,
hanging strands, clings and lingers.
Sunken shoulders, and lifeless eyes,
a name in my folders, alphabetically organized.
You can’t decipher a word’s meaning,
if the word is never actually spoken.
The tree never fell but it’s slightly leaning,
surprisingly roots just can’t be broken.
And sometimes I’m scared to blink,
even though I’m unimpressed with this sight,
I’ll be bleeding out in colourful ink
as I brought a pen to a knife fight.
You know sharks don’t sleep
and sadly neither do I.
But now I’m in too deep,
“you’re gonna need a bigger boat”
just to get by.
You told me to put on my dancing shoes,
and I strapped on two concrete blocks.
You asked me to relay the news
but I went for the thrills and shocks.
Now my oxygen is running low;
my heavy head is finally feeling light.
I’ll still try to give you a good show
but I brought a pen to a knife fight.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 9:00 AM UTC
lingering in the unsaid words,
my soul is heavy.
i am dragging.
you were diamonds inside your darkness
and i wish i called.
i wonder, with all of the
unimportance
hovering around me,
as my heart rests low,
still,
in the love,
in you.
did you know?
did you know how much we'd drown?
i'm here for you to haunt.
i'm here,
always,
in this heavy air,
where the birds are so distant
that they are but a memory,
like those of you.
please,
please,
please.
oh please,
i hope you know.
i'm here.
so please,
haunt my lonely soul.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 4:48 PM UTC
This year’s WoolOn Creative Fashion event will feature some "exciting" new elements, but they are under wraps for now, organisers say.
The event, which used to be held annually in October in conjunction with the Alexandra Blossom Festival, last year was separated from the festival to become a separate entity.
No WoolOn was held last year and this year’s event had a new date, May 26-27, WoolOn chairwoman Clair Higginson said.
A final call for entries was being made this week, and the closing date for entry forms had been extended by a week, until March 24, Ms Higginson said. Designers then had another month to complete the garments, which had to be handed in by April 27.
Ms Higginson said this year’s WoolOn would be held in a new "industrial-style" venue in Alexandra, but organisers could not yet say where as consents were not in place.
Other "exciting" new elements were being added to the event, but they were also being kept under wraps.
"We’re trying to make better connections between the wool on the farm and the wool on the fashion catwalk. But just how we will do that is going to be a surprise."
Rural Women New Zealand was the new naming sponsor of the event and WoolOn organisers were excited about the partnership, believing it would bring extra focus to the raw product
the WoolOn garments were created from.All garments must be at least 75% wool and there are eight categories in the event, as well as an Under 23 Emerging Designer Award.
The event will still feature a Friday night "First Look" event with a "fashion show feel", and a Saturday gala evening, when winners will be announced.
This year’s judges are Deirdre Mackenzie, of Tauranga, who was one of the people to establish WoolOn in its present format; Simon Swale, a design lecturer at the Otago Polytechnic, in Dunedin; and designer Jaimee Smith, of Dunedin, who has her own fashion label, "Florence".Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 9:54 PM UTC
How come in a world so connected we feel so isolated and disconnected?
I can view maps of China in barley five seconds but we feel uncomfortable trying to learn a lesson.
So lets seek answers and ask the question,
I ask again, how come in a world full of connection you can feel so isolated, depressed and without protection?
Is it our computers and TV screens?
The filters on instagram making everything clean?
Or is it our materialism causing death to our kindness, hopes, and dreams?
What happened to writing, reading, and talking?
Now its DM's, snap chats and secretly gawking.
Kids are gaming and don't get vaccines, more focussed with what's on TMZ, Facebook and memes.
Even with music there are no records, only singles.
In love you don't fall any more, you just mingle.
They would rather have a one night memory and let it pass instead of taking every moment into and album and showing what can last.
No one feeling at home we constantly wander, while many parents don't truly know their own sons and daughters.
What is the point of gaining followers if you don't have a real life?
We are in control of the buck of the knife, but we only cut away the things of emotion in life?
*** can be on the front page but don't talk of depression.
Celebrities are more respected than politicians yet we want their lessons?
We use to idolize Churchill, Mackenzie and Kennedy.
Now its Rhianna, Beyonce, and Yeezy?
Are you kidding me?
How come in a world of connections we have a lack of protection?
In a world of detection we break down and divide into sections?
We all speak of being good and holy but did we actually try or just pretend to learn the lesson?
How come we can talk and meet people all day without leaving our home, but at the end of the day a lot of us still feel alone?
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 8:35 AM UTC
Maybe I’m too simple
or too shallow
but I’m not angry.
What’s wrong with me?
I was trying to think
of someone I hate,
Jews, CIS guys, republicans,
palestinians, blacks, democrats,
the left handed, authority figures,
central americans, parents, vagrants,
the usual suspects, but I’m coming up empty
Things aren’t perfect
don’t get me wrong
I’ve got a pug nose
a flat chest
a giant forehead
and too much work to do
but I’m trying my best—
Worse yet, I’ve no plummeting anxieties
no obvious neurosis
—that one could be a misdiagnosis
no painful hangnails
no sad life tales
no addictions to defend
or hated ex-boyfriends
I have no emo hooks to pin my verse.
no current melodramas to cozen and coerce
between you and me, I think I’m off the rails
It’s really no wonder my poetry pales.
Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Gee, Doctor by Dimie Cat
Sweet Lovin' (feat. Anna-Luca & Iain Mackenzie) by Club des Belugas
Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 11:47 PM UTC
Another evening
darning the hole in my soul
stretched on a dead bulb.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
Dear 2020,
I leaving Old Vineyard today! Therefore, I am feeling like a ten and wanting to jump for joy! I am so excited. I will be able to see Machaela and Sean again! I will be able to watch anime again! And read books that are actually good!
But... I won't be able to see Harley, Shana, Mackenzie, or Tamia again... You better not forget them, future me! Hahah. I may have some of their information, though. lol.
Love Always, Hollin
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 8:26 PM UTC