RACHEL DYAR MCKENZIE - POEMS

Rachel Dyar McKenzie is a semi-retired secretary who has long been a writer and poet in secret only.  Her first published poems have appeared recently in, Ariel Chart, Loch Raven Review, and Your Daily Poem. She enjoys her 1911 home in Birmingham, AL with her husband Mike and cat Wikileak (because she talks too much).  She calls her writing style “creative reality.” It is a mix of real life, bad dreams, fuzzy memories, and expectant wishes.

​ACROSS THE STREET

​Across the street I see
            her tossing wash water out
            the window
 
Mowing the lawn in
            a sundress
Sweat rolling off her brow
 
            I’d rather just be sick
            she says
            as to ask anyone to help me
 
            My son is so mean and
            hateful
            I just hate to ask
 
They say she may have to go
            into a nursing home
            soon
so her needs will be taken
            care of
 
Across the street I see
            her talking to the television
 
            I remember he didn’t hardly
            know my daddy, she says
            and I didn’t think that
            would do
 
            After all, he’s paying
            for the wedding
            so we just got married
 
across the street


..........

ADELE

​You can sign your name
            in the dust on her dashboard
but no dust settles
on her tragic memories
 
She picks them up daily,
fingers them gingerly like treasures,
replays them in her mind
weeping with them
            over and over as if listening
 
Her depression and loneliness
the “why me” and “if only”
haunting dreams and evil spirits
hang around loud and drunk
like old friends you’re sick of
            but can’t bear to make leave
            afraid they’ll say goodbye

            forever


..........

FALLING

​Nice breeze out today
good for a box kite to take flight or some lighthearted balloonery
Taking wing on the runway first I drift, then hover; float, then soar
 
Just a few minutes of zooming, sailing, flitting and fluttering,
in & out of clouds and blue sky.
 
The strip is damp with morning dew,
and the aviatrix in me glides slowly, just above the wet ground,
then hydroplanes in for a swift squishy landing. 
I must be dreaming.
 
At first, I think I’m in a rocking chair,
but realize I’m supposed to be standing up. 
The tilted sky grows larger, the grass is coming up to meet me. 
Suddenly there’s a pain in my back. 
My head swings back hitting hard and bouncing. 
Then all is still. 
Oh, I suppose I have fallen down.  How strange. 
I thought for a minute I was flying. 


..........

MAD WORLD

​I’m finding it difficult to describe
how to stomach my own voice;
communicate what you
won’t want to swallow either
 
The communal horde
is racing in a journey toward
more and more insanity
 
Deranged voices and nonsensical actions
flow over the sphere of the earth
 
The world is mad!  Mad, I tell you!
 
How else do I describe it
without borrowing from Alice in Wonderland?
 
Fancy words and intelligent concepts
do not explain to satisfaction
nor make the absurd tolerable
 
So tears of resignation squeeze through
with a slight forced grin below sad eyes
 
as I wish my husband would turn off
all 72 inches of the politics


..........

​DUST

​Standing on an old man’s planet
dust in the eaves, dust everywhere
     so much dust
Bare dirt, bare trees, bare branches
Soon the old man leaves
 
Spontaneous combustion POOF
POW with every spark
Leftover electricals lay dead
but burn at a touch
     … whose touch?
 
Designs and plans forgot, paper
flying in the breeze
like the plastic bag in the movie
-          Movies, just another past
 
We had power, so much power –
linked, everything connected
and now nothing – no screen
no voice, no person
 
Just time and distance
     so much distance
I can’t flee,
Where would I go?
 
Worth it?
 

No