Monday, July 28, 2014


Death came in today
sat down in the corner chair
 took out his fiddle
made of bones
 and started to play
 the saddest tune.
Which is why
he played it because
you have to know
he is there for him to be there.
He wants you to realize
why he's around
as if the skull
and the eye sockets
did not tell you enough.
As if the keening
wind at his back
did not chill
you to the bone
And who is he here for?
Why it's you,
some day, maybe not
this one but there will
come a time
on a corner taken
too fast or
on a pills and
 alcohol afternoon.
When he'll step
out of the corner
remove his hat
and say "Show's over
 man, time to move on"

© Hamish Mack

Friday, July 18, 2014


My friend writes that
words leech into paintings.
I think he means leach but
I wonder about the other
because maybe the words
 do wait around looking
for pictures to attach
themselves to.  
Growing fatter on the canvas
as they assume more and more meaning.
Combining with
the brushstrokes to make
more than the artist
first thought.
I wonder if back
out on the Serengeti
we walked swish, swoosh
through the long grass and
words attached themselves
straight to our legs
so that we picked up
"bush with nice fruit" and
"place with water" and
"the piece of darkness that kills".
We are too mature
for words to teach us now
and they must wait for
the artist to lift them into art.
And enshrine them
in the frame.

©Hamish Mack
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