Monday, July 06, 2020

Great Dream On A Great Lake

As I watched the lake resplendent,
And the sunset burnished waves,
My dream skipped independent,
Of how a proper dream behaves.
It touched the cold, dark vastness,
Swiftly leapt into the sky,
And burst free from the fastness
Of my heart -- without goodbye.

O'er the waters of a cold sea,
On the Northwind, flies a dream,
Of a country born to breathe free,
Shining faces all agleam.
Rainbow visages are cheering,
All are standing, hand in hand,
At long last, their hopes appearing:
Equal freedoms in our land!

Mick McKellar
July 2020

Ever have a sudden daydream, a searing moment when the beauty of your surroundings draws out a deep seated dream and sends it soaring? Happens to me more often now, given the constant barrage of dreaded news about hatred, bigotry, cruelty, and selfishness. I want Norman Rockwell to come back and paint for us an America that loves again.


Tuesday, June 30, 2020

Spending a Summer Day

I didn't watch the Sun arise;
I awoke as my room grew warm.
The blankets that sheltered my form,
Created a sweltering storm,
And forced open my sleep-filled eyes.

In air, treacle thick, warm and dense,
I gasped: a distressed, landed fish,
With only one desperate wish,
At once, drastic, dire, and delish:
To breathe freely in self-defense!

The terror of waking soon passed;
And oxygen-based life commenced.
As time was a-wasting, I sensed
It's measure becoming condensed,
And urgency moved me, at last.

I asked me: "What should I do
With today's teaspoon of time?"
Should I spend it seeking a rhyme
Or two, despite knowing that I'm
Old, and my "sell-by" date grows due?

The summer air whispered me true:
That sharing is love (as I guessed),
And time spent in writing is blessed.
So I cast about for a guest,
And shared my precious time with you.

Mick McKellar
June 2020

Time can't really be saved. It can only be spent wisely or wasted.  Thanks for helping me spend some precious time wisely.


Monday, June 29, 2020

A Simple Prayer

Watch o'er this heart of mine,
When night negates the day.
Let happy smiles define,
Those touched along my way.

Let empathy stay wrath,
Within my passing wake,
And may my wand’ring path,
Grant love for living’s sake.

And please, show those who hate,
The emptiness it brings.
I pray it’s not too late,
To pray for all these things.

Please let my dreams tonight,
Though filled with fantasy,
Be welcome in your sight,
And set my spirit free.

Mick McKellar
June 2020

I thought: What would a simple man pray for in these dark days?


Monday, June 08, 2020

Ever Green

Shadows wander around my heart,
and the air, heavy with Spring,
presses hard upon hope for Summer's blessings.
And yet, the setting sun's tail
laps across the lake,
to brush the shore,
caressing chilled feet
on lake-soaked sand,
and frigid fingers,
damp from cloud tears
upon life newly awakened. 
I taste again the chill bite
of Superior's breath,
as her whispers sigh
among the pine, the fir, and the tamarack.
A peace disturbed only by ravenous pest,
a-wing and thirsty for blood and sapiens flesh.

A memory?
Yes...and fond despite winged banquet guests.
An echo wrought from tattered remnants,
recent and remote.
A reveille arising
to sue for peace of soul and spirit,
ravaged and left raw,
among the scattered images
of human inhumanity to fellow travelers
on this tiny speck of blue among the stars.

I stand:
My feet awash with earth and sea,
my hands among life ever green
and touched by sky-borne dew,
my face aglow with sun and breeze,
and enraptured by the song of life,
my eyes filled with the glory of creation,
the world, the universe, and God.
I feel the oneness of us all.

Loss of one is loss to all;
None too large and none too small.
The light of life, come night or day,
We have no right to steal away.
Despite the lies the haters preach,
The light inside is same for each:
Equality, felt, heard, and seen,
Makes love among us ever green.

Mick McKellar
June 2020

A love song to life and understanding.


Sunday, May 03, 2020

Clouds Bow Down

Clouds bow down to taste the ground,
The salt and savory, sweet and sour;
The flavor of man’s touch around
The musky grass, the delicate flower.
Their misty touch remembers all,
From morning light to midnight hour.

Rain sweeps down to wash the soil,
To polish, carve, collect, and sweep.
To end its soft, relentless toil,
And fill vast basins, wide and deep.
The power of its restless flow,
Remembers all it’s wont to keep.

Snow falls softly from grey skies,
Clouds and rain are bound in ice,
To hide from Nature’s weary eyes
The unhealed scars, the painful price.
The memories of clouds and rain,
Of Earth’s enduring sacrifice.

Mick McKellar
May 2020

When the snow melts each Spring, the memories of last year’s storms and activity are laid bare for all to see. Otherwise, only the clouds and the rain remember…


Tuesday, April 28, 2020


My heart cries out from deep within my breast,
A wailing, keening, tearing of the night,
That cries unfelt, unheard by all the rest
Who share this dawn, this soft, cascading light.
Awake at last, my soul -- bereft, forlorn,
Swift rises to the challenge of the day,
And stands, and shakes, the cost of being torn,
Homesick, from dreams of comfort far away;
From darkness-opened doors to warmth and peace,
Enough to eat, and arms to hold you tight,
And make the shooting, shouting, screaming cease.
A world of dreams that lives only at night.
A  home that never was, for which I grieve;
Perhaps some night, I'll dream and never leave...

Mick McKellar
April 2020

We all long for peace and warmth and love -- for a home to which we can return when the world beats us bloody and we need to feel safe. Some only know this in their dreams, and some leave us too soon to seek that solace.


Friday, April 24, 2020

Cracked Window

Rumbled, jumbled, ruined, and wracked,
My window on the world has cracked.
The fractures cause me to perceive,
Our home -- exhausted, I believe.

Trees are grey and air gone inky,
Our blue lake is green and stinky.
Nothing that grows is safe to eat,
And pavement buckles in the heat.

Food comes only as tasteless cubes,
Water only in plastic tubes,
And treadmills walked till late at night,
Provide the only source of light.

The air is thick with dust, a hot
Soup as likely to kill as not.
Those who work at the masters' tasks,
Are sometimes given safety masks.

The masters live in towers, high
Enough to reach the cold blue sky;
Or else they travel endlessly,
On yachts that ply the dying sea --

Consuming lives of countless poor,
The refuse of the teeming shore,
Until they, eventually,
Consume all of humanity.

Rumble, jumble, ruin, and wrack,
I fixed my window's massive crack;
But our time grows short, I perceive,
To fix the future, I believe.

Mick McKellar
April 2020

I overslept today, and found myself trapped in a dystopian dream reached through a looking glass that was badly cracked. This is my glimpse of a possible destination along our current path of unfettered consumption.