Tuesday, August 13, 2019

Pocketwatch

Native Americans met on a path,
Walking the dust of the day from their feet.
One was bright as day, and one dark as wrath;
They both thought was “Bonne chance” that they should meet.
One old, one young, they conversed as they walked.
Tales were told: tall ones and some very small.
Hours went by as they walked and they talked,
And they rested on an ancient stone wall.
“Are you hungry?” Asked the much younger one.
The older man winked, looked at his bare wrist...
They laughed at the old joke, it was such fun,
But this time the old joke had a slight twist:
Hands in their pockets after the riposte,
Held cell phone and watch...and both thought: ”almost…”

Mick McKellar
August 2019


Sometimes, old jokes hold deep truths up to the light.

Mick

Wednesday, July 17, 2019

Descent of Blessings

The liquid air was firm as ever wrought,
And silence smothered each begotten sound.
Darkness swaddled every random thought,
Angels took note, and gathered all around.
As sadness swelled beneath my coverlet,
And loneliness entrapped my heart inside;
I ached, a wounded spirit trapped, and yet
A refugee without a place to hide...
When wondrous light illumed my ceiling/sky,
And angels, countless as the stars of night,
Soft, silent choirs and seraphim that fly,
Succored my aching soul and filled my sight!
Each carried prayers and wishes without cease:
Gifts of grace and love, thoughts of hope and peace.

Mick McKellar
July 2019


Sometimes the outpouring of love and a tsunami of good thoughts can trigger a heavenly display and wrap a suffering soul in angelic care.

Mick

Monday, July 08, 2019

At the Mercy Gate

I think the leukemia took my tears --
Open desert, dry eyes see shifting sand,
To cover a river of children's fears,
And shadows of cages so near at hand.
The wailing wind mimics children crying;
Icy voices distant in cruel heat.
Loud harrowed cries escape spirits dying:
Brutal life, father of unjust defeat.
Torrid and airless, the place where they wait,
Stench of humanity stealing the air.
A lost chimera without advocate,
Locked out of paradise, left threadbare.
Mercy denied by those steeped in disdain,
Heaven's gates closed against children of pain.

Mick McKellar
July 2019


What must it be like, to flee with your parents, pain and fear behind, uncertainty and fear ahead? To be ripped from your only anchor in the world and be locked in a cage, with little food and no one to care? To swim in a sea of agony and sleep in a swamp of pain, the promise of security and freedom denied? Can you hear their cries among the ghosts of the night?

Mick

Saturday, June 29, 2019

Pythagorean Morning

I met a weary fellow,
Standing silent in the dawn.
His companion, dark yellow,
Was watering someone's lawn.

He yawned and shrugged and mumbled,
His canine friend did the same.
I said, "Hello!" He grumbled.
I pressed on, and asked his name.

At first, he hesitated,
Fixed his eyes upon his friend;
At last, "Damon" he stated,
As our dogs sniffed, end to end.

First, I introduced my mate,
My companion for walking.
This did not ingratiate,
And still he wasn't talking...

"What'd you call your furry chum?"
My own name I then proffered.
Still, he stayed profoundly dumb;
A sigh was all he offered.

Quick, a smile broke on his face,
"It's Pythias," he shouted.
(Ice broke in that silent place;
An outcome never doubted.)

I asked why he chose that name,
And what put him on that track.
I heard my new friend exclaim:
"Because he always comes back!"

Mick McKellar
June 2019


Storied names decorate the lives of many of our furry friends.

Mick

Friday, June 21, 2019

Early Riser

I awoke from my somnolent flight,
As morning began to devour night;
Cascades of words spilling forth so deep,
I gasped for air and couldn't sleep.

In the dim, unearthly chill and damp,
I moaned with a sharp, poetic cramp,
Struggled to focus my bleary sight,
And tapped away in my screen's harsh light.

Wan pewter light filled my window frames,
As I fought for words and thoughts and names.
Slowly my thoughts finally coalesced,
In a mind that simply would not rest.

I marshalled my sluggish, weary mind,
A writer's drive and finesse to find.
I saw my muse on a distant hill,
And beckoned her to come closer still.

Despite my efforts to wax profound,
My muse walked away without a sound.
I searched for reasons, but don't know them.
All I got was this silly poem…

Mick McKellar
June 2019


The early bird gets the worm, but all I got was Drang and Sturm.

Mick

Wednesday, June 19, 2019

Song of my Soul

A noisome flood of stark demands,
Wash joy from weary, startled hands;
And braying beasts, their hate replete,
Draw Earth from deep beneath our feet.
To silence wailing, frantic fear,
Sing soothing words for all to hear:

The beauty of the human soul,
Is dazzling when a heart is whole!
It's voice quakes Earth and rends the skies,
The spirit soars, the essence flies.
Such power springs from sharing of
Pure truth and life and joy and love!

Prevailing wisdom seeks to prove,
That hate has more power than love;
That fear is rational and right;
That isolation shows our might;
And profit makes the world go 'round.
Yet, silence is a lonely sound.

The triumph of the human soul
Is attained, when a heart is whole.
It shakes the Earth and rends the skies,
And spirits soar, and essence flies;
Releasing power from sharing of
Pure truth and life and joy and love!

Mick McKellar
June 2019


Hate-filled speech and demands to hide in fear, behind walls and guns, makes my soul want to sing to the world about the true sources of power.

Mick

Tuesday, April 16, 2019

Conversations with Cancer

Hello there Cancer, my old friend.
Shall we converse until my end?
I like to think I know your ways,
Though, we play hide-and-seek most days.
I search each crevice, bump, and crack,
And fear to find you looking back.
I swear, because you’re such a fright,
I hear you laughing in the night.
I look behind me on the stair,
To catch you following me there;
And though you’re never there, I swear
I sense your presence ev’rywhere.

Oft we have fought, and battled hard --
Old dogs who share a broken yard;
Though we will take no other lives,
Neither can win while one survives.
Yet, my facade remains serene;
Our vicious battles rage unseen.

Shadow companion, hear my voice:
Conflict with you was not my choice,
Though I am happiest, it seems,
When I defeat you in my dreams.
But, nonetheless, whilst morning dawns,
When dew bedecks the sleeping lawns
And birds and bugs fill warming air.
You, cold companion, always there.

When I stare into the abyss,
When I consider all I’ll miss,
Because you siphon strength away,
Because you take your toll each day,
Because your fingers, bloody, red,
Sate appetite that must be fed:
I wonder, do you feel remorse,
As you begin each baleful course?

I talk to you, but do you care?
Are you impossibly aware?
Do any words, when I complain,
Mean aught to thoughts on other plane?
Do silent tears shed in the night,
Mean anything to living blight?

Know this, dark pestilence obscene,
If you can garner what I mean,
Because your silence, no reply,
Mocks both my courage and my cry,
My fierce resolve will amplify,
Until the day I feel you die.
When I your savagery outlive,
There will be nothing to forgive.

As promised vengeance draws e’er near,
It’s time for you to feel the fear!

Mick McKellar
April 2019


Diplomacy doesn’t always work.

Mick