Thursday, March 16, 2017

A Night Terror

I crouch, a curmudgeon, before my screen,
With tears in my eyes, for I am in pain.
My eyes burn savagely for what I’ve seen,
As the words that I read have seared my brain.
Each day our country tears itself apart;
We kill each other for color of skin.
Religious fanatics want new wars to start;
The rich sit back and watch profits roll in.
The media flood with half-truths and lies;
Our fountain of truth spouts poison and hate.
Then as the soul of democracy dies,
We helplessly watch, for it is too late...
I awake, my eyes filled with burning tears,
And I vow to try to confront my fears.

Mick McKellar
March 2017

How are you sleeping these days?


Wednesday, March 01, 2017

Touched by Light

I lay asleep upon my bed.
I woke and wondered -- was I dead?
I looked about, and wondrously
A golden light enveloped me.
It felt so warm upon my skin,
It penetrated deep within.
Its touch so gentle, filled with power,
I lay enthralled for near an hour.
No voices boomed, no vast release,
I simply felt, at last, at peace.
Within that golden, glowing touch,
I'd never felt so loved, so much.
As I recall it, lovingly,
I feel it glowing still -- in me.

Mick McKellar
March 2017

Sunday, February 19, 2017

A Right to Be

I ponder as each day grows dark,
Why dreams must dim and smiles grow stark;
Why fear looms larger in the night,
And people cry for morning’s light.

I wonder, for it makes no sense,
To catalog each difference
Between my neighbor and myself,
And store it high on hatred’s shelf.

I ponder and I wonder long,
Why welcoming new folks is wrong;
When they might have so much to give,
And all they want is just to live.

They live, they love, they laugh, and cry;
Aspire, perspire, grow old, and die.
Though some don't look like you and me,
All humans have a right to be!

They  tell me we’ll be great again,
But can’t say how and can’t say when;
That we are only on “our” side,
And soon, we’ll build a wall...and hide.

Mick McKellar

February 2017
Question: Can’t they just swim around the ends of the wall, or fly over it?


Wednesday, February 01, 2017

Silent Ballets

Silent Ballets

Stillness envelops,
As snowfall develops,
Rolling beneath a white curtain.
Shivers anticipate,
Watchful bright eyes await;
A silent ballet is certain.
And shifting and sifting,
Of sparkling dunes drifting,
That plunge and erupt their burden.

Shining snow-devils dance,
Across sunlit expanse,
Dazzling carpets of diamonds, bright.
Until sunlight has gone,
When the cloud break moves on,
And greyness descends as a blight —
Upon brilliance displayed,
Where the snow creatures played,
Cavorting for joy in my sight.

The shifting snow races,
To cover all traces,
Of winter’s delirious dance.
While I watch at window,
Enjoying the grand show,
And awaiting another chance.
Mick McKellar
February 2017

I complain often about so much snow, but I truly enjoy the wild, windblown ballet.


Monday, January 09, 2017



We found him aboard a strange looking craft
In orbit, near death, in some kind of sleep.
We woke him up there, in that strange life raft.
He opened his eyes and began to weep.
His eyes had no tears and he had no voice,
He looked like us, with some variation.
He didn't make landfall by his own choice
We'd found an ancestor, an Ancient One!
Though immensely old, yet healthy and well,
He studied our world, how far we could roam.
He wrote why they traveled here to dwell,
And why he wanted to journey back home.
We built a fast ship to travel, to find,
And to visit the home of humankind.

To find our origin, we'd traveled far:
A blue marble circling a yellow sun.
When we found a dead planet near that star,
I heard a small noise from the Ancient One.
He had uttered a nearly silent word,
A word that encouraged old memories,
In a tone of voice I had rarely heard:
A desolate voice, to make hot blood freeze.
His eyes looked for wonders eons away;
Whether distance or time, I could not tell.
He shuddered, and slowly began to sway
Was he seeing Heaven or glimpsing Hell?
As though he had witnessed his very birth,
Just once, with reverence, he whispered: "Earth."

The Earth was shrouded in airless winter,
Its atmosphere had been blasted away.
The surface was black a burned out cinder,
And nothing remained, no reason to stay.
They watched as its sun spit a plasma stream,
That missed the planet and their little ship;
And knew, as though seen in an awful dream,
What killed harbor and haven for their trip.
They returned to Harmony, man's new home,
Without the Ancient One's hope and glory;
And never again did the old man roam,
Instead, telling all his planet's story.
Years later, knowing how well he had tried,
The last son of Earth smiled sadly and died.
Mick McKellar
January 2017

Eventually, every moment of now becomes ancient history and every story, no matter how grand, comes to an end. If humankind is to survive either a natural disaster or our own greed, we must reach for the stars.


Wednesday, December 21, 2016

A Hero's Heartbeat

A Hero's Heartbeat

He lay his head on a cold, snowy bench,
Under a lamppost in the city park.
His worn, unwashed clothes had a musky stench,
So folks left him alone there, in the dark.

The stone bench was hard, but the snow was soft,
And he hardly felt the cold anymore.
When his eyes closed, dreams carried him aloft,
Where his legs and back were no longer sore.

As over the frozen pond he drifted,
He turned to look back at his silent form,
Under a blanket, as soft snow sifted
So gently, slowly a peaceful snow storm.

He heard his heart beat, out over the lake,
Its uncertain rhythm marking his fight,
As winter attempted his life to take,
And he fought on, alone on Christmas night.

A flash of green light brought his spirit back,
To hover once more near his sleeping clay.
A green man pulled a guitar from his pack,
Sat by a green fire, and started to play.

He drifted close, to hear the Minstrel croon
Sweet songs, to sooth a long forgotten soul,
In silvery light from the winter moon,
And soon they achieved their intended goal.

The Minstrel suddenly stopped his sweet song,
And a deep silence enveloped the night.
He knew in an instant, something was wrong:
His heartbeat had given up its long fight.

The Minstrel stood, and saluting with grace,
Said, "Sergeant, it's time that I took you home.
Your dress uniform is back in its place,
And your spirit no longer has to roam."

He smiled because he would suffer no more.
And a soldier entered the golden door.
Mick McKellar
December 2016

It is a tragedy that any who fought for our freedoms, should suffer in the cold and die in despair.


Monday, December 19, 2016

Lights and Voices

Lights and Voices

I dream Christmas dreams with eyes open wide,
To savor the shimmering, colorful sights.
Our snow-covered home, glows so warm inside,
With happiness, love, and flickering lights.
Richer yet than twinkling light that abounds,
Than the rainbow-hued diamonds shining there,
Are the brilliant, happy, and joyful sounds.
That permeate crystalline, Christmas air.
Golden voices narrating ageless tales,
Silver voices raised in carols and song,
Telling stories where Christmas love prevails;
Where magic wins and we all get along.
Thankful I don't have to make such choices,
I can savor lights AND love the voices!
Mick McKellar
December 2016

Much of my Christmas dreaming is done with my eyes wide open, soaking in the sights and sounds, the the voices raised in song, the voices warmly offering friendly greetings, and the voices telling ageless tales of Christmas magic and love.