Snow Shark

Snow Shark

I'd go out walking after dark,
And never once feel insecure.
I imagined a great snow shark,
Made my safety a sinecure.
I'd stride as if I owned the road,
Just taking my shark for a walk;
Invisible -- it never showed --
While hiding that twas all a crock.

Although the shark remained unknown,
I knew its aspect could cause dread;
My guardian was wholly grown,
To roam dark places in my head.
I learned that bullies would think twice,
If I'd pretend I had a guard:
Impervious to snow and ice,
Invisible, but strong and hard.

These were skills that I had to hone;
It doesn't work if you're lazy.
But bullies may leave you alone,
If you're a basket of crazy.

Mick McKellar
September 2013


Okay, I know this fantasy sounds a bit crazy, but there is a kernel of truth. I found that bullies in school would leave me alone, if I acted as if I had nothing to fear. After a while, they were no longer scary and dangerous, just annoying and dangerous (like heavy traffic or thunderstorms).

Mick

Chimera

Chimera

A thought intruded, suddenly,
While gathering wool, sipping tea,
And gazing inward, I could see
I wasn't me, entirely.

A river red and blue, it flows,
From top of head to tips of toes.
Yet ev'rywhere the river goes,
Its misbehavior often shows.

It knows a secret, wild and fey,
That makes it act in a strange way:
My life's blood, as blood tests betray,
Contains my brother's DNA.

I may not appear differently,
I look the same; I look like me.
Yet, me, myself, and I agree,
I'm not myself, entirely...

Mick McKellar
September 2013


939 days since the blood and marrow transplant, and I am still not used to the knowledge that, essentially, my brother's blood flows in my blood stream.

Mick

Senses

My mom, my dad, and me...in 1951.

Remembering my Mom (September 13, 2013):

Today would have been my Mom's 83rd birthday. She died in May, 1990. I miss her everyday. This is the poem I wrote upon her death and read at her funeral:






Senses

I see in my reflection, clear,
The image of your face.
I glimpse your shadow, standing near,
In each familiar place.
Your perfume permeates the air,
When sudden, I take note,
And lingers long and gently there,
On letters that you wrote.
When injured, or when feeling sad,
I feel your soothing touch.
And smells of cooking make me glad
I loved your food so much.

Now, late at night, when silence reigns,
I hear your voice again.
I know that after tears and pains,
Your flame is gone - your warmth remains.

Mick McKellar
( written upon the death of my mother, May 6, 1990 )