Fish Out of (Warm) Water

Fish Out of (Warm) Water

Though I love to walk out on wintry days,
To climb life’s ladder by several rungs;
If I’m not wary, there can be delays,
When the cold wind sucks the air from my lungs.
I fear drowning in a cold sea of air,
On the floor of a bleak ocean of gas.
I shiver and gasp for what isn’t there;
A waking night terror that will not pass.
As my air-starved body silently screams;
I draw even deeper the icy draught,
Whose wicked wintry touch burns to extremes,
My delicate, elegant, frail air shaft.
A breathless fish stranded on frozen shore,
I flail about til I’m inside once more.

Mick McKellar
May 2015

What does it feel like when someone with 25% lung capacity comes in contact with UP winter air? It’s not a pleasant experience…

Mick

Descant for Daylight

Descant for Daylight

Whispering voices of the countryside,
Murmur lowly when friends are listening.
I hear them when the sun has gone to hide,
Its last rays leaving bright clouds glistening.
Twilight pauses, anticipating night,
The land draws a breath of the evening air;
Sunset chimes echo with crystalline light,
Golden and crimson sing everywhere.
The rush of shadows that follow their song,
Softly surrounds the brief silence of dusk.
Rustling leaves move the anthem along;
A descant for daylight shedding its husk.
A crystal canticle, to purify
The end of the day with a lullaby.

Mick McKellar
May 2015

The day begins with a golden chorus, it ends with a crystalline lullaby.

Mick

Faded Photographs

I was shorter, then...

Faded Photographs

I love that I still have a family;
And progeny who know I haven't died.
Who, though I'm older, and weirder, and...me,
Still send me printed photographs with pride.
I represent a fading, distant past;
A time they've viewed as mostly black and white,
In faded photographs with silver cast,
That cover all the surfaces in sight.
They see me with their eyes tuned to today,
A digital dilemma, out of sync.
I see them in a slow, old-fashioned way,
That lets me sort my memories and think.
The pictures I display for all to see,
Are part of my enduring legacy.

Mick McKellar
May 2015

Digital photographs are convenient, inexpensive, and immediate. Old printed photographs from before the digital revolution, some from before color photography are treasures.

Mick

Wishing Candles in the Clouds

Wishing Candles in the Clouds

One night I peered through frosty window pane,
My glance secured by distant, flick'ring flames;
The sky-borne wildfires leapt a dance arcane,
And flaring through the mists, played silent games.
My breath upon the window blurred my sight,
And yet, I gazed entranced at frosty gleams,
That pierced the icy darkness of the night,
And waltzed across the canvas of my dreams.
They moved as though the music of the spheres,
Inspired their capering through inky skies.
I scarce contained my sudden, burning tears,
As countless, crystal lights caressed my eyes.
Did angels burst through misty, scudding shrouds;
Or were they wishing candles in the clouds?

Mick McKellar
May 2015

Who hasn't gazed on the far-away, flickering lights of the night, and made a wish or two?

Mick

Green Silence

Green Silence

The heart of a living tree knows patience,
Seeking only to survive and to grow.
The stubborn will of grass knows persistence,
Defying the wind, the rain, and the snow.
The beautiful flowers know flash and style,
To caress the senses and warm the heart;
And the seeds know stillness and silence, while
The long sleep of winter fulfills its part.
If the lives of plants know wisdom so deep,
Yet only observe us and never share;
Are they silent because they are asleep,
Or reticent because they do not care?
Perhaps they all choose to remain apart,
Awaiting kindness from the human heart.

Mick McKellar
May 2015

We are only now beginning to understand that plants react to us and our actions with a vague and unique awareness.

Mick

Burden of the Peacock

Burden of the Peacock

The peacock’s burden is also his prize:
His colorful spread, a riot of hue.
Although its beauty may dazzle your eyes,
It’s behind him -- he can’t admire the view!
His mighty display is for others' gaze,
To intimidate or attract someone;
The best he can hope for is loving praise,
Or putting an enemy on the run.
I wonder, at night when he tries to sleep,
Does his tail get wrinkled, or worse get bent?
Can he get it cleaned and pressed really cheap?
Are there bright extensions that he can rent?
Something so feathery, flimsy, and frail,
Must have him telling a whale of a tale.

Mick McKellar
May 2015

All the snow has me thinking of color, I guess.

Mick