Sweat Equity

Sweat Equity

Near boiling waters of hideous pain,
Across a path that carries you hither,
Where nightly deluge of sulfurous rain,
Makes your eyes burn and your limbs all wither;
Stands a wall of amorphous, living fire,
Towering upward and searing a sky
So black, when the soaring and roaring pyre,
Scalds menacing storm clouds, it makes them cry.
Wicked scabrous fumes fill the deadly air,
The rocks and the stones shriek in agony.
Though nothing alive could survive long there,
In a tiny, hot room prepared for me!
"I must be in Hell!" I screamed in my fear.
"First time in a Sauna?" Asked someone near.

Mick McKellar
July 2015

I remember my first time in a sauna. I thought my lungs were being cooked and my backside barbecued. After that, it was great,  sweaty fun.

Mick

Words for Wounds

Words for Wounds

Each day begins with promises unbound;
So many pleasant possibilities.
So many opportunities abound,
That I can scarce decide which chance to seize.
I want to help, to lift somebody’s pain;
To raise a spirit, cleanse a weeping wound,
To touch a life where unhealed scars remain,
With understanding lovingly attuned.
The stories that I write may seem inane;
Sometimes they’re harebrained, odd, or maybe true.
Yet, if a tale can help someone in pain,
I have to write -- I can but follow through.
For words may salve a wound that will not heal,
And I must tell the stories that I feel.

Mick McKellar
July 2015

Of course, I write for me. However, I share because someone, somewhere may find solace in my sometimes silly words or ridiculous rhymes.

Mick

Tough Audience

Tough Audience

I talk to myself when I am confused,
When I'm uncertain which way I should go,
And get comments from someone unenthused:
The laughing crow outside my window.
I pour out my heart, all over my sleeve,
The crow speaks up, and he just says: "Haw, haw!"
I grumble aloud: "Just shut up and leave!"
Rustling feathers and a single, "Haw!"
I rush to the window, bellow: "Enough!"
The bird, unimpressed, merely ratchets: "Naw!"
My avian critic, though really tough,
Will never share anything that he saw.
Our arguments always end in a draw;
He always calls my ideas: "Caw, Caw!"

Mick McKellar
July 2015

You can’t win an argument with a bird. They’re a flight risk…

Mick

Shake the Earth

Shake the Earth

I trembled at the power of a mind,
When focused on a single complex thought;
The wonders that an intellect might find,
With little more than talents that it brought.
My early dreams are cherished memories.
I’d planned to conquer villains, one and all:
To bring all human hatred to its knees,
And watch the reign of pain and terror fall;
To hear my wisdom echo through the sky,
And help me sing the future to its birth;
To hear my music make the angels cry,
And know my written word could shake the Earth.
Last night I dreamt my thoughts were taking flight,
To fill the universe with golden light.

Mick McKellar
July 2015

So many begin with dreams of shaking the world, but wind up hanging on for dear life. In my dreams, there is no limit to what I can accomplish.

Mick

Whispers of Silence

Whispers of Silence

Tinnitus bells ringing the livelong day,
Makes the sound of silence hard to define;
The aggravation never goes away,
As my ears ring and pop, whistle and whine.
I can't understand voices on my phone,
When I take a message, much of it's guessed.
I seek quiet places, sit all alone,
Isolated, my hearing needs a rest.
Do fish in the ocean look at the land,
And contemplate being there if they're caught?
A concept as easy to understand
Is absence of sound -- it’s a foreign thought.
I cannot explain, not adequately,
What whispers of silence would mean to me.

Mick McKellar
July 2015

I don't remember if I have ever known silence.

Mick

Élan

Élan

I’ve grown weary of all the bickering;
So many voices demanding their say.
Though human spirit may be flickering,
The flame of freedom is fading away.
Creative vision was once a blessing,
To view our world a fresh, different way.
Now a writer must always be guessing:
Will he be judged offensive or risque?
If you speak, or write, or draw with your heart,
And have the clear convictions of your soul;
Though a misanthrope may tear it apart,
You have met the clear purpose of your goal.
For once a truth is revealed to us all,
It has a spirit they cannot recall.

Mick McKellar
July 2015

I write for an audience of one, but I share just in case another may want to build on my thought.

Mick

Dream Tears

Dream Tears

My dream drifts higher, mounting to the sky;
A leaf upon my stream of consciousness.
A long, contented breath, a serene sigh,
Escapes my mind to see such winsomeness.
I climb the sky on frail gossamer wings.
I feel the sun and chase the winds aloft.
I taste the joy, as all creation sings
Of all that’s good, in voices sweet and soft.
I sing as higher yet I scale the blue.
My spirit feels the music of the spheres,
Each note a vibrant, resonating hue,
Enraptured by the melodies it hears.
I weep upon that pinnacle of flight,
And dream tears stain my pillow on that night.

Mick McKellar
July 2015

I have found beauty and joy in such wonderful dreams, and long wished I could share both the wonder and the music.

Mick

Blanket Show

Blanket Show

Though contemplation’s not my cup of tea,
And meditation is slowly frazzling,
At night, my inner eye can barely see,
For brooding in the dark is not dazzling.
To cogitate my midnight reverie,
With personality so saturnine,
I lay alone to daydream pensively,
And practice rumination while supine.
While recumbent and deliberating,
My horizontal ponderance grows old.
When introspections demand translating,
Reflections seem to slow and I grow cold.
In other words, my thinking is so slow,
I fall asleep enjoying “Blanket Show.”

Mick McKellar
July 2015

We tried to trick the kids into bed by promising a “blanket show.” They didn’t buy it after once or twice. Now that I am slowly sliding down the hill of my prime, I find that I rather enjoy the blanket show so much, I often miss my evening meditation.

Mick