Thursday, June 30, 2016

Evensong

Evensong

I listen to spirits of night,
To rhythms I feel from the Earth;
And a newborn ballad takes flight,
When the music heralds its birth.

The chanting of night birds, though soft,
Brings sleep in its gossamer wake.
The chorale of clouds far aloft,
Sing choruses for slumber's sake.

I drift on the clouds of a dream,
As music so airy and light,
Carries my soul upon a stream
Of soft evensong through the night.

Mick McKellar
June 2016


There is music everywhere.

Mick

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Stone Face

Stone Face

He waited, a massive boulder at rest;
A brown study of granite, in disguise
As a promontory casually dressed.
(If the Rock of Gibraltar had blue eyes.)
He waited, and never once made a sound;
He'd simply arrived and rolled into place.
He stared strait ahead, never looked around,
This monument sporting a great stone face.
The chair he engulfed was shaking with strain,
Quaking like Atlas supporting the world.
Til his massive legs helped him stand again,
When in ran a toddler, her blond hair curled,
Giggling when his huge arms swept up the child,
And the room shined bright when the stone face smiled.

Mick McKellar
June 2016


Large people, especially large and muscular men, can seem too massive for normal space. If they seem distant, it may be from folks staring at them.

Mick

Monday, June 27, 2016

Mundane Monday


Mundane Monday

 

I woke up and had to ask myself: Why?
I wondered where all my ambition went.
I'm usually upbeat, sort of spry,
And my days aren’t often ambivalent.
Not that I bounce up and caper around,
But my joy-powered battery was drained.
My lively spirit was chained to the ground.
My day's parade cancelled because it rained.
I dragged myself to the window, to stare
At the morning sun, but outside was grey
And wet, because it was raining out there.
So, I wrote this short sonnet, as a way
To rescue my spirit from the dungeon,
Of a disgruntled home-bound curmudgeon.

Mick McKellar
June 2016

Each day is still a gift to me, but sometimes it takes longer to unwrap it.

Mick

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Pulvis

Pulvis

I lie in the shadows of deepest night.
I melt into darkness still and silent.
Quietly, skillfully, hide from your sight,
While tracing your paths with dogged intent.
I blithely follow wherever you roam.
I dance in the turbulence of your wake.
I see you go out and trace your steps home,
Except for the parts of me that you take.
I touch all your trinkets and your treasure;
My blanket covers your undisturbed things.
Mostly, I'm just you, measure for measure,
And I fly around as if I had wings.
I get on your hands, your elbows, your knees,
And climb up your nose to make you sneeze.

Mick McKellar
June 2016


"Pulvis et umbra sumus. (We are but dust and shadow.)”
― Horace, The Odes of Horace
(Pulvis is dust, of course...)
Mick

Saturday, June 18, 2016

Dark Goodbye

Dark Goodbye

He tripped and fell in the dark of the night.
The edge of the sidewalk was broken there;
Hooked the toe of his shoe and fell from sight,
Into a ditch near that dim thoroughfare.

The collision of a rock and his head,
Made little noise for anyone but him,
And he couldn't see that the rocks were red,
Or the facial gash that made him look grim.

Tried to sit up, but his arms wouldn't move.
Heck! He didn't feel his body at all!
Until someone gave his spirit a shove,
Then he drifted upright and very tall!

He screamed when he saw his body supine,
His eyes staring blankly at the night sky.
His face looked tragic in the weak moonshine,
And yet, he could not bring himself to cry.

Then the hand that shoved him touched his shoulder,
And he spun around, staring into a face
With ancient skin, though the eyes were older —
Dark green and leading to another place.

The other was thin, a minstrel by dress,
And he stood by a fire giving green light;
Then began to sing, his words to caress
A soul torn from life by death in the night.

The melodies made his terror subside,
The harmonies bathed him with hope and peace.
The words were so beautiful that he cried;
He felt all his ties to the Earth release.

He felt so much joy he wanted to fly,
But stayed to talk to the Minstrel awhile.
He asked his questions about how and why,
But the Minstrel would only sing and smile.

“Why do I do it?" He said with a groan.
"These two reasons will have to be enough:
Because no one should have to die alone.
Because we are all made of the same stuff."

The Minstrel stiffened and tried not to cry,
When the brave little boy hugged him goodbye.

Mick McKellar
June 2016


Death can catch us unaware, at any age, at any time, in any place.

Mick

Monday, June 13, 2016

Shake the Beast

Shake the Beast

Silence in the morning of our world's end,
Left us all undisturbed, abed, asleep.
Warnings of danger on which we depend,
Had failed to generate even one peep.
Our representatives, long un-appraised,
Could not explain where our treasure all went;
Though episodic voices had been raised,
Whispering deep rumbles of discontent.
When cries for action unanswered remained,
When pie crust promises were never kept,
When faith in the beast could not be regained,
And the beast slept on, while the people wept;
Until its beating heart finally ceased
All because nobody dared shake the beast.
Mick McKellar
June 2016


It is uncomfortable to ask the tough questions. It is difficult to demand that promises be kept. It is hard work to wake the beast and demand its attention to the many problems that need fixing.

Mick

Thursday, June 02, 2016

Singer, Soldier, Spirit

Singer, Soldier, Spirit

Joe hid from August's soul-oppressing heat,
Inside the entrance to the local mall.
He watched a terrified boy from his seat,
Stumble in through the door and nearly fall.

When something in the frightened young man's eyes,
Caused him to shiver, he rose to his feet;
And then, despite the boy's desperate cries,
Pushed him outside, into the August heat.

Trying to break free and to run inside,
The young man twisted, turned, and pushed away.
And Joe saw what the boy had tried to hide:
Explosives, and a vest to shrapnel spray!

Joe grabbed him tighter, told people to run,
And dragged him out into the parking lot.
Then stood there, swaying in the burning sun
And laughed to find himself in such a spot!

The boys eyes had gone bloodshot, wide and wild,
He started gulping air and tensed to run.
And Joe prayed: "Lord please help me save this child,
A child, as much a weapon as a gun!"

A bullet pierced Joe's shirt and then his breast,
And waves of pain exploded in his mind.
He loosed the boy when blood sprayed from his chest.
He felt the pavement slap him from behind.

A cop ran up with anger on his face,
And shouting words and phrases memorized.
He glared at me in my protected space,
And far too late, I think he realized.

He realized that I was not the threat.
He realized the kid was wired to blow.
His sad eyes said that he owed me a debt,
And realized he had nowhere to go.

The cop dove as the kid blew up his vest,
His body sheltered me from shrapnel fire.
He jerked as shrapnel tore his head and chest,
And movement stopped as I felt him expire.

The smoke and dust suspended in the air,
Hung motionless in silence so profound,
It shocked me when a voice both strong and fair,
Became the rich and lovely only sound.

A man dressed as a Minstrel walked to me,
And touched the cop, who rose and walked aside.
"I pray there is no pain!" He said, "You see,
The officer, the boy, and you all died."

That what I did saved lives he shared with me.
The cop reacted as he had been taught.
The boy was told he'd save his family,
And go to Heaven, just as he had sought.

The Minstrel sang some songs of strength and might.
He showed us all the paths to our reward.
And, as we left I saw the strangest sight:
The Minstrel leaving this time, with a sword...
Mick McKellar
June 2016


Music may also inspire justice.

Mick

Wednesday, June 01, 2016

Heartsong

Heartsong

The ploughman speeds across my field of dreams,
Singing, as with joy he seeds my slumber.
Voice sonorant, awash, silently streams
And feeds my dreams, budding without number.
The dreams spring skyward, stretched in silent dance,
Swaying in rhythms unheard, all night long;
Til in the moonlit silence, just by chance,
I hear a whisper of my own heartsong.
Simple, soto voce, and so alive,
I almost fail to catch its faint bouquet;
As lively dreams subsume its strength, and strive
To reach my sleeping mind and run away.
As I keep pace and follow right along,
To dance my dreams while singing my heartsong.
Mick McKellar
June 2016


Sometimes, our hopes and dreams grow to the music of our heart, even if we can’t hear it ourselves.

Mick