The silent snow falls heavily and white.
A red shed with green shutters watches me,
But never blinks in the dim, winter light;
And oddly, it stares nonjudgmentally.
The evergreen trees whisper together,
Swaying and laughing in Winter's cold breath,
Unconcerned with the inclement weather,
Dreaming of life after frozen sleep-death.
The nude sentinels who sway in the gale,
Stand stark and resolute against the sky;
Their long sleep begun, their frigid exhale
Laughs in the darkness -- they know they won't die.
"Winter comes to all," they silently sing,
"So laugh in the shadows and wait for Spring!"
Mick McKellar
January 2018
Though Winter comes to us all, we must hang on to the joy and wait for our Spring.
Mick
When all discussion is complete; when all debate has ended; when all factors have been considered - what I post here comes out of my mind...
Monday, January 08, 2018
Storm Surge
Although my tea tastes hot and savory,
My morning eyes are cold and hard black ice;
When I observe what's being fed to me,
As Facebook whispers words naughty and nice.
A news feed deluge breaches levees wide
Enough to weather gale force info-storms,
Causing my mind to want to run and hide,
From storm-surge data far beyond the norms.
Daily grow the waves of words I ponder --
My mind awash in flotsam from the net.
I float among the jetsam and wonder,
How I can sort such surf but not get wet,
And figure out, without causing a splash,
How I can tell the treasure from the trash...
Mick McKellar
January 2018
Because: One man's trash -- might get shared and go viral...
Mick
My morning eyes are cold and hard black ice;
When I observe what's being fed to me,
As Facebook whispers words naughty and nice.
A news feed deluge breaches levees wide
Enough to weather gale force info-storms,
Causing my mind to want to run and hide,
From storm-surge data far beyond the norms.
Daily grow the waves of words I ponder --
My mind awash in flotsam from the net.
I float among the jetsam and wonder,
How I can sort such surf but not get wet,
And figure out, without causing a splash,
How I can tell the treasure from the trash...
Mick McKellar
January 2018
Because: One man's trash -- might get shared and go viral...
Mick
Thursday, January 04, 2018
Who Shall Say
It’s far too easy to live by the gun,
Dealing death at a distance, at a whim;
With no thought for the deadly damage done,
The loss for loved ones -- loss of life or limb.
Should in this old world, magic be alive,
Should the triumph of justice be its aim;
Firing a weapon would have more to give,
Than merely another one’s life to claim:
Whatever the targeted victim’s fate,
Be it wounding, suffering, even death;
If dealt by avarice, dogma, or hate,
Be lived by the shooter till his last breath.
None have the wisdom, or the right to say,
Who shall suffer loss, or survive this day.
Mick McKellar
January 2018
Let he who is without sin, cast the first bullet…
Mick
Dealing death at a distance, at a whim;
With no thought for the deadly damage done,
The loss for loved ones -- loss of life or limb.
Should in this old world, magic be alive,
Should the triumph of justice be its aim;
Firing a weapon would have more to give,
Than merely another one’s life to claim:
Whatever the targeted victim’s fate,
Be it wounding, suffering, even death;
If dealt by avarice, dogma, or hate,
Be lived by the shooter till his last breath.
None have the wisdom, or the right to say,
Who shall suffer loss, or survive this day.
Mick McKellar
January 2018
Let he who is without sin, cast the first bullet…
Mick
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