Resolute Narrative

Would the you I met have meant something less,
Had I met you in a different time?
Would the you I met make my life a mess:
In an abyss, with a mountain to climb?
Would the you I met have meant something more,
Had I met you when I was much older?
Would the you I met have opened your door,
Or left me outside to languish, colder?
Perhaps we met at a moment ordained;
Written in history, destined to be.
Much more would be lost, than anything gained
By tampering with our biography.
If we changed our story...our history,
You wouldn't be you -- I wouldn't be me.

Mick McKellar
August 2018

A friend was wondering what would happen if he met some folks earlier or later or not at all; perhaps wishing to be a different person.

Mick

Stolen World.

It's not just the darkness of the expanse,
As the nights pass swiftly on silent wings;
The stars dance, and offer a steely glance,
While the west wind whispers and hums and sings.
Rivers of velvet, deep blue and dark grey,
Soundlessly seep into shadows a'borning;
Slowly they pool in each corner and bay,
Settling down, to chill till the morning.
Gravely, a mantle of black mystery
Drapes the lugubrious landscape with care,
Drawing a mist over all I can see --
Telling my mind there is nothing there.
The magic of the mysterious night
Steals my world, as it vanishes from sight.

Mick McKellar
August 2018

Past midsummer, the days are noticeably shorter and the approach of night is quicker and more pronounced. It feels like darkness is ascendant and it is stealing my light, my world...

Mick

My World Inside

My birthworld challenges my right to live;
My right to strive for wholeness and breathe free.
It swallows all the substance I can give,
To patch the brokenness inside of me.
My imperfections live so deep within,
It seems at times they hide inside my mind,
And in a world where diff'rence is a sin,
I ache to grasp what solace I can find.
I watch my world break families apart;
I see the remnants left behind in need,
By those who value profit over heart,
Who live but to consume; who worship greed.
I forged a stout redoubt to shelter me:
A world I built inside my poetry.

I built a world where all are free to thrive,
Where no one takes your family away,
Because they fear your battle to survive,
Might cost them profits on some future day.
A world where sunlight streaming to the ground,
Might find itself upon a solar pane,
And drive a rush of energy around,
To cleanly power lights, a car, or train;
Where education and healthcare are free,
And each of us is equal under law.
Although the system works beautifully,
It seems so distant from the Keweenaw.
Yet, I feel none can ever vanquish me,
Because I live inside my poetry.

Mick McKellar
August 2018

Can we live in multiple worlds at once? Sometimes, you just need to go to a world where things work like they should.

Mick

Bygones

A beginning is just that...it can't last.
A stone is long gone, after you've thrown it.
A moment disappears after it's past.
The first time, once past, is yours, you own it.
Innocence gone will be gone forever.
An occasion missed is gone with the goods.
Laughter, once done is coming back -- never.
Trust, once abandoned is lost in the woods.
True love, once spurned, can be never the same.
A word can't be unheard once it is said.
Cruelty practiced is always a shame.
And people who die will likely stay dead.
Life moves too quickly, blink and it's over,
Remember these things you can't recover.

Mick McKellar
August 2018

I saw the lists of 3, 4, or 5 things you can't recover and thought I might make a more complete list. Life is short -- live, love, laugh and don't regret things that make you smile!

Mick

Moratorium

As once again, I face an empty page,
I seek to vent a turmoil deep within:
A seething anger, bordering on rage;
A helpless fury, bordering on sin.
I seek to channel passion into words,
And phrases that bespeak my frame of mind.
But thunderbolts and flaming firebirds,
Can’t capture all the terrors I can find.
I revel in the vast descriptive hoard;
The rare anthology of all that’s vile.
I search among the options till I’m bored,
My zeal and fervor cooling all the while.
Before I can attack all that I hate,
My anger has a chance to dissipate.

Mick McKellar
August 2018

It takes time to write a poem. This gives me a chance to chew on the subject matter and, perhaps, bite my tongue once or twice…

Mick