Wambles and Griffonage

I toured the country of my life,
From jadeite forests, crystal green,
Near pristine rivers indigo, lavender,
And mirrored sky all white and blue.
But, such are will-o’-the-wish dreams
And happy thoughts from daytime naps.
Such tours are short for stumps,
And sad, old oaks with too much bark
And no bite.

The whispered shadow of afternoon sun
Breached the window’s dusty pane,
To brush its fire on vellum battlefield,
Where liquid thought begets griffonage;
Where wheezing bellows stoke
The Muse’s ancient flames.
Yet naught is heard but sips and wambles.
And rarely.
Oh! So rarely,
The blessed words come.

Mick McKellar
August 2022

It's been a while since I wrote about writing, and the battle to coax the words forth and aid them in telling their story.

Mick

Sustenance

When first I see the light of day,
Joy in my bones aches to reach out
For a hug, and for a moment, to play:
To wriggle and giggle and shout,
To laugh, and wonder what life's about.

Awake, onside life's dusty road,
I break my fast on shadow's bane:
The languid, liquid, light that flowed
Upon my face, and will again,
To long my love of life sustain.

Mick McKellar
August 2022

When I saw Sandy's photo, I immediately thought of how I greet the first rays of sunlight each day. Each day is a gift and that light can be so welcome, it can elicit a giggle or a gap-toothed smile.

Mick

Good morning, Lord!

The shades of night were in retreat,
The shadows fleeing from the light,
And from the welcome, lively heat
That warms my heart and stirs my sight.

The Sun's sweet music touched a chord
Within my soul, and filled with glee,
I loudly called: "Good morning, Lord!"
And I could swear He smiled at me.

Mick McKellar
August 2022

Surprised and happy to wake up each day, I often say, "Good morning, Lord." I'd like to think God smiles a little when He hears my call. (Photo below was taken by my sister, Sandy Lapeer)

Mick