Chimera

Chimera

A thought intruded, suddenly,
While gathering wool, sipping tea,
And gazing inward, I could see
I wasn't me, entirely.

A river red and blue, it flows,
From top of head to tips of toes.
Yet ev'rywhere the river goes,
Its misbehavior often shows.

It knows a secret, wild and fey,
That makes it act in a strange way:
My life's blood, as blood tests betray,
Contains my brother's DNA.

I may not appear differently,
I look the same; I look like me.
Yet, me, myself, and I agree,
I'm not myself, entirely...

Mick McKellar
September 2013


939 days since the blood and marrow transplant, and I am still not used to the knowledge that, essentially, my brother's blood flows in my blood stream.

Mick

Senses

My mom, my dad, and me...in 1951.

Remembering my Mom (September 13, 2013):

Today would have been my Mom's 83rd birthday. She died in May, 1990. I miss her everyday. This is the poem I wrote upon her death and read at her funeral:






Senses

I see in my reflection, clear,
The image of your face.
I glimpse your shadow, standing near,
In each familiar place.
Your perfume permeates the air,
When sudden, I take note,
And lingers long and gently there,
On letters that you wrote.
When injured, or when feeling sad,
I feel your soothing touch.
And smells of cooking make me glad
I loved your food so much.

Now, late at night, when silence reigns,
I hear your voice again.
I know that after tears and pains,
Your flame is gone - your warmth remains.

Mick McKellar
( written upon the death of my mother, May 6, 1990 )

Summer Symphony

Summer Symphony

I dreamt all adrift in the warm/cool shade,
Softly relaxed in an afternoon haze,
My backyard transformed, now a shining glade,
Where wind shadows caught my wondering gaze.
The breeze tickled leaves and tossed limbs around,
As it capered and cavorted in glee,
It's soft susuration the only sound,
Except for the hum of a bumblebee.
The sky sang a deep, rich, blue melody,
As the earth roared harmony, velvet green.
Bright clouds led a daring counterpoint, free
To join the green choral polyphony.
Blue sky melody and green harmony,
Blessed my eyes in visual symphony.

Mick McKellar
August 2013


When summer finally arrived in the Keweenaw, I had to spend a few hours dreaming in the shade of our porch swing...at least when the bugs allowed it.

Mick

Sleep in Thunder

Sleep in Thunder

I dreamt that I walked far beneath the earth,
And wandered caverns enormously old,
Through cracks that would barely permit my girth,
Surrounded by shadows silent and cold.
I felt the weight of the rocks overhead,
And touched the face of the gathering gloom.
Yet, although the earth is home for the dead,
I did not succumb to fear of the tomb.
I met myself in a saturnine shade,
Waiting for me in soundless composure.
He showed me the fog of fear I had made,
And brought me peace with whispered disclosure:
A clear mind tears deception asunder,
And a quiet conscience sleeps in thunder.

Mick McKellar
August 2013


I read an Old English proverb late last night before I retired. Somehow, it insinuated itself into my dreams. The proverb says: "A quiet conscience sleeps in thunder." How it got from there to wandering caverns deep and dark and cold, I haven't the foggiest...

Mick

The Spark and the Song

The Spark and the Song

Jehovah was sitting alone in the dark,
And He was so bored He could cry.
So He snapped His fingers, creating a spark,
Which floated before one great eye.
Because He'd created the very first light,
He thought to Himself, "Goodness Me!"
And channeled a tiny bit more of His might,
To make something else He could see.

He pondered the various ways to create,
Though certain He'd not do it wrong.
When writing upon on a completely clean slate,
One always should start with a song!
And so the Almighty threw back His great head,
Unleashing His titanic voice;
The powerful note that He first sounded led,
To the making of His first choice:

A beautiful creature, on gossamer wings,
Now hovered in front of His face.
He smiled to Himself when He heard how it sings,
As it floated out there in space.
His smile faded fast, as He listened with care,
To its now melancholy song;
And He knew that to leave it alone out there,
Would cause pain, and that would be wrong.

So He laughed and He sang another great note --
He sang a most wonderful song.
The first of the grand compositions He wrote:
Angels - a hundred thousand strong!
Then, a hundred thousand new voices now sang,
With a spirit He had set free,
And the universe He'd created, now rang
With a glorious harmony.

The music, which started a long time ago,
Grows more beautiful with each day;
And the sons and daughters of Adam will know,
Their part in the great roundelay.
The stars and the planets all beat with His heart,
And the universe wants to swing.
All creation works hard, to perform its part
With the Lord, who just loves to sing!

Mick McKellar
January 2006

I wrote this back in 2006 and sort of tripped over it this morning. I wasn't sharing my poetry widely back then, so after all that has happened in the last three years, it sang to me. I was up very late (or early) writing the first draft of this unpretentious little poem. I'm not certain what I was thinking -- writing a creation story. But here is my somewhat simple take on how, maybe just perhaps, the universe began -- not with a great big bang -- but with a spark and a song...

Mick

At Break of Day

At Break of Day

The foggy arms of morning caress me,
When first I venture outside my front door.
Vague glowing shadows of trees address me,
With wind-driven whispers across the moor.
The slowly retreating chill of the night,
Whose slender fingers grasp tenuously
At my face and hands, retreat at the bite
Of dawn's first rays seeking sinuously.
A touch of sun sets the ether aglow,
With brilliant warning of doom for the dew,
 And pretty promise to warm my chateau --
To lift up my heart, and my strength renew.
Silent, I stand,  to let my spirit pray,
And give thanks for my life at break of day.

Mick McKellar
August 2013


I love greeting the sun on a cool and foggy Copper Country morning. Everything glows with the promise of the approaching day, as the land wakes from the misty shadows of night.

Mick

My Reverie

My Reverie

I dreamt I sat upon a stone,
Along a dark and narrow way.
Although I walked there all alone,
Why I sat down, I cannot say.
I gazed into the gathered gloom,
My eyes in motion, endlessly
Afraid of what specter might loom...
In twilight, in my reverie.

I dreamt I slept upon that stone,
How long I drifted none can say.
I shivered, chilled clear to the bone,
For night had chased the day away.
An eerie mist clung to the broom,
Surrounding both the stone and me.
I felt watched by each yellow bloom...
At midnight, in my reverie.

I dreamt I tarried on that stone,
Til daylight could my fears allay.
And used my granite throne to hone
My nerve, to keep my fears at bay.
As daybreak banished thoughts of doom,
A sea of yellow greeted me,
With golden glow and grand perfume...
At daybreak, in my reverie.

The day-star touched my dark bedroom;
I smiled as sun awakened me,
To happily my life resume...
Abandoning my reverie.

Mick McKellar
July 2013


Sometimes, a dream is just a dream. Sometimes, it's a lesson...

Mick