Portraits of Moving Streams[Can you hear the symphonies in my words?]
The silent timbres of my voices swell,
As they harmonize with vast threads of thought:
Passage to passage, where ideas dwell,
Measure to measure, where insight is sought.
A thousand thousand legends and stories,
Long caroled by minstrels, mighty and kind,
Meander -- limitless inventories,
Throughout the vast dark of my sleeping mind.
[Can you taste the melodies in my verse?]
Whether right or wrong, the merely mortal,
Swims freely among the stars of the night.
The fleshly form finds a hidden portal,
And sings of wonders in Heaven’s warm light.
My mind, unfettered by Earth’s rigid rules,
Finds such adventures an awesome delight;
To dance in moonlight with wizards and fools,
And sing to the soul when my heart takes flight.
[Can you feel the harmonies in my dreams?]
I struggle to capture the beauty I see;
I strive to remember the music I hear;
I strain to bestow the gifts given me,
On all who seek understanding sincere.
The images rendered by swift insight,
The word songs and stories sung in my dreams,
Drive me to transcribe the verses I write,
As though painting portraits of moving streams.
Mick McKellar
February 2015Writing a poem truly is painting a portrait of a moving stream. Reading poetry is very much like contemplating paintings in a gallery or museum. Each takes time and considerable effort. Perhaps that explains why so few enjoy poems in a world that demands so much already and allows so little time to contemplate, to consider, and to commune with author or artist.
Mick
