Putin Him Away

Vladimir, like Cheshire cat,
Lies smirking on his limb;
Sucking marrow, grease, and fat,
From bones of children killed for him.

His tiny orbs, his lizard eyes,
Grow darker with each bite.
He relishes their plaintive cries,
And loves it when they fight.

He thinks that he is Khan reborn,
To conquer and enslave
A peaceful people tattered, torn,
With one foot in the grave.

One hopes the world will understand,
The nature of his sin,
And lead him by his slimy hand
To jail, and lock him in.

Mick McKellar
March 2022

This came to me in the middle of the night and woke me up. It appears my nightmares are in Russian these days.

Mick

If I cried, would the angels hear?

I put on each new morning,
Like a clean shirt:
Crisp and fresh from the drawer,
Creased, yet not wrinkled.

I pull it over my head, and for a second,
It's summer and I am camping;
Waking in our golden tent,
Smelling canvas warming in the early sun.
Hungry for my breakfast of pancakes and sand.

As my head erupts from the collar,
My magic mirror catches my eye,
And laughs.
It shows an old, gray geek in a worn t-shirt,
The word "Survivor" shouting from its face.
Hair tangled as a tumbleweed.
Fingers too stiff for buttons, waving about
For balance, seeking comfort from a bookcase.

I pause as my memories and my years
Catch up with me.
I sit on my bed.
I cough, shake my head,
And wonder:
If I cried, would the angels hear?

Mick McKellar
February 2022

It is both curse and joy to remember how it felt to be young, and to relive those feelings and sensations, only to rediscover the wear and tear caused by the sands of time.

Mick 

Wrestling with Ghosts

Dim shadows of twilight,
Hide gay revelry:
A spirited frolic,
And tonic for me.

A quixotic ballroom,
Awash with starlight,
Twinkles and beckons
Across the dark night.

A fountain of music,
And a geyser of song,
Enrapture my spirit
To sing loudly along.

I tumble and tussle
With spirits and souls,
And share a timestep
With a saint, with goals...

 I wake with the sunrise,
Fatigued and dismayed,
And thinking that maybe
I shouldn't have stayed --

So long at the party,
With my unseen hosts;
Tap dancing with angels,
And wrestling with ghosts.

Mick McKellar
February 2022

Ever notice that your dream self can do a whole lot more than your awake self?

Mick

Luminiferous

My eyelid tingles,
as the purple pewter wash
of the day's first light,
caresses its night-crusted surface.

Deep in the warm snuggle of my dream,
the ether rings.
Tintinnabulation of tiny silver bells
pierces the shell of my now-forgotten story,
spilling its contents into my waking thought,
and quickly draining away.

My fingers and toes grow cold,
as the great furnace at my core roars
and my damaged bellows draw new life
from the stillness of my room.

The curtain rises.
The tang of a new day engulfs my tongue.
The flavors of my dreams,
sweet though they be,
are fragmentary memories:
too soon savored and forgotten.

I greet the day with gladness;
I release my dreams with sadness;
And I pray to shun the madness
This day may send my way.

Mick McKellar
February 2022

Each day I awake is a blessing and an enlightenment.

Mick

I Brushed My Hand On Heaven’s Dome

An angel whispered in my ear
Last night, as I lay down to sleep.
He spoke a language crisp and clear;
His voice, both powerful and deep.

The stars were singing through his voice;
A music ancient, and yet young.
My soul caught fire, and made a choice
To harmonize beyond my tongue.

My spirit soared with harmonies,
Beyond the walls of our small home.
I touched the Earth, the snow, the trees;
I brushed my hand on Heaven’s dome.

I sang the music of the stars --
The glory of the universe.
Until discord from constant wars,
From greed and hatred made it worse.

A billion voices cried in pain,
Two billion souls in anguish screamed!
The rich laughed loudly in refrain;
The Earth cried out to be redeemed.

The angel touched my shoulder, kind,
His voice caught once, it seemed.
Then soothing music filled my mind,
And told me that I dreamed.

Mick McKellar
January 2022

Every once in a while, I dream about angels. The lessons they teach are both terrific and terrifying, beyond the power of words to distill, describe, or debate.

Mick

A Late Start on a Cold Day

I watched the day go from black to gray,
Through my window, rimed with frost;
And my hands felt old and stiff with cold,
From the heat they both had lost.

In the streetlight's glow, the blowing snow
Cast shadows upon the glass;
The umbras curled as snow danced and whirled,
As they traveled on -- en masse.

The moving storm sapped what little warm
I had, and drew it forth;
It sucked the heat from my naked feet,
And sent it winging North.

I knew full day was an hour away,
The West wind howled with dread.
I whirled around at that eerie sound,
And I shuffled back to bed.

I jumped right back in my rumpled sack,
A nest both soft and warm;
As I found my place in such sweet embrace,
I forgot about the storm.

The piercing light of a morning bright,
Sparkled through my window pane;
Shining on my clock, which gave me a shock:
I had over-slept again!

I prepared my ruse, an old excuse:
My road had snow drifts high!
Then my hopes were dashed, my lie was smashed --
As I heard the plow go by.

Mick McKellar
January 2022

I've lost count of how many times I crawled back into bed on a wintry morning, falling in love with the warmth and comfort of my bed, only to wake late and have to hurry to shovel or scoop the drive and get to work on time.

Mick

The Remainder of My Days

Though hopes and dreams have faded,
Or gone their separate ways;
My heart remains unjaded,
And sings with joyful praise.

Our path is ne'er a smooth one,
Oft filled with stress and strife;
I face no challenges alone,
I share them with my wife.

Though evil breaks asunder,
Our path in fearful form;
I do not fear the thunder,
Together, we're the storm!

Although we loudly disagree,
In vast and sundry ways;
I want her to stay with me,
The remainder of my days.

Mick McKellar
January 2022

It's my fervent wish in 2022, that the citizens of our country take heed the lessons of a successful marriage. The noise and shouting are normal and compromise is the answer to most challenges.

Mick