Payback...?

Sometimes, I get up and find that nothing goes right. You know what I mean: You get shampoo in your eyes, you drop your keys and they jump right under the sofa, you shake the juice container – but the lid’s loose, the file you backed up on your jump drive isn’t there this morning…

I guess everyone has days like that. What runs through my mind, as I look out the window at a sunny day (which started with high winds and rain – but only while I was outside), is: Why is this happening to me? I suppose we all want a reason for things to go so wrong all at once, and naturally my mind drifts across the Bay of Paranoia to the rocky shores of Payback City. I stand on that shore and ask:“What did I do to deserve this?”

There is, of course, no answer but a faintly sinister snicker, carried on the wind that blows down from the barren heights of distant hills where live scapegoats, straw-men, a cadre of devil’s advocates, and the occasional shadow of a doubt. I just file this package of problems away with other mysteries, like why buttered bread always falls with the buttered side down and where goes the odd sock which disappears from the dryer.

Mick

Payback

There are those days, when to get out of bed
Just doesn't seem like the best way to start.
A small pain lurks at the back of your head,
You'd swear caused a pause of your beating heart.
It tastes like there's dish soap in your toothpaste,
Your razor feels like an old carving knife;
In the “wake-up” shower you take in haste:
The coldest water you’ve felt in your life!
Your breakfast burns and your coffee’s like tar,
Outside your front door smells like doggy poo -
You see nothing there, you get in your car,
And find the bad smell -- stuck to your right shoe…
You just want to stuff the day in a sack,
And label it: Anonymous Payback.

Mick McKellar
October 2007

Roof of the World

I rise early, so that I can greet each day as it arrives. I know I have a finite number of them to spend on this planet, and I mean to meet each one at very first light, and enjoy each one until darkest night.

I was up long before first light today, and arrived at work as the sun broke over the far horizon. Sometimes, the weather and the geography of the land conspire to trap fluffy white clouds below an inversion layer in the valley surrounding the Portage Canal. On these rare and wonderful mornings, I can look down from Quincy Hill and see the clouds trapped in the valley, filling it brimful of brilliant sun-lit sky-stuff. On these mornings, it feels like I stand on the roof of the world...

Mick

Roof of the World

I shivered there, in the early morn chill,
As Winter's touch penetrated my coat;
Exposed to the wind on an open hill,
With the valley below my castle's moat.
From my parapet, I surveyed the land,
Shrouded below in a blanket of white,
Touched by the Architect's powerful hand,
With billows of fluffy, wintry samite.
While the burning torch of the rising day,
Hung in the heavens, a lantern of gold
To illuminate Autumn's shadowed way,
Toward Winter's dark prison of ice and cold,
I felt the banner of my soul unfurled -
Watching sunrise on the roof of the world.

Mick McKellar
October 2007

Silent Whisper

There are mornings, and then there are mornings. This morning started in the usual Copper Country fashion - dark with a side order of crisp, cold air. A bit of ice frosted my windshield and old Jack Frost was nipping at more than my nose. Although my attention was focused on driving and avoiding those critters foolish enough to play dash and die on the highway, I noticed a thin line of reddish warm light throwing the trees into relief along the road and pushing back the purple and indigo of early dawn. Still, I trudged up to my office, not quite registering that the day had begun, and I happened to glance out a window. There were the leafless and gaunt gray forms of oaks and maples and birches and poplars - crowded around the old building from where I gazed, and in silent profusion they waited for the sun to breach the horizon and warm their branches, windblown and chilled by the night. As the first rays of the Autumn morning's beacon touched their outstretched limbs, I swear I heard them whisper a silent good bye to the shadows of night...

Mick

Silent Whisper

Beyond my window, the arms of the trees
Attempt to scatter the moon's morning light -
The last gasp of night, that one only sees
At the break of dawn, with untarnished sight.
The crooked gray limbs reach high and away,
From scattering shadows on forest floor;
In the early breezes, they swing and sway
As if they pray for the sun's warmth, and more...
In haughty silence, they patiently wait
For the Autumn sun, to paint with its rays
Their stately gaunt branches, destined by fate
To divide the sky in a thousand ways,
As the sun crests the hills, golden and bright,
And silently whisper good bye to night.

Mick McKellar
October 2007

The Journey to Winter's Road

The colors of autumn and the chill air of approaching winter have begun to work their magic on my summer mind. I love the autumn because of the harvest bounty and because of the wonderful colors. Long brisk walks in chill twilight shadows cast by golden autumn sunsets gives me a sense of peace, yet it points toward the journey's end - not yet visible, but hauntingly and palpably present, just over a distant rise in the road. Reflection and wishful thinking combine to cast the long path into poetry and allow me to sing my song of the journey to Winter's road...

Mick

The Journey to Winter's Road

Spring's Path

At very first step, there was only me -
To leave the warm place, in the pain of light;
On a path to touch, to hear, and to see -
Touch yielding to sound, sound yielding to sight.
A bright, verdant journey begun with youth
And terrors of bright, open, wide human space,
That led to a life-long search, for the truth
About life itself, its source and its place
In the burgeoning world, spread far and wide
Before tender feet and naive brown eyes;
With elsewhere to run, and nowhere to hide,
Under the endless, unlimited skies.

Summer's Meadow

Sofas and coffee shops, green lilac leaves:
A spirit abiding, journeys along
Until a deep longing, tugging at sleeves,
Makes a grand duet of his solo song.
Honey-filled words, and deep-blue longing looks,
Forge a new partnership, pilgrimage, quest...
Deep secrets shared could fill thousands of books,
Yet keeping secrets was probably best.
Under countless suns, shining brilliantly,
Without ever quite understanding why,
The duet produces a progeny;
Sharing the path under bronze summer sky.

Autumn's Trail

Chill golden winds announce harvest's approach,
Daylight has dwindled and shadows appear.
Progeny's paths soon the family's cask broach,
Depart, and in distance soon disappear;
Shriving the chorus of voices so young,
It leaves the duet a sad lonely tune -
Feeling that all of the joy has been sung:
Singing October, remembering June.
Until like fall leaves, blown briskly away,
Vanished in the sea with naught but a sigh;
Solo song echoed across that dark quay.
We parted at twilight, when tide was high.

Winter's Road

Deep in the white drifts that quenched where I stepped,
My fiery purpose now cinder-cold;
Awakened by long-buried fears that slept -
Terrors of uselessness, and growing old
In solitude haunt my long walking dream.
Silent companions for each lonely mile,
Resolute, nameless, and voiceless they scream;
And always behind me, in single file.
Yet, forward through empty whiteness I trudge,
Celebrating each step as victory.
As companions depart, I hold no grudge,
For at the last step, there is only me.

Mick McKellar
October 2007

The Sunbow

I drove to work this morning in a cold and gray dawn until I reached our offices on Quincy Hill. As I walked up to the front doors of the building, the sun broke over the horizon and flashed red and gold on both the gray trees and remaining bright leaves that surround the Quincy Mine Office building. It cheered me a little as I entered and headed for my office. Opening the shutters on my office window, I gasped to discover trees aflame with morning sun and a glorious sunbow rising to Heaven beyond. A prayer of wonder escaped my lips as my hands searched for my camera to capture the sight. As I watched, a sudden shower washed the beautiful bow from the sky, the sun crept higher, and the day once again turned gray.

That image is now the background on my computer screen - the captured memory of sudden wonder on a cold gray dawn.

Mick

Sunbow

I wonder why they call it a rainbow,
When sun creates it, and rain makes it go?
I watched one form in the early morn sky -
So colorful, it almost made me cry.
As first rays of sun the horizon cleared,
And with dancing fire the twilit fog seared,
They touched the jeweled hearts of morning mist,
And with prismatic lips the sky was kissed.
A phantom hand with a sudden bright brush,
Traced an arch of wonder, in silent rush.
From Earth to Heaven spanned the bridge of light -
From unseen forest it climbed out of sight,
Until cold cloud tears washed the autumn sky,
And I bade the glorious arch, "Goodbye."

Mick McKellar
October 2007

Beyond Bittersweet

A story grew in my mind while walking last night. I wondered what would happen to a man, were he shown all the hurt he has done to his loved ones, whether or not it was intended, in his lifetime. Could one read the book of his life, knowing the depth of the tragedies that hide in the shadowy depths of that most personal prose, the revealing memoir of a father, husband, and sometime friend, who traveled his life's path, blind to the terrible price of his passage? Will we all be forced to read that terrible tome as we pass that tearful veil? What if my father, seeking only to reduce my pain in the afterlife, revealed to me the awful truth tomorrow?

Would it be the near path to peace, or beyond bittersweet?

Beyond Bittersweet

When I thought I was talking to myself -
An ancient novel, alone on a shelf -
Full of regrets for mistakes and choices,
Written in many conflicting voices,
A sudden, cold draft blew across my spine -
Chilling each page, ev'ry chapter and line.
Then a specter, near silent, deeply sad,
With the low sepulchral voice of my Dad -
Cavernous, distant and unhappily
Spoke as the shade of my father to me.

His words brought no comfort, memories mild,
Or pleasant reflections to his grown child.
Instead he recounted in great detail,
Every time I endeavored to fail
At being a Dad, a husband, a son -
Recounting the battles I should have won,
And then counted up the tremendous cost
Of the useless fights that I fought, and lost.
The ceaseless onslaught drove me nearly wild,
Till he stopped and the spectral visage smiled...

"I've shown you the worst of yourself," he said,
"An accounting any sane man would dread;
Yet, every father since time began,
Whether or not he's a very good man,
Despite his intent and the care he takes,
Will make many thousand little mistakes -
For which, by his cosmic roll of the dice,
His loved ones ultimately pay the price.
A debt to his friends, descendents and wife,
That will haunt his soul in the afterlife."

"I've shown you the worst now," he spoke again,
"To spare you eternal and ceaseless pain;
To open your heart to the damage done -
A bittersweet gift for my eldest son."
Now satisfied with the message he gave,
My spectral scion, silent as the grave,
Like the barest wisp of smoky mist hies -
Except for his penetrating blue eyes
Which bore into mine, with a message clear:
"Feel sorrow for hurting those you hold dear,
Fix what you can, and then hope for the best -
And with forgiveness, you'll find peaceful rest."

In deafening silence, I saw myself -
An old, lonely book, weeping on the shelf...

Mick McKellar
September 2007

Are You a Blue Giant?

I learned an interesting fact today - about stars. Blue giants, the most massive stars, have the shortest lifespans. One would expect the opposite to be true, because they have by far the most fuel to burn. Yet, the truth is so vastly different from one's expectations.

They burn many times hotter than Sol (our Sun), and must create much more pressure from their fusion engine to counteract the mighty forces of gravity than a less massive star. Apparently Blue Main Sequence (the proper name) stars are the "gas hogs" of the universe. After all, a star's fuel is hydrogen gas...

When contemplating huge, burning bags of gas, my thoughts naturally turned to myself and my contemporaries. Why do the brightest luminaries "burn out" so quickly? Is it simple physics? Do they just consume their resources too quickly to survive?

Perhaps the lesson for us all, is that it's better to let your light shine at a comfortable, sustainable rate, and let it shine ten to a hundred times longer. Let your personal power illuminate lives, drive worlds, and sustain life. The blue-white hot beams of the Blue Giant would roast us all, leaving nothing alive to appreciate its beauty and its power. Better normal and with friends than exceptionally powerful and alone in the universe...