Incredibly Ancient Monkey

I looked at my deck,

And thought, what the heck

Is that pile of rags and wood?

Then my eyeballs popped,

And my breathing stopped,

When it moved like no junk pile should.

Slowly it rose,

On prehensile toes,

And quickly began to take shape.

Rags became clothes,

A face with a nose --

It looked like a 6 foot ape!

Out popped a tail,

That grabbed a side-rail,

And steadied him on his two feet.

Now I knew more,

As I opened the door,

T’was a monkey I was to meet.

“Hello,” I said brightly,

Smiling politely.

“Hello,” said a voice deep and mellow.

“Friends call me Mick.”

“IAM!” he said quick,

Extending a hand like a pillow.

“You are who?” I inquired.

He smiled, looking tired.

“My name is Iam (sounding spunky),

It’s a description

An abbreviation

For Incredibly Ancient Monkey…”

“I once was a tree,

And a vast prairie.

I lived as a whale and a shark.

I flew through the air,

Looked down from there,

And I rode on Noah’s crowded ark.”

“I sleep for a while,

As an old debris pile,

That nobody looks at twice.

But, when need is near,

That’s when I appear

To offer my aid and advice!”

“Remember this rule

Not to look the fool:

Nobody else can see me.

Nor can they hear,

When I am near.

So don’t introduce your new buddy.”

“I need to inquire,

Build my knowledge higher,

Until it burns blinding bright.”

With that, he’s gone.

I’m standing alone,

And shaking from sudden fright.

I turned around.

Went in, sat down.

I wondered if I’m a wreck.

I wracked my brain,

But can’t explain

The monkey fur on my deck…

Mick McKellar

August 2024

Shadows of Love

A little light leaks into every life,
In the darkest night, stars show the path.
Though black terrors dance with a smoky knife,
An army of shadows blocks their wrath.
Electric beams from compassion's torch
And empathy's candles burning bright,
Stream oceans of brilliance from love's welcoming porch,
A flood to your aid in the lugubrious night.
Painting the shadows of those who stand fast,
And rush to your aid when the need is dire.
Your army of shadows, powerful, vast,
Shadows of love, their hearts afire.

Mick McKellar
July 2024

Sometimes, when we are at our lowest point, all we see are dark threats and shadows everywhere. It pays to remember that without light, there are no shadows.

Mick

Heliophobia

The golden tongue of the hungry old sun,
Licked my thin skin til it tasted of brine.
It roasted my fresh flesh, and just for fun
Made my blood turgid as badly mulled wine.
Endeav'ring apace to shelter my face,
I wore a large hat with a massive brim.
I did with dark fabrics my limbs encase,
Sunblock was slathered on every limb.
But sunblock rubs off on clothing and bed.
Dark clothes and hats can be dreary attire.
Thinking of sunlight as something to dread,
Just feels wrong to me, sets my mind on fire.
My Daedalus says to follow advice!
My Icarus tells me sunshine is nice...

Mick McKellar
June 2024

Moonlight

The sky feels alive when the moon shines bright,
Limning the trees with white and quicksilver.
It amplifies the grandeur of the night,
Slowly adrift on a star filled river.

Baleful and pale its countenance shimmers,
Oft making the darkness scamper away,
Revealing insects, swift airborne swimmers,
Hiding from night hunters after their prey.

Fleet foragers foray forth and they dance,
From silver gray shadow to branch and leaf.
They skip and dance across pale-lit expanse,
Though some of their dances are dire and brief.

The moon sails along on its merry way,
Sharing silver magic, both fair and fey.

Mick McKellar
June 2024

Making Do

I have suspended mufflers from the ground,
By wrapping them with bailing wire around.
I've patched a rusty hole big as your thumb,
With packing tape and black Rustoleum.
I've fixed a hole in rusty floorboard worn,
With roofing from our barn in a storm torn;
And fixed a broken window (one or two),
With sheets of Visqueen, clamps, and super glue.
I'll drive my patched-up vehicles around,
And wait for used car prices to come down.

Mick McKellar
June 2024

Peace Is Made At The Dinner Table

From the divine flame, we are sparks that fly,
Alike more than not, under the vast sky.
Diversity blooms in the gardens of mind,
In colors we wear, and thoughts that we find.

Mirrored ideas, in other's eyes seen,
As half-formed thoughts, in your works are now keen.
The mystery lies not in our varied prayer,
But in common truths that diverse creeds share.

Philosophers ponder, splitting hairs fine,
Seek borders and conflicts to draw a line.
Human rights, survival, a common thread,
In labyrinthian tapestries, quickly spread.

Conflicts arise, from differences sown,
In race, wealth, culture, their seeds overblown.
Yet stories tell, of strong hatreds unmade,
When common foes are together waylaid.

Peace talks falter, from top to ground,
In macro terms, solutions are bound.
But perhaps the answer lies in the meek,
Building bridges, as the human spirit seeks.

For in each encounter, face to face,
We find our humanity, our collective grace.
If we but start small, with the one next door,
Perhaps peace will spread, from shore to shore.

Mick McKellar
June 2024

From a short essay I wrote on October 16, 1995 and shared with Edupage on a daily email weblog (a text precursor to a podcast).

Mick

To a Noisy Woodpecker

How can a woodpecker be so dumb?
Thinks my metal chimney is a drum?
But, I think he does it just for fun,
"Rat-a-tat," just like a machine gun!

Looking for your food? Save a penny.
My tin chimney doesn't have any.
Looking to build a small, cozy nest?
Shiny metal tubes are not the best.

Sending out a message, far and wide:
"My territory! You stay outside!"
Or maybe it's that old bird bromide:
"I'm looking for a woodpecker bride!"

Feeding, nesting, or territory,
Beating on my chimney bothers me.
Whatever your urgent message be,
Please go hammer it on a real tree!

Mick McKellar
June 2024