Thursday, January 20, 2022

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.


Saturday, January 15, 2022

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.


Saturday, January 01, 2022

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.


Tuesday, December 21, 2021

Awake, Adrift, Yet Under Way

Awake in snowy fog of early morn,
Windows ablaze with grey ambient light,
My dreams of realms where old magic was born,
Return to dim and drifting thoughts of night.
Now cast adrift on pewter twilit seas,
Without a sextant, ship's clock, map or chart,
Nor crew, to hearken to the captain's pleas;
I set a course to mark my journey's start.
I drift from port, alone upon the stair,  
And ride the cataract to galley bright,
Whose harbor welcomes me to heave-to there;
With breakfast on the quay a welcome sight!
From darkness into brilliant light of day,
The voyage of my life is under way.

Mick McKellar
December 2021

Early morning in midwinter is a world heralded by shades of grey, silver, and white. To awaken within the fog of dreams is to be cast upon a colorless sea with little sense of direction. I can always find the kitchen by drifting down the stairs, and breakfast may be waiting on me...


Monday, October 18, 2021

Sweet Sesame

Sweet sesame, you’re my sweet sesame,
A touch of tenderness and subtlety.
Soft, silky joy so wondrously fine,
You even taste like summer sunshine!

My lips sing with happiness, excitement, and fun,
As my tongue caresses your tender young bun.
Sweet sesame, source of sweetness streams,
You’re part of the hamburger of my dreams.

Mick McKellar
October 2021

Just having some fun.


Friday, October 15, 2021

Friends are a Blessing You Can Make

Loneliness is a decision you do not make.
The stairs go down and down,
Easier than up, because gravity...
And you are too tired to try.
And you are too tired to cry.
And no one sees your shoulders shake.

Pain is a memoir you do not make.
It writes in fire upon your soul,
With icy fingers steely sharp.
For you have no tears to shed.
For you have no scars of red.
For no one hears your silent quake.

Fear is a burden you do not make.
It spans your path with darkness deep,
Its shadow thick that claws and clings.
You feel alone -- no warmth to share.
You feel alone -- with none to care.
Does no one sense your silent wake?

Friends are a blessing you can make.
To dispel the crushing weight of fear,
To read your pain and share your path.
You're not alone -- if someone cares.
You're not alone -- if someone shares,
And hand-in-hand your journey takes.

Mick McKellar
October 2021

Loneliness can be a self-fulfilling curse. Often those with chronic illness can feel like an  invisible wanderer, feeling not only pain and fear, but shame. It can be difficult to share.


Tuesday, October 05, 2021

Amazing Dreams: Angel’s Breath

Listen to the distant song
Of twinkling stars above.
Open up your aching heart
To whispered songs of love.
Brush the velvet folds of night,
Softly, with your mind.
Feel the hushed, the tender touch,
Of angel’s breath you find.

Distant, roofless halls of stars,
So vast, and burning bright;
Beckon you, your lonely soul,
To gather in their light.
But life demands you walk your road,
With those you love, and more.
Time enough to visit stars,
When life’s short path is o’er.

Mick McKellar
October 2021

I love it when my dream path wanders among the distant stars.