Monday, May 23, 2011

Fun Park

When the evening shadows grow long, and the day has worked its frustrations and challenges out on my brain, I relax and let my mind drift a little on the evening breeze, a single seed from from a old maple tree -- spinning away -- a helicopter without purpose, drifting on the winds of twilight.

Ideas, dreams, visions, and images all spin away as quickly as they surface. Imperfect, partially formed, hazy, and indistinct, they dash away to play among the facts and realities of the world, until they come home to dance and relax, mix and mingle, in the 24/7 fun park of my subconscious mind. Sometimes, they come out and play, and a poem is born...


Fun Park

The westering sun left me in its wake,
Adrift in the cool blue ocean of sky,
An evening breeze then gave me a shake,
And let slip my thoughts to randomly fly;
Darting and dashing a firefly's track,
Among those creatures that live in the air,
So quickly, as though they're not coming back,
But they always come home, sometime, same where.
When the sky grows indigo, velvet dark,
And the air is pierced with diamond starlight,
My thoughts gather swiftly at the fun park,
To dance, and to sing, and cavort all night.
The park where my thoughts come home to unwind,
Is open all night: my subconscious mind.

Mick McKellar
May 2011

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