Thursday, February 09, 2012

Lost in Thought


Sometimes, my mind refuses to rest with the rest of me. As you probably guessed, I am writing this after 3:00 a.m.. I stole down from my bedroom, on little cat feet, to tap away the wee hours of the morning awash in the pale illumination of my computer monitor. My body, fatigued from days of fighting with a recalcitrant rash, seeks the soft abandon of dreamless sleep. My mind, though over-tired and over-stimulated, is racing in neutral -- its engine roaring -- going nowhere, fast.

After I retired, looking for rest, my mind would not find peace. Epic stories, illustrated with fantastic images; grand poems, magnificently performed; and glorious music, played by the stars themselves flooded my mind. Cacophony, tsunami, and whirlwind...my inner world was in chaos. Adrift on the deluge, I could not sleep.

So, here I sit, desperately trying to remember anything but the panache and grandeur, lamenting the lost visions, lost in thought, and in need of rest.

Mick

Lost in Thought

Why can't he sleep at three in the morning?
What is the summons that touches his mind,
Super-charging his thoughts without warning,
Leaving all traces of slumber behind?
What stirs an old man's innermost vision,
Scattering images behind his eyes --
Vivid, brilliant, and drawn with precision,
Leaving him helpless, awake, where he lies?
Vaguely disturbing, they won't let him sleep,
These dark dioramas of inner sight,
So, he slips from his room without a peep,
Turns on his computer, and tries to write.
But his magnum opus will not get done:
He cannot remember a single one...

Mick McKellar
February 2012

Wednesday, February 01, 2012

Through Darker Days


I've been asked why so much of my poetry embraces subjects dark and dreary, while eschewing the lambent and luminous. Perhaps I feel that vivid, bright, flashing images need the solemnity of shadow to truly leap from the page onto the canvas of the mind. Maybe the grim realities of life stand in bas relief against the soft pastels of warm and fuzzy days, and the sharp and brilliant flashes of moments of joy.

Without shadows, one cannot navigate in a snow storm. Without dark glasses, a sunny day can give you a headache. I love to sit in the shade of a tree on a hot summer day and to watch the fingers of twilight touch the roof tops at dusk. I do not fear the night, for the morning will follow.

Mick

Through Darker Days

I've been known to travel a shadowed path,
When I journey into my unique past,
In search of my mental redoubt, my rath,
The castle keep of an elegiast.
Though often chimerical and hazy,
My shady songs pierce the ebony veil,
And travel routes labyrinthine, mazy,
For tales my heart wants to share and regale.
Though I journey in darkness obscurely;
Though my words may grow grim with frustration;
I have faith that my sojourn must surely,
Reach its haven of illumination.
For the sun will rise and deal death to night,
And the shadow owes its birth to the light.

Mick McKellar
February 2012