False Fire

 

 

 

 

 

False Fire

A hint of shadow cast upon the walls,

Tells a tale of secrets carried alone,

Endlessly through dim and empty halls,

Of memory, not of mortar and stone,

But of life and passion, room by room.

A living mansion where a life may hide,

Where darkness dwells in galleries of gloom,

And untold and hidden stories reside.

I wander the vast palace in my mind.

My footfalls echo through hall, stair, and spire,

Unsure what I seek or what I may find,

Each step illuminated by foxfire.

Yet, I press on through the flickering night,

False fire in search of a haven of light.

Mick McKellar

June 2014

The path of memory can be as dark as midnight in the deep wood. Yet, the cold candle of certain fungi on decaying wood, often referred to as foxfire, can seem bright indeed. Perhaps decaying memories have their own foxfire.

Mick

Shining

 

 

 

 

 

Shining

Fears lurk in the dark corners of my life;

I hear them softly breathing in the night.

The terrors I sense feel sharp as a knife,

Stabbing from shadows before I can fight.

And yet, I do not have to be afraid,

Of darkling shades in the mists of twilight.

Though gloom may leave the faint of heart dismayed,

Stygian shadows flee from faintest light.

Nor can they reach beyond the inky shade;

Fearful themselves of penetrating sight,

Which lays bare the void of which fears are made,

And fills their emptiness with deft insight.

Illumination has a simple start:

The light that shines from deep within my heart.

Mick McKellar

June 2014

Fear flees from the light, keep your batteries charged.

Mick

One Wee Tear

 

 

 

 

One Wee Tear

Dazzling white flowers, gold-stained by the sun,

Embrace the cool morning breeze with aplomb,

And to acknowledge the day has begun,

Dance and sway gaily as bumblebees hum.

Birds sing along with the song of the bees,

Sweet counterpoint in the cool morning hush.

Wind whispers soft lyrics through the pine trees,

Tales of its journey in rustle and rush.

The rattling leaves of maple and oak,

Dapple the sunlight that reaches the ground.

Simple and solemn, these muses evoke

Daydreams of symphonies, pure sight and sound.

Lingering softly on eye and on ear,

The morning music enchants one wee tear.

Mick McKellar

June 2014

Sometimes, there’s magic to be found just by stepping out on your deck on a summer morning.

Mick

Poe It, Nevermore

 

 

 

 

Poe It, Nevermore

I sit and write,

Till late at night,

To quell persistent fears,

I’ll not be there,

To fully share,

The thoughts between my ears.

I know full well,

It’s hard to tell

The source, but even worse;

Try to explain,

Why my old brain,

Erupts in rhyming verse.

I can’t restrain,

The speeding train,

Of a relentless mind.

I can but ask,

It do its task,

And finally unwind.

Because I sit,

And write, to wit,

Complete my nightly chore;

Poe might have said,

When off to bed:

“For tonight — Nevermore.”

Mick McKellar

June 2014

I know it’s late, I just can’t help myself — I have to get it out of my head, or lose it.

Mick

Flame Solitaire

 

 

 

 

Flame Solitaire

Angels dance ‘round to the glad sound,

Of your sweet voice on the air,

And remember the bright ember,

Of your love's flame, solitaire:

The bright birthright of the dawn’s light,

That no shadow may forswear.

None may erase what I embrace,

As my heart becomes aware,

Of our sojourn, and the slow burn,

When our passion, dazzling, rare,

Shares ignition and fruition,

Evermore and ev’rywhere.

Mick McKellar

June 2014

When true love kindles, the angels dance.

Mick

Crimson Dreams

Crimson Dreams

I walk beyond the moon to touch the stars,

In waking dreams beneath a blood-red sun.

Sleek, silver ocean waves, on soft sand bars,

Break silently, though my heart feels each one.

Magenta clouds dash through deep purple skies,

On winds that whisper questions to themselves;

To which the burnished, argent sea replies,

By dashing silver arms on ancient shelves.

Then, shining through a ruby red twilight,

I see glistening mists of silver rain,

Adrift upon the ghost wind, all alight

With tiny crimson flames from Hell’s domain.

I cast myself aloft, expecting pain;

I wake at dawn, alive, and home again.

Mick McKellar

June 2014

Sometimes, I dream in technicolor, cinemascope, and 3D. I don’t know what they mean, but the images haunt my life, my waking dream.

Mick

Memectomy

Memectomy

The poly-political parrot posts,

Any old thing anybody puts out;

Oft keeping alive ridiculous ghosts,

Of outrageous slogans that windbags spout.

Often they're lies or an argument dead,

Or cast aside, as it's no longer news.

Yet, it seems anything anyone said,

Lies dormant to recycle and reuse,

As the groundwork for yet another meme,

That skewers one person or another.

This should make many readers want to scream;

Yet, few voices ever seem to bother.

Is memectomy the panacea,

For recycled online diarrhea?

Mick McKellar

June 2014

Is it just by chance that emetic and memetic are so close? I still occasionally enjoy tracking an Internet meme -- especially something original, thoughtful, funny, or moving. However, of late, I’ve been awash in old spam and the worst sort of trash -- for example, a painting of someone like Thomas Jefferson with a “quote” spouting bigotry, vulgarity, and bad grammar. Oh, I forgot...it also usually has the admonition to “share” it if I truly love America (the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, my family, etc.). Yeah, right…

Mick

First Light

First Light

The bright fiery promise of dawn's first light,

Flickered through treetops limned golden, aglow;

As the cobwebs and shadows of twilight,

Afraid of the morning’s countenance bright,

Fled to the dark places all shadows go.

A happenstance audience on that day,

I stood transfixed on the edge of the road.

My moist eyes were brimming at the display,

Causing my heart, my staid mind to betray,

And I wept as emotions overflowed.

Gently the sun warmed the chill from the air,

Blessing the new day, and kissing the earth

Good morning, awakening ev’rywhere,

The sleepers, now roused and ready to share

The bounty which follows daily rebirth.

As I stood, and I faced the morning sun,

I basked in the warmth of our nearest star.

I felt all my problem knots come undone.

I felt as if life had again begun.

I knew, despite illness, I could go far!

Mick McKellar

June 2014

The touch of the sun on a summer’s morn, awakens life everywhere, even in old, broken me…

Mick

Eolith

 

 

 

 

 

Eolith

Too old to have run a full marathon,

Too young to have known old Agamemnon,

As classic as cabernet sauvignon,

I’m a natural old phenomenon.

Though most of my friends think I am docile,

Family know my ego’s colossal.

No, I did not befriend an Apostle,

Although some think I might be a fossil...

A grumpy grumbler and growler, herewith

Is curmudgeonly behavior’s sour pith:

I exist in nature, I’m not a myth,

The essence of cranky: an eolith

Mick McKellar

June 2014

e·o·lith

 [ee-uh-lith]

noun

a chipped stone of the late Tertiary Period in Europe once thought to have been flaked by humans but now known to be the product of natural, nonhuman agencies.

Light of Mind, Eyes of Heart

 

 

 

 

 

Light of Mind, Eyes of Heart

My fear danced darkly through my twilight dreams,

It stood behind me and whispered white lies:

That good news is not as sweet as it seems;

That smiles of my friends are only disguise.

Though science of mind set numbers ablaze,

As light for the path that reason prescribes,

Foggy statistics created a haze,

Confounding decisions with silent vibes.

Despite emotions still raw from abuse,

The art of my heart, after brief dismay,

Though hard to control and weak from disuse,

Was still strong enough to show me the way.

The light of my mind and eyes of my heart,

Worked better together than each apart.

Mick McKellar

June 2014

Though the blinding light of science illuminates a brighter future than I thought possible, the eyes of my heart see the hand of God leading me forward on that path.

Mick