Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Breaking Habits

Breaking Habits

What if the world woke up happy today?
Could we all find the right side of the bed?
I'd love it, if we could have just one day,
When none of us made another one dead.
Why not have a week when peace was the norm,
When no bullets flew for thousands of miles,
When only nature created a storm,
And grimaces were converted to smiles?
What if we all spent a year helping out?
We can do anything for just a year;
Help people suffering famine and drought,
Banish the specters of terror and fear.
Wouldn't it be wonderful, simply great,
If our whole planet forgot how to hate?

Mick McKellar
June 2015


So many of us are addicted to hating, it would be a tough habit to break. What if we all joined a really huge support group? Hey, we might even lose some weight!

Mick

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Dancing In the Dying Light

Dancing In the Dying Light

I run until I have to stop,
About ten feet or so;
To find a stone, and sit on top,
And watch the twilight show.

If western clouds cooperate,
And let the sunset through,
Let golden light illuminate
Red dust and silver dew;

I'll see bright particles of dust,
That drops of dew enhance,
Perform a silent ballet, just
A simple swirling dance.

The music of a soft, slow breeze,
Completes this wondrous sight:
The dancing dust, the sighing trees,
The dying of the light.

Mick McKellar
June 2015


There is wondrous beauty in the simple pleasures of life, and I am happy I don't have to run far to enjoy them!

Mick

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Wind Drift

Wind Drift

He stood upon a precipice so high,
He scarcely heard the cries of those below,
Who saw his figure braced against the sky,
Outlined with morning sunshine’s golden glow.

The watchers felt his gaze as he looked down,
His silent study held them all entranced.
His concentration forced his face to frown,
As on the edge of terror he balanced.

Three times, he felt the wind give him a shove,
As though to push his body from the brink;
Or slapped him with a sunlit velvet glove,
To break his reverie and make him think.

He shook, confused, uncertain, and afraid,
Unable to remember why he came;
Nor understood the journey that he made,
Or why he played this lonely, deadly game.

The sighing of the wind became a song,
It sang to him of freedom and of rest.
He hummed a little, almost sang along,
His heart beat wildly deep within his chest.

A strong hand gripped his arm and held him fast.
He turned to see another on the ledge;
A minstrel dressed in clothes of greenish cast,
Who helped to guide him back from death’s dark edge.

“How odd!” He thought, to see a tiny fire,
A cheery blaze of deep, emerald hue.
A welcome sight, a bright funeral pyre,
Considering the deed he came to do.

“I didn’t want to die writhing in pain;
I thought it best to end my agony!”
Caught in the act, he thought he should explain,
“I thought it best to end my life quickly.”

The Minstrel sang of courage just to live,
To face those painful battles, day-by-day;
And to accept the truth he had to give:
That life is not a gift to throw away.

The song revealed the lives that he could touch,
The people he would hurt with his demise,
And family that he would hurt so much,
It brought unbidden tears to his blue eyes.

He cried a little while, then looked around;
The Minstrel and his green fire both were gone.
He sat and heard the wind’s soft, plaintive sound,
It seemed to say, “Get up, friend...life goes on!”

Mick McKellar
June 2015

Sometimes it takes more courage to live, than to die.

Mick

Friday, June 19, 2015

Angel's Tears at the Gate

Angel's Tears at the Gate

An angel stood forth on a western wall,
Above all the grandeur of Heaven's gate;
And lowered his head so his tears could fall,
On the crowd outside, some seething with hate.

His tears washed the innocent of their stain,
And changed all their clothing to brilliant white.
When drops touched the haters, it caused them pain,
Turned their skin blood red, and clothes black as night.

The innocent tried to approach the gate,
To enter Heaven, begin a new age;
But were blocked by the others, filled with hate,
Who then tried to destroy them in their rage.

The innocents stood forth, with open arms,
And embraced the haters before that gate.
They held them all fast, despite faint alarms,
And slowly absorbed the stain of their hate.

The angel then cried many joyful tears,
That showered the crowd now beneath his sight.
The innocent saved their now hate-free peers;
 All entered the gate, their clothes brilliant white!

Mick McKellar
June 2015


It seems we may need a flood of angel's tears.

Mick

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

I Dream

I Dream

I dream about finding pure words to say,
That sing to the soul and caress the heart;
That make blood-lust in humans go away,
And destroy the hate that keeps us apart.
I dream I can sing with clarion voice,
That makes the Earth tremble and shakes the sky;
That gives the blind haters only one choice,
And leads them to listen to love's pure cry.
I dream the wind brings only scent of rain,
That the acrid fumes of war dissipate;
That twilight can sigh without hint of pain,
And sunrise carries no shadows of hate.
I dream that the senseless killings will cease;
I dream that our children will live in peace!

Mick McKellar
June 2015


If only my dreams could come true!

Mick