Starlight Song

Starlight Song

I've heard the stars sing on the crystal wind,
That drifts bejeweled snow in winter deep.
What icy choirs sing they can't rescind,
It lives on in my dreams when I'm asleep.
Awake I cannot hear the starlight air,
Nor seek for solemn silence in the skies.
Yet, when I'm touched by those who love to share,
I see the psalm of stillness in their eyes.
I wish that I could sing the melodies,
The lullabies, and carols of the sky;
To teach these wondrous siren songs, and please,
Touch others with such beauty they would cry.
I wish to fly, to bring my friends along,
And teach them all to sing the starlight song.

Mick McKellar
January 2016

Silence is the siren song of my heart.

Mick

Reality Show

Reality Show

The political roadshow on TV,
Makes me uncomfortable and nervous;
For in the rhetoric engulfing me,
I rarely hear about public service.
I'm buried in slick ads, and quick sound bytes
About each individual's chances.
The pundits encourage candidate fights,
And rush to show the daily poll dances.
I wonder why anyone wants to try,
To win such a contest given its cost,
And who will be left, to just sit and cry,
When we discover the things we have lost?
While we're watching this reality show,
Who's running the country? I'd like to know!

Mick McKellar
January 2016

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!

Mick

Green Grace

Green Grace

In my childhood dreams, I'd silently walk,
Moss-covered paths in a sun-speckled wood;
And with woodwind voices the trees would talk,
About starry nights and how rain feels good.
Then a busy squirrel, high in a tree,
Would stop his bustle, then stare in my face,
And would shout squirrel expletives at me,
Chattering loudly till I left that place.
The forest would hum as I walked along,
Watching me with arboreal esteem;
Till the wind would carry their ancient song,
On the fairy breeze and into my dream—
Till I gained green grace from my surreal stroll;
Their song healed my heart and it salved my soul.

Mick McKellar
January 2016

These days, I can only dream of long, peaceful walks in a green wood.

Mick

Blessed

Blessed

I dream of tiny fingers touching mine,
A gentle grasp of love and utter trust;
A ruffling of hair so soft and fine,
It could be eiderdown or fairy dust.
I hear a tiny voice as soft as rain,
That whispers precious secrets in my ear;
And later, like the whistle on a train,
Can scream and wake me in the night with fear.
I feel a squirming bundle on my knee,
That wriggles back and forth, to get down deep
Within my arms, and slowly smiles at me,
Then closes wondrous eyes and goes to sleep.
I reminisce when down and feeling stressed,
Remembering how much I have been blessed.

Mick McKellar
January 2016

Some memories are worth revisiting.

Mick

A Speck of Forever

A Speck of Forever

I sensed the distant wake of its genesis;
Perceived as an awakening supernova,
but in an impossibly remote galaxy.
Its nascent touch,
the brush of a mosquito's wing on my cheek,
Was barely there,
but impossible to ignore.
My heart leapt,
Quickened by the thought of distant thunder.
Something wonderful was coming!

A chill wind stirred the dormant, slumbering dust
in the farthest attics of my mind.
The startled air whispered to me:
"Something wonderful is coming!"

I tasted air,
with the piquant savor of electricity,
the sweet promise of ginger and salt,
the lovely flavor of life.
I stumbled, once;
as the floor shook beneath my feet,
and a brilliant storm of light and sound
washed over me, and shone around.

My eyes were captured,
by the dignified flight
of a regal point of light;
an aura, a diminutive sun,
encompassing rays of rainbow hues.
Its gravity drew me forward,
as it gently came to rest
within my cupped hands.
Soft, yet irresistible thoughts
engulfed my mind,
and pulled me deep
within the petite, pulsing light.

Within the cascading light,
I felt the might and grandeur of life.
I saw the weakly flickering candle that is me.
I wept and laughed and sang and dreamed...

When I woke, I was alone.
I was changed, but I know not how.
I feel joy pulsing within me,
And that will be enough for now.

Mick McKellar
January 2016

A speck of light in your dreams can brighten your life.

Mick

Elemental Harmonies

Elemental Harmonies

I love the music of the written word,
Tall-telling tales that others haven't told;
And whether it's uplifting or absurd,
To mine the words for gifts of precious gold.
To sing the golden notes that life inspires,
And dance to rhythms deep within the text,
To paint the sound of thousand angel choirs,
Carries my soul from this world to the next.
It matters not, if others hear the song
Within the words themselves, or in the rhyme.
The beauty of the melodies belong,
To elemental harmonies sublime.
I dream to feel the wonders I extol,
And pray to touch a chord within your soul.

Mick McKellar
January 2016

If you listen carefully, can you hear the music in the words? Can you hear me singing?

Mick

The Great Soul in the Cheap Seats

The Great Soul in the Cheap Seats

The Great Soul gazed upon his family.
He smiled because he loved them, one and all;
He even loved the ones he'd never see,
Though they would come beyond his Clarion call.
He swift encircled all within his arm;
He touched each spark of life with simple grace.
His gesture made them feel so safe and warm,
They turned and he beheld each shining face.
The light of all this love melted his heart,
And roused him from his happy reverie.
Yet knowing, as his daydream fell apart,
He would return to watch humanity,
And love them from the peanut gallery—
The circle of his daydream family.

Mick McKellar
January 2016

To dream of touching all of humankind, is that what makes a soul great?

Mick

No Time to Worry

No Time to Worry

I have these awful worries,
But nobody seems to care.
Today is truly busy,
And it has no time to spare.

My worries are important;
They’re the kind I have to share.
Tried to visit yesterday—
I can’t find it anywhere!

I’m swiftly growing frantic;
Oh! I’m having such a scare!
I went to see tomorrow—
But tomorrow isn’t there.

My worry stone is broken!
I haven’t got a prayer!
I have no time to worry…

And I feel as light as air!

Mick McKellar
January 2016

Mark Twain said, “I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them have never happened.”

Mick

Nemesis

Nemesis

I wander through medical moors these days,
Each step may lead where I might become lost;
The unmarked paths diverge so many ways,
And missteps may spawn a terrible cost.
I constantly buttress my will to strive,
When difficult uphill climbs hold me back;
Although at the summit, when I arrive,
Something inside often springs to attack!
Though I struggle to grasp each time I wheeze,
The hard truth I face with every breath,
This unbearable concept I must seize:
I‘m still trying to fight myself to death.
Tiny battles still rage inside of me;
My nemesis: chronic GvHD.

Mick McKellar
January 2016

My chronic Graft versus Host Disease (cGvHD) appears to have been domesticated, much the same way any household tabby is domesticated. At heart it is a hunter, and just as difficult to leash or herd. And like the Scottish moors, it can be peaceful and beautiful, but it’s also wild and dangerous.

Mick

Snow on Fire

Snow on Fire

Fragile crystalline casements
keep frigid winds at bay,
yet guide warm, flickering, liquid light
to paint broad samite blankets
with dancing shadows.

The flash and flare of fire,
and fierce incandescence,
lend comfy luster
and lambent coruscated ripples of life,
to winter's whiter wonders.

As our radiance calls out to the dawn,
a luminescent dream of daylight promises,
gleam through the night.
Our auroral campfire,
on a distant hill,
sings of the bonfire to come.

Our fear of the darkness,
is waving madly at the massive silver disk,
which sails the indigo sea,
beyond our Earth-bound shores.
Cold fire blazes from the distant stars,
who whisper through the silence,
that our own star is merely a world away;
and does not sleep,
but dances for neighbors over the horizons.

We sleep our winter sleep,
when shadows run deeply and wait,
to rest when the shadows hide,
from the golden fire in the bluest sky,
in that brilliant morning...
when the snow is at last on fire.

Mick McKellar
January 2016

We light the night, for we fear the darkness and dream of the fiery light of day.

Mick

Waking on a Snowy Morning

Waking on a Snowy Morning

When the silken silence of the morning,
Whispers softly before the pewter dawn;
Slumber abandons young dreams aborning,
And leaving, commands a jaw-cracking yawn.
Softly the snow shushes past my windows,
Dancing in darkness, whirlwind of the night,
Teasing, cavorting, flying where wind blows;
Mounting ever skyward, seeking daylight.
Joining the dance, leap my thoughts unbidden,
Sleep long forgotten as my mind takes flight.
Secretive dreamscapes must remain hidden,
Until they're explored on another night.
Gales of awareness push dark veils away,
Rushing to greet a cold and snowy day.

Mick McKellar
January 2016

Waking to the sound of snow hitting my window...makes me shiver to think of it.

Mick

Sweeping the Beach

Sweeping the Beach

I stroll through social media each day,
And wander down some paths best left untrod.
I marvel at the comments on the way,
With happy words, or vicious, mean, or odd.
I wonder at opinions shown as fact.
I cringe at allegations so untrue,
I can’t imagine who they might attract,
Or what they might provoke someone to do.
Sometimes, I feel compelled to raise my voice,
And question a remark’s veracity.
But, often I regret my reckless choice,
When vitriol is splashed right back on me.
I may as well try swimming on dry land,
Or sweep the restless beach clean of its sand.

Mick McKellar
January 2016

Perhaps it’s the anonymity. I still remember the first time I saw Peter Steiner’s cartoon in a 1993 edition of The New Yorker and its caption, now become an adage, “On the Internet, nobody knows you’re a dog.”

Mick

Dream Palace

Dream Palace

It’s larger than any building on Earth;
Revolving glass doors on every side,
Have been bright shining portals since my birth,
And each night they beckon me come inside.
The hallways are polished mahogany.
The floors are travertine, inlaid with gold.
Large windows bring moonlight in, brilliantly,
And fires warm the halls, so it’s never cold.
I always stop at the grand library,
And transcribe the new things I learned that day.
I ponder important stuff, fleetingly,
Then run down the halls, seeking games to play.
I sprint, a true ephemeral dreadnought;
And dream with the near instant speed of thought.

Mick McKellar
January 2016

Where to you go when you dream?

Mick