Saturday, August 22, 2020


The Firebird darkens the desert’s breast,
As foul and dry blasts the fair mountain breath,
That carries bright embers, to shining rest
Upon a parched land now burning to death.

The sea of the East spawns more mighty beasts,
A-prowl on waters that lap battered shores,
Weary from previous fury and feasts,
Once again battening windows and doors.

Silent, invisible, floating on air,
Lingering death walks unheard and unseen;
Launched by a loved one or those who don’t care,
Claiming their right to be selfish and mean.

While the great mass of humanity strives,
Fails to find hope, communication,
Or solutions for sharing, saving lives --
Now dying in quiet desperation.

Mick McKellar
August 2020

The day's news is heavy with foreboding and dread. Desperation fairly poured from the screen as I read. A hew and cry for leadership radiated between each line.


Wednesday, August 19, 2020

At A Loss For Words

My intuition strikes a pose,
A lightning bug at night,
That drifts on silent drafts of air,
Leaps in and out of sight.

Although my eyes track each quick flash,
Each foxfire silver bright,
And strain to read the message there,
But capture only light.

I pondered this phenomenon,
With all my inner might,
And realized the simple truth:
The message is the light.

Mick McKellar
August 2020

Sometimes, what I want to say is right in front of me, but I catch only glimpses, leaving me at a loss for the words. Looking so hard for a deeper meaning, I miss the message, flickering in front of my eyes.