tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27685725857312540642024-03-16T22:12:52.054-04:00out of my mind...When all discussion is complete; when all debate has ended; when all factors have been considered - what I post here comes out of my mind...Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.comBlogger669125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-4681166794770498072024-02-24T21:58:00.000-05:002024-02-24T21:58:32.023-05:00The Dawn of Dreams<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI17g4BqqeAfXJDAaZrVX9hLM4_zysovDJj3DwHibxYgIqjFiqYwRZZkVLrBDuB-1p8yNNeRZTl2ub5kFOVH3eniShkNg4e1Z_zuIfYK91xPHh7Hd1xcr172he8hyewkVHnJCpD9mNFP55kzjz3X3FTEmq0jpwkaKaeaJXYVrcPlnMTdwEEoAsQjHev2s6/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI17g4BqqeAfXJDAaZrVX9hLM4_zysovDJj3DwHibxYgIqjFiqYwRZZkVLrBDuB-1p8yNNeRZTl2ub5kFOVH3eniShkNg4e1Z_zuIfYK91xPHh7Hd1xcr172he8hyewkVHnJCpD9mNFP55kzjz3X3FTEmq0jpwkaKaeaJXYVrcPlnMTdwEEoAsQjHev2s6/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Twilight steals across the canal,<br />As the last red rays of day fade.<br />And night's curtain descends.<br />Soon is the dawn of dreams.<br /><br />Whispers of Winter whirl about,<br />Our house glows under clouds of rose, <br />In skies of robin's egg blue, and<br />I snuggle for warmth with hot tea,<br />And the summer love of family.<br /><br />The canal glimmers -- a silver ribbon,<br />Its surface rippling with secrets.<br />Memories of golden daffodils, <br />Flames to ignite the fading landscape.<br />Their petals flutter and dance,<br />A celebration of fleeting beauty.<br /><br />Winter's wind, a mischievous spirit,<br />Weaves through ancient branches,<br />And carries the scent of pine and frost,<br />A promise of snow-kissed mornings.<br />Our home trembles, a ship at sea,<br />Its timbers creaking in harmony.<br /><br />And there, by the fireside glow,<br />We gather—the heartbeats of kin.<br />Laughter ripples -- spilled sunlight,<br />Warming our souls against Winter's chill.<br />In this cozy haven, love blooms eternal,<br />A fragrant bloom in the garden of time.<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />February 2024</b><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-36057799520884115522024-02-16T19:46:00.000-05:002024-02-16T19:46:36.171-05:00 Enjoy Your Joy<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8SWSaRhRwdailUmlGrhMV86-LraBO78un8l2_3-6-UaAXWe2GDOitJgSEqSlTYtpxDYHlymJ_zok35NlLmPgUqRxQdvAuoogMFrIrCob1eNLJapVE9WeOCDoKnIwLUadeDlAySlilgLaFC_xQF77x8SD9ryIf3Wy0ezA8I9eiEg-LQ-pPewY0FDsXJV7/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8SWSaRhRwdailUmlGrhMV86-LraBO78un8l2_3-6-UaAXWe2GDOitJgSEqSlTYtpxDYHlymJ_zok35NlLmPgUqRxQdvAuoogMFrIrCob1eNLJapVE9WeOCDoKnIwLUadeDlAySlilgLaFC_xQF77x8SD9ryIf3Wy0ezA8I9eiEg-LQ-pPewY0FDsXJV7/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>What do you do when you're getting old,<br />When your blood is thin and your butt is cold?<br />What do you do when your left leg aches,<br />When you scratch an itch and a fingernail breaks ?<br />What do you do when your memory,<br />Is as slow as treacle but thin like tea? <br />What do you do when your new “trick” knee,<br />Turns “proud and elegant” to wobbly?<br />What do you do when your mellow voice,<br />Becomes a scratchy, wheezing noise?<br />The indignities of senior life,<br />The signs of wear and aging strife,<br />Cannot delete, cannot deprive,<br />Your joy because you’re still alive!<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />February 2024</b><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-49602760167742294612024-02-15T12:35:00.001-05:002024-02-15T12:35:59.898-05:00Night gives way to gray<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWFImZxWnStSecabAXns65_F3Mz7edypndlYkIlX_aFy4gKNltc-Z-av5ZVKNbjTFvDDAIug2lpELeffIhtcvZnltaukmxbfDNLN4sEN5f6toH8ZCvAHQG308gXfZ7l3vQSkl5HiYWUoG4UHA4WaT2o5xqsiXsoatKrl6R8K_X6tvGlwt1S0hjf-QPlOHO/s960/nakedarms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWFImZxWnStSecabAXns65_F3Mz7edypndlYkIlX_aFy4gKNltc-Z-av5ZVKNbjTFvDDAIug2lpELeffIhtcvZnltaukmxbfDNLN4sEN5f6toH8ZCvAHQG308gXfZ7l3vQSkl5HiYWUoG4UHA4WaT2o5xqsiXsoatKrl6R8K_X6tvGlwt1S0hjf-QPlOHO/w497-h373/nakedarms.jpg" width="497" /></a></div><br />Night gives way to gray<br />Naked arms pierce white blanket<br />The Sun shines somewhere<br /><p></p><p> </p><p>Poem by Mick McKellar<br />Photo by Sandy Lapeer</p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-80061678347360412872024-02-14T15:35:00.000-05:002024-02-14T15:35:10.301-05:00Human Resources<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSsJJx7LMHOSVXlBIR5ti69xD0EeErmJfpSrhj8otKn1P4rBBtL_Hxs3Ou5suSZydCX4DpQ69q9enwJAlhrvcJkJbErD15uIsxcEeU0Jjb_51O4e2VejDyupZvwBsj1Eowhge7ql-jbQ-s/s1600-h/skyice.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="133" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151758184413649522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSsJJx7LMHOSVXlBIR5ti69xD0EeErmJfpSrhj8otKn1P4rBBtL_Hxs3Ou5suSZydCX4DpQ69q9enwJAlhrvcJkJbErD15uIsxcEeU0Jjb_51O4e2VejDyupZvwBsj1Eowhge7ql-jbQ-s/w200-h133/skyice.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt;" width="200" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">It seems a lifetime ago I managed the benefits programs for Michigan Technological University. When I started there, the department was known as Employee Relations. The name had a friendly, personal tone that made one part of a relationship with employees - people. During my tenure there, the department came under new management, and with it came a name change to Human Resources. I fought against this name change, because it sounded impersonal and seemed to reduce employees from people to resources - essentially, numbers in a spreadsheet.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">When people become resources, it facilitates the use of all those pretty equations MBAs learned in business college, and it makes it possible to analyze, prioritize, and finalize numbers to optimize, downsize, and right-size an organization by remote control...from the sterile and protected world of resource management. Enter the numbers into the spreadsheet, hit the Enter button, and Exit the world of employee relations.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Numbers, however, can lie -- just as pictures can lie -- lies of omission. It is simply not possible at our level of knowledge - of either technology or humanity - to distill all that a person brings to a job, to an organization, into a number. Organizations are living things, and the people who work there are organs - living parts of a living organization. Would you suggest scheduling surgery on a patient, based only on what one can glean from a spreadsheet? I would not. Yet organizations undergo radical employee-ectomies every day, often solely to balance a number on a spreadsheet. Think about it.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mick</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 180%;">Human Resources</span><br /><br />High on the mountain, the air's pretty thin -<br />The view is great, but everything's small.<br />The tiny people are pawns, spent to win,<br />And they hardly seem to matter at all.<br />That's why the HR Conversion takes place,<br />And people become human resources -<br />Just simple numbers that don't have a face,<br />A voice, a vote, or any recourses.<br />When tough decisions must be quickly made,<br />It becomes easier just to define<br />Them as just moves in a game to be played:<br />A game to be won at the bottom line.<br />But it's not a battle on a board game,<br />And to treat it as such would be a shame.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mick McKellar<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">January 2008</span>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-23867660743526878182024-02-13T15:41:00.000-05:002024-02-13T15:41:48.512-05:00Liberty<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDje4_LtUbuc1ivKkbjoh6Av2h2reDfv-bwLeQM_IFgQf0lrbgYcTrNavKfOfTVDAw-s7PHJt9qlmncSfGAFdFuqvpOw9zIIEcSGMS6Vud-Lz9-IyfDvZ20Yml8xOq01u7ElK-ZYx9ZgpUHJoUSVao9DvhyphenhyphenlLbyJ-4pGfMGlATX4nAAxR2PemxNpfFjhV/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDje4_LtUbuc1ivKkbjoh6Av2h2reDfv-bwLeQM_IFgQf0lrbgYcTrNavKfOfTVDAw-s7PHJt9qlmncSfGAFdFuqvpOw9zIIEcSGMS6Vud-Lz9-IyfDvZ20Yml8xOq01u7ElK-ZYx9ZgpUHJoUSVao9DvhyphenhyphenlLbyJ-4pGfMGlATX4nAAxR2PemxNpfFjhV/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>I love to breathe the fresh air of freedom,<br />To walk where I want, without any reason,<br />And to run when I feel a surge of joy;<br />Know that sharing joy is never treason.<br /><br />Breathing free is a joy that fills my soul,<br />With gratitude for the wonder of life,<br />To climb countless stairs and not lose my voice,<br />Nor feel the edge of hypoxia's knife.<br /><br />I want to walk without limits or bonds,<br />To feel adrenaline and dance with glee;<br />Have a healthy body and peaceful mind.<br />The liberty to be free to be me.<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />February 2024</b><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-89144181401020673762024-02-10T21:24:00.000-05:002024-02-10T21:24:11.695-05:00Survivor Stands Strong<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvkTiXmVsVXIFv3WAIjQ7MfLbJgVaQFa4Zt6aO3g8Rd6CqRsIYT_LLoEDqiyCGHG4ardb-uk4Bx2QOrleWfcd4UEdvR4RLGtaIMjBrX3gHPec5kzGhsJPmU18DmMj7P5NACNFviTJNjP67WTkc5bLclLjV7YP74kGHYIOg3dZ0hVDvi1Fut9XOeLuEraYw/s720/survivor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvkTiXmVsVXIFv3WAIjQ7MfLbJgVaQFa4Zt6aO3g8Rd6CqRsIYT_LLoEDqiyCGHG4ardb-uk4Bx2QOrleWfcd4UEdvR4RLGtaIMjBrX3gHPec5kzGhsJPmU18DmMj7P5NACNFviTJNjP67WTkc5bLclLjV7YP74kGHYIOg3dZ0hVDvi1Fut9XOeLuEraYw/s16000/survivor.jpg" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Winter storm was long</p><p>Wind and snow sing Evensong</p><p>Survivor stands strong</p><p><br /></p><p>Poem by Mick McKellar</p><p>Photo by Sandy Lapeer<br /></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-69912157447643367122024-02-09T15:52:00.000-05:002024-02-09T15:52:42.644-05:00When Winter Took a Rest<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnHNO_31MIU9UExYMtxlfmpl0Ohjtj97Ba_7SWTf67mg31_yQEAO-B1Fi1tFWDyxrr-RjSWEqPt_3pH5p6Ci1gtOv6JaZEH7Y0vcAjF3yTF47eLkb6lLn6WfmKpqAjsbFNJ1DPCJUd5EGufEIuQ_EV9VNB3bwvbYUxzCD_Oj7Ma_cNRfYblVRdlbzULI3f/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnHNO_31MIU9UExYMtxlfmpl0Ohjtj97Ba_7SWTf67mg31_yQEAO-B1Fi1tFWDyxrr-RjSWEqPt_3pH5p6Ci1gtOv6JaZEH7Y0vcAjF3yTF47eLkb6lLn6WfmKpqAjsbFNJ1DPCJUd5EGufEIuQ_EV9VNB3bwvbYUxzCD_Oj7Ma_cNRfYblVRdlbzULI3f/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>When Winter took a rest,<br />And let the Autumn reign,<br />Northwest winds, fast and strong,<br />Fair swept the land with rain.<br /><br />Autumn sped quickly by,<br />Powered by cruel winds,<br />Left behind a trail of gold,<br />And whispered to its friends.<p></p><p>November days were warm,<br />When sunshine glimmered bright;<br />Light snow came and went so quick,<br />That Christmas had no white.<br /><br />Gifts given nonetheless,<br />Showed some both love and care,<br />Hope that peace and joy would come,<br />With the New Year to share.<br /><br />January brought snow,<br />But also saw it go.<br />Winter seemed to lose its grip,<br />Let Springtime start to grow.<br /><br />People, preoccupied<br />With polls and presidents,<br />Missed the beauty all around,<br />And lost their common sense.<br /><br />When Winter took a rest,<br />It let the Autumn stay,<br />Gave the world a gentle push,<br />But they just looked away.<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />February 2024</b></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-60405293459038436252024-02-08T14:58:00.001-05:002024-02-08T14:58:47.425-05:00Prepare2Sleep<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGkHPWf6B-XgttB0Ek-KbBrm6aZGbD87mUSnvzh9thVWRC3oImfhnTu9-oemfDJxnTovLlYk0vCYZOE5XYzMRP_biD6N3ITksV_gTtGMtrULa5lw9S-aQhloADbQ7WG7RHzWUUv_Rp1sF_oaaylCjxurYZDgqoxll4obljCO2kr4LJJn-86180rPpwmztr/s512/prepare2sleep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGkHPWf6B-XgttB0Ek-KbBrm6aZGbD87mUSnvzh9thVWRC3oImfhnTu9-oemfDJxnTovLlYk0vCYZOE5XYzMRP_biD6N3ITksV_gTtGMtrULa5lw9S-aQhloADbQ7WG7RHzWUUv_Rp1sF_oaaylCjxurYZDgqoxll4obljCO2kr4LJJn-86180rPpwmztr/w400-h400/prepare2sleep.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Winter sun sinks deep<br />Twilight flows from distant reef<br />Life prepares to sleep</p><p><b>Mick McKellar<br />February 2024 </b><br /></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-24009372819052889922024-02-08T14:05:00.000-05:002024-02-08T14:05:46.059-05:00Emailing Myself to Heaven<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NkHb5vifmvwSSJbhiS8dN7760sbFicjY8cLUCIKZeKT5ZQDUi_MPiSFFRYtbKZuTfpBXU0U5TJg8BfnFYxim1ctb4JYC4EsWPLRKaWWyoclfrI8CtPXCzRSBZSd_K2ESxY0NzN-DEpoweGI_5uWxNYcYJ7N-wPJ3PahyphenhyphenDLNNcp9DCDfkQFzuWgqw3Dne/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NkHb5vifmvwSSJbhiS8dN7760sbFicjY8cLUCIKZeKT5ZQDUi_MPiSFFRYtbKZuTfpBXU0U5TJg8BfnFYxim1ctb4JYC4EsWPLRKaWWyoclfrI8CtPXCzRSBZSd_K2ESxY0NzN-DEpoweGI_5uWxNYcYJ7N-wPJ3PahyphenhyphenDLNNcp9DCDfkQFzuWgqw3Dne/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Please find my soul attached, oh Lord,<br />Your servant has grown oh, so tired.<br />I used the compression onboard,<br />And my connection is hard-wired!<br /><br />I checked myself for viruses,<br />And used a competent program.<br />My name is in your addresses;<br />Don’t let me go to Spam.<br /><br />Don’t Forward me to You know where,<br />But decompress my file above.<br />Just download me to Heaven there,<br />And file me under “Love.”<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />February 2024</b><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-18926920925228154992024-02-04T20:36:00.000-05:002024-02-04T20:36:10.133-05:00Soft Silence<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQB4kjjo67-uDiVtSCwLvj9VdZPXs-IYOLCdp4Vn4uuX_blVcPk5-H3HfNh6yAFuXgTPWluC36F01LLyeuarTMfM-llf6dBzRUUuOAi8H1zzI4FZvnQCDEX5YcGxmTjLWkVoKE_48n18lodiqN4Z-sT5tG2NaBdbNQllY17XlD6nd6auL6ussYx0S3uQb2/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQB4kjjo67-uDiVtSCwLvj9VdZPXs-IYOLCdp4Vn4uuX_blVcPk5-H3HfNh6yAFuXgTPWluC36F01LLyeuarTMfM-llf6dBzRUUuOAi8H1zzI4FZvnQCDEX5YcGxmTjLWkVoKE_48n18lodiqN4Z-sT5tG2NaBdbNQllY17XlD6nd6auL6ussYx0S3uQb2/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Today was not a day for talking. <br />I grumbled and fumed and fussed with fervor, <br />And ultimately found I was stalking <br />A song of silence, long an observer,<br />But not a passionate true partaker.<br />Not a songbird’s breath of freshening air,<br />Not a fiery volcanic Earth shaker,<br />Nor a stone-faced hypocrite, judging there.<br />A soul long denied the sweet gentleness,<br />And golden peace that flows from soft silence;<br />To hear patter of raindrops, and to guess<br />If falling on rooftop, flowers, or fence.<br />To hear the soft sound of snowflakes kissing<br />The Earth, instead of unending hissing!<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />February 2024 </b><br /><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-3199710092611057612024-02-01T21:52:00.000-05:002024-02-01T21:52:53.115-05:00 Cerulean Mind<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgierRlI4eGih8Az27NOtRZnWCh3-rQCOYXx3_Itmps8E6ej9fk5EwyDo9irhI1Pi6S1IcZKX2aTI9KrAQ7qVxjlfG54m7owDe4h7TafvOfPv2OFhXk6hPiDM6eR1IUnaIXAR_Xt0s6AquISat5dqQ-EyctMxYTSI51IV8lpEYo3ZpFgtKH6C7Ow2abN4WJ/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgierRlI4eGih8Az27NOtRZnWCh3-rQCOYXx3_Itmps8E6ej9fk5EwyDo9irhI1Pi6S1IcZKX2aTI9KrAQ7qVxjlfG54m7owDe4h7TafvOfPv2OFhXk6hPiDM6eR1IUnaIXAR_Xt0s6AquISat5dqQ-EyctMxYTSI51IV8lpEYo3ZpFgtKH6C7Ow2abN4WJ/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>A poem blossoms in my mind to praise,<br />A lake that fills my wintry heart with awe,<br />But you are far away and could not gaze<br />Upon the glacial wonders that I saw.<br /><br />As I walk the Lake Superior shore,<br />I feel the coldness of the bitter breeze;<br />Waves all sparkle in their crystal splendor,<br /> A thousand jewels in the Winter frieze.<br /><br />I marvel at the beauty of this scene:<br />The contrast of the blue and white and gray,<br />The silence of the lake, calm and serene,<br />The solitude of this secluded bay.<br /><br />I think of how the seasons come and go,<br />The mirrored lake reflects the changing sky,<br />And dream of what the future has to show;<br />What wondrous wonders wait to catch my eye.<br /><br />As on I walk along the frozen shore,<br />And marvel at the sculptures icy, stark,<br />I seek what icy nature has in store<br />For those who brave such snowy cold and dark.<br /><br />Dancing on an ancient pale blue mirror,<br />Traversing the bright cerulean mind,<br />Each new frigid breath I take is clearer,<br />Than any of the ones I left behind.<br /><br />I feel a surge of mystery and wonder,<br />And a touch of melancholy too,<br />To witness this bleak sub-arctic splendor,<br />And wish that I could share it all with you.<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />February 2024</b><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-46884125744558379442024-01-25T23:27:00.000-05:002024-01-25T23:27:21.048-05:00The Chase<p> I have another poem to share. It's from 2004.This one is a story, which introduces three wonderful characters who live with the people on the edge of a great plain. They are Ariel, a hunter, guide, tracker, and an arrogant young man. Jenna, his headstrong sister, who though intelligent is also gifted with the ability to get into serious trouble. Finally, there is Cinder, a full grown plains she-cat, roughly the size of Bengal Tiger, she is the ultimate plains hunter, and the symbol of all that is wild on the Edge. This is the story of how Jenna runs away from a life of perpetual servitude, only to stumble onto a life-long partnership and unconditional love. Enjoy.<br /><br /><b>Mick</b><br /><br /></p><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Chase</span></h2><p><br />Ariel woke with a thorn in his side.<br />He'd wandered the woods all day without sight<br />Of his quarry, and he'd called it a night<br />Under a bush, near an ancient mud slide.<br />As there in the dark, he renewed his pledge<br />To search for the child, who'd fain run away,<br />Than fulfill her duty to learn, and stay<br />There with her people who lived on the edge;<br />He swore when he found her for her mother,<br />He'd teach her a lesson, fit for her age,<br />And just maybe vent a bit of his rage.<br />What else could he do? He was her brother!<br /><br />Jenna had walked down an old river bed,<br />Now jumping from stone to stone on the way,<br />And never touching the damp river clay,<br />So none could detect where her path had led.<br />Still, Ariel had skill like no other -<br />Tracking and finding were his only job!<br />She had to find a clever way to rob<br />The path of clues, which would help her brother.<br />Then, with an energy born of her strife,<br />Driven by fear of the future she'd fled,<br />She moved like a plains cat down that old bed,<br />Stealing away from an unwanted life.<br /><br />Ariel wondered at Jenna's light tread,<br />Harder and harder to find were each clue,<br />Signs of her passage became far and few,<br />As into the mountains her journey led.<br />"Stone tells few tales," he'd told his young sister,<br />"Move through the land like a shadow at night."<br />Apparently, she'd been listening right,<br />As signs were so faint, he might have missed her -<br />Except by her habit - resting her head<br />On her arms, as she took a short rest,<br />And causing some hairs, that were rubbed and stressed,<br />To loosen, and be unknowingly shed.<br /><br />Jenna knew well the loss of her tresses,<br />Would provide a path with many a sign.<br />And so, to confound and to misalign,<br />She laid false trails with hirsute addresses.<br />Her beautiful hair, a great source of pride,<br />Was loss to her heart, and pain to her soul.<br />Yet she abandoned her pride for her goal,<br />Using her treasure to help her to hide.<br />Back with her people, in their narrow lives,<br />Never were women much more than mere slaves.<br />Their only fate was to live in the caves,<br />And never be more than mothers and wives.<br /><br />Ariel cried out in his frustration,<br />When he discovered he'd been led astray,<br />The obvious path that had lead away<br />From the river, lead to consternation.<br />The trail of hairs had ended so neatly<br />He'd hardly noticed his road signs had stopped,<br />His demonstration of skill had just flopped -<br />His little sister tricked him completely!<br />Defeated, he went back to the river,<br />Staring for hours at the stone in the sun.<br />Looking for small clues until he found one,<br />That chilled his bones, and caused him to shiver.<br /><br />Jenna prowled onward, out into the plains,<br />Still with the river, but far to its right.<br />She still felt safe with the river in sight,<br />Watching her back trail, and taking great pains<br />To cover her footprints in the soft soil,<br />And trying hard not to crush the tall grass.<br />Often the soil would give way to morass,<br />And she moved forward only with great toil.<br />Finally, tired in twilight's dim hours,<br />She found a hillock and made a small bed,<br />Then curled up and slept the sleep of the dead,<br />Praying for safety to all kind powers.<br /><br />Ariel sprang to his feet at a run,<br />Swiftly he passed through the shadows grown long,<br />Praying that he'd read the tracking signs wrong<br />And that the moon would be bright as the sun.<br />He'd seen a tiny heel print on the shore,<br />Leaving the stony, but safe river track,<br />In her desire to never come back,<br />His safety lessons, she chose to ignore.<br />Deep in his mind, was the certainty that,<br />What he had read in the mud must be true,<br />Next to her heel print, he had seen the clue -<br />Tracking his sister was a huge plains cat!<br /><br />Jenna was dreaming of sunny days past,<br />Dreams that grew darker and even stranger<br />When a soft noise and whisper of danger,<br />Breached her fatigue and then woke her at last.<br />Jenna lay still, as her brother had taught,<br />And freezing as little animals tense,<br />Casting about and then trying to sense,<br />What messages the ill whispers had brought.<br />Far to her left she could sense a small mind,<br />Focused on tracking by scent her small prey,<br />Jubilant, planning on feasting today,<br />On the small animal she knew she'd find.<br /><br />Ariel moved like a ghost on the trail,<br />Hunting the cat like a devil from hell,<br />Still, in the back of his mind, knowing well,<br />What would be lost if his hunt should now fail.<br />Suddenly, something brushed against his mind,<br />Touched him, and then it searched on it's quest.<br />He felt as if it had come from the west,<br />He leapt that way to see what he would find -<br />Only to stop, stone-cold still on his path,<br />Facing him, no more than paces away,<br />Ready to spring, to attack, and to slay,<br />Crouched a plains she-cat, hissing in wrath.<br /><br />Jenna stood up and could easily see,<br />Ariel facing his death from the cat,<br />And realizing that she had caused that,<br />Reached out and touched the cat's mind easily.<br /><br />Cinder considered the best way to kill,<br />Dinner that walked on two legs in the grass,<br />When velvet fingers created a pass<br />And an iron grip took hold of her will.<br /><br />Ariel watched as the she-cat stepped back,<br />Turning to stare at a figure in white.<br />Jenna was standing up high in plain sight,<br />Bright as the sun against sky of pitch black.<br /><br />Jenna's connection to Cinder, in ways<br />Unknown, each second, grew ever more strong,<br />Somehow she knew that in not very long,<br />They would be partners the rest of their days.<br /><br />Cinder felt love for the first time that night.<br />Purring, she nuzzled the whisp of a child,<br />Who pushed aside her innate nature, wild<br />Sensing that somehow this joining was right.<br /><br />Ariel watched this with wondering eyes,<br />And felt the joy as the joining took place.<br />Then, weakened by his long, frantic foot race,<br />Fell to ground, uttering small plaintive cries.<br /><br />Morning found three, walking slowly toward home,<br />Ariel leading, as he felt he should,<br />Jenna not saying that she also could,<br />For she knew everywhere Cinder could roam.<br />Jenna would never be anyone's slave,<br />No man could force her to be his wife.<br />She had another that shared in her life,<br />Tacit assurance that men would behave.<br />Ariel too, had learned much from their flight,<br />Tested and bested by sister and cat.<br />He'd found his limits, a bold lesson that,<br />Would save his young life in many a fight.<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />July 2004</b></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-73765622134049419482024-01-10T22:21:00.000-05:002024-01-10T22:21:41.455-05:00My House<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttp0-S-8083m7uyowt8o-6kRqgn66TzeJf2k5WsLodUofnvvIRHVowCGcvl7mlhm0-bM-RlLRS0ictGOo-z83_e9QWNZMoOBwnLblR9e5uIGqFs38Hmp8CD_dSHNKwdkin0X5C_TNOQ0LCwcLaLaVNNpcLmus1KgSk-LbV4RO1m2qpgJoxQfk3zEhsdXT/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttp0-S-8083m7uyowt8o-6kRqgn66TzeJf2k5WsLodUofnvvIRHVowCGcvl7mlhm0-bM-RlLRS0ictGOo-z83_e9QWNZMoOBwnLblR9e5uIGqFs38Hmp8CD_dSHNKwdkin0X5C_TNOQ0LCwcLaLaVNNpcLmus1KgSk-LbV4RO1m2qpgJoxQfk3zEhsdXT/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>My house needs an ocean of air,<br />Enough to float me here and there,<br />But my feet won’t lift off the floor;<br />I’m far too thick, and what is more,<br />I’d probably float out the door…<br /><br />My house is filled with lots of dust,<br />And pipes are full of gunk and rust.<br />They leak and burp when water flows;<br />Not sure where all that wet stuff goes.<br />Why it leaves the dust, no one knows…<br /><br />My house is full of broad daylight,<br />Till curtains make it not so bright,<br />But when we reach the end of day,<br />The curtains don’t help light to stay.<br />I make my own, so that’s okay.<br /><br />My house is full of joy and peace,<br />It’s stipulated in my lease.<br />I love to live here, I believe<br />In sharing blessings I receive,<br />And gratitude when I must leave.<br /><br />And when I must depart this place,<br />It’s not eviction, but with grace,<br />Not some disgusting gland disease.<br />Just let me say “I love you,” please,<br />And tell you where I put the keys…<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />January 2024</b><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-75878336146327791662024-01-08T22:06:00.000-05:002024-01-08T22:06:39.499-05:00Outside, Christmas Night<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1M8zlccGIrSZLjtjPhFaX_VlYHgzpRERpwpM5Ip4gNvzEn6kRq0jYqpCe8UxM_SESkLOtP6V91QM8QdCcw5I5mAiP-mPG3BMontGx5DWH8wzoXtKhly1CUIXm806DHNANuBkDJR19Sa3SPitMGb4n4vL7A5LQMjjY480TH-Ih7cul7iBa-3jqPLXKDBiN/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1M8zlccGIrSZLjtjPhFaX_VlYHgzpRERpwpM5Ip4gNvzEn6kRq0jYqpCe8UxM_SESkLOtP6V91QM8QdCcw5I5mAiP-mPG3BMontGx5DWH8wzoXtKhly1CUIXm806DHNANuBkDJR19Sa3SPitMGb4n4vL7A5LQMjjY480TH-Ih7cul7iBa-3jqPLXKDBiN/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>It's 20 degrees outside tonight,<br />Air clear as crystal and a velvet sky.<br />Diamond bright stars surround a<br />Moon so bright it dances on the snow. <br /><br />I went outside to listen, <br />To the music of the stars,<br />To reach upward and touch <br />The carol of the universe. <br /><br />Christmas is timeless <br />In the northern climes, <br />Green and silver, gold and white, <br />Gray as shadow, brilliant, bright. <br /><br />Secretly, I gazed to the East, <br />Expecting to see a distant star, <br />Reaching across the years, <br />To promise joy and peace.<br /><br />Piercing cold and pearly snow, <br />Precious touch of an icy breeze <br />On a soft winter night,<br />Made my heart sing and my soul soar! <br /><br />I went outside to dance among the stars, <br />For Christmas is my favorite time,<br />Especially when I feel the joy <br />Of love and the gift of life.<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />January 2024</b><br /><br /><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-62701607399836498292023-12-29T20:57:00.000-05:002023-12-29T20:57:14.577-05:00Breakfast: Family Camping, 1960<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAqMQejrhtyloL4s3A9P-d-v6w5Ihu0nH0LHXynAmWbgvDWRt1c77RQpWwpIwxhmplplj7qQ424LvVBfABP-6AdfScnkYInrExHIwdNjTJLC1NatnqJSwtZ1thealCD0oFCrQDKMHIG-f7QRPIBineIz-HzTtztNGOFWekopueRwbgdkvMCZFGd3AIsSD/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAqMQejrhtyloL4s3A9P-d-v6w5Ihu0nH0LHXynAmWbgvDWRt1c77RQpWwpIwxhmplplj7qQ424LvVBfABP-6AdfScnkYInrExHIwdNjTJLC1NatnqJSwtZ1thealCD0oFCrQDKMHIG-f7QRPIBineIz-HzTtztNGOFWekopueRwbgdkvMCZFGd3AIsSD/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div><p>I remember the friezes,<br />Of tree limbs on canvas,<br />When soft morning breezes,<br />Said: "We're not in Kansas!"<br /><br />Rippling the amber wall,<br />Shaking out last year's dust,<br />Filling the dim, canvas hall,<br />With the smell of vacation stardust.<br /><br />Barely there, a deliciousness arose,<br />A dream to awaken my sleepy senses,<br />Tickling, fondling, caressing my nose:<br />Exotic, erotic, the way that incense is.<br /><br />Was that coffee, fresh and mellow?<br />Was that sausage, spicy and crisp?<br />The aroma, toasty brown and yellow<br />Pancakes, stacked -- the wil-o'-my-wisp?<br /><br />Seeds of chaos, we burst from our tent,<br />Filling the air with the forest floor.<br />Unconcerned how the others went, <br />Baby birds clamored for more, more, more!<br /><br />As each of us jockeyed for eating room,<br />A feeding frenzy raged unabated.<br />In fifteen minutes twas all consumed;<br />One dropped a sausage. Picked it up. Ate it.<br /><br />These memories are a laugh, a great ride,<br />But for sandwiches, burgers, beans and franks,<br />Mom and Dad worked so hard to provide,<br />None of us ever thought to say: "Thanks."<br /><b><br />Mick McKellar<br />December 2023</b></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-70208396191967198892023-12-29T00:58:00.001-05:002023-12-29T00:58:34.544-05:00A Holiday Treat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSx7T3NXflZ94f6vAB2tvZ30dRpYurKfQ7wnGAMfln0yx_2CB3sy26E1L7hweATyb4nXKh4wgsa8izFwQtr5BT3loevXtptsCHHV6VwJ1lJd1bFdfBli27WIksC29b9nOKwpPgG6QjOeeStQ9ygnwXsEYtO174E-cWDT0FtojECMof1AGPYAKr8l9pTxY/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSx7T3NXflZ94f6vAB2tvZ30dRpYurKfQ7wnGAMfln0yx_2CB3sy26E1L7hweATyb4nXKh4wgsa8izFwQtr5BT3loevXtptsCHHV6VwJ1lJd1bFdfBli27WIksC29b9nOKwpPgG6QjOeeStQ9ygnwXsEYtO174E-cWDT0FtojECMof1AGPYAKr8l9pTxY/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Holiday nights spent with all you adore,<br />The passionate nearness of sweet ardor.<br />The moon and stars shine down from above,<br />Your heart beats faster because of your love.<br />Hot chocolate kisses in front of the fire,<br />Sweet spicy fragrances fan your desire,<br />Soft, slow music stirs your hungry soul;<br />Nervous, your hand plunges into the bowl.<br />A handful of caramel corn in your grip,<br />Will soon be stuck on your mustache and lip.<br />Your fingers are searching for just the right chip,<br />To scoop up a teaspoonful of the dip,<br />Your wife will remark, standing on her feet,<br />"At one time, I was your holiday treat!”<br /><br /><p><b>Mick McKellar<br />December 2023</b></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-78167993927013384502023-12-27T15:18:00.000-05:002023-12-27T15:18:55.688-05:00 Who Will Tell Grandpa He's Too Old to Drive<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWdgSUeVj_wpDdJZfiM1xDCOs5maz1nnkLOg5pNnfoXHcJj3-SD-5rs8P1YXnCXd4HhK0ymbI_7hOWdf4tlQ4naUYtCamUQYtQLQhb748EmrYTbYXGBaZGg-82u2b8kPelKXIzRL9x56dyB7sDGzKE1XqfOTl-PzibrYRXxn4OQmEmnk4Drs4VsAqYFnRw/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWdgSUeVj_wpDdJZfiM1xDCOs5maz1nnkLOg5pNnfoXHcJj3-SD-5rs8P1YXnCXd4HhK0ymbI_7hOWdf4tlQ4naUYtCamUQYtQLQhb748EmrYTbYXGBaZGg-82u2b8kPelKXIzRL9x56dyB7sDGzKE1XqfOTl-PzibrYRXxn4OQmEmnk4Drs4VsAqYFnRw/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>The rest of us want to get home alive,<br />But slow-trolley Grandpa is behind the wheel.<br />Though one of the best men ever to drive,<br />This craft needs someone awake at the keel!<br /><br />Traffic is heavy, aggressive, and quick,<br />And old men are slow to react to change.<br />His confident driving, so slow and slick,<br />Gets quickly confused on an interchange.<br /><br />It is critical that he stays awake,<br />To help his passengers safely arrive.<br />There is no nap he can afford to take!<br />Who will tell Grandpa he's too old to drive?<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />December 2023</b><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-43746987745811958992023-12-26T22:38:00.000-05:002023-12-26T22:38:37.132-05:00 Hang Up, Grandpa<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUwnMCiFw-vfvAt7WcwKwwV0dOUvQgNXgEfpRRN4cTN00MXM1vSjAZqdSSXPBpAzUL3FrN731fQ7_SK70mzOOeVwRsIQGDHgGt8Wx5Zqb47ZU0Xc5FQ56FqNZL__16SdrR63ElKbjFjBY8HteACBPP7DZTzPre5TyIecV4z5kcJe1YwSr_GqcaWQt_eVi/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUwnMCiFw-vfvAt7WcwKwwV0dOUvQgNXgEfpRRN4cTN00MXM1vSjAZqdSSXPBpAzUL3FrN731fQ7_SK70mzOOeVwRsIQGDHgGt8Wx5Zqb47ZU0Xc5FQ56FqNZL__16SdrR63ElKbjFjBY8HteACBPP7DZTzPre5TyIecV4z5kcJe1YwSr_GqcaWQt_eVi/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Once again, I could not stop talking;<br />Once again, I would not shut the heck up.<br />Although others tried to end that long call,<br />I was on a roll, not stopping at all.<br />This desperate grandpa would not shut up,<br /> But stretched the Christmas call without balking.<br /><br />And once again, I repeated myself.<br />My mouth kept moving, mind striving to find <br />Topics and aches and pains to keep chatting,<br />Until the others gently combating,<br />Insisting though both gentle and kind,<br />Twas time this old Elf got back on his shelf.<br /><br />Once again, I simply couldn't let go.<br />I can talk until the batteries die,<br />Beyond the limits that most can endure,<br />Dragged once again on the nickel tour:<br />Thread-bare stories and memories awry.<br />And gently, they tell me it’s time to go.<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />December 2023</b><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-4100727555907115042023-12-23T18:26:00.000-05:002023-12-23T18:26:47.533-05:00 Christmas Shopping, 1956<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UCuys3_q1dE9EJo7nsnjKJHcOfDWkK_rW2_W0k7nwjRKfQLglXlRIaeJCU8a1bfZhEf8-KqGgol2eaAl0FIDrynWPpFz8gMnEH5YsaGyLPEEz5RFyFYpCE7e8JcylD4RqedZQg4zCs5sy5TUBSQXHBW73lnVUTuguK_NZl-r2JhRNAgUG9EWrvSf1Tnu/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UCuys3_q1dE9EJo7nsnjKJHcOfDWkK_rW2_W0k7nwjRKfQLglXlRIaeJCU8a1bfZhEf8-KqGgol2eaAl0FIDrynWPpFz8gMnEH5YsaGyLPEEz5RFyFYpCE7e8JcylD4RqedZQg4zCs5sy5TUBSQXHBW73lnVUTuguK_NZl-r2JhRNAgUG9EWrvSf1Tnu/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div><p>Smudges in the streetside snow,<br />Root beer ice everywhere we go.<br />Flaccid air that cuts to the core,<br />Store music is a generic bore.<br /><br />Buckle boots with buckles broke,<br />To keep out slush are a jingle joke.<br />A driver in a Christmas rush<br />Splashes us with Yuletide slush.<br /><br />Christmas shopping checkout squeeze:<br />A world of wet boots, butts, and knees.<br />Suddenly, we’re with my dad,<br />To carry all the gifts we had -- <br /><br />Out to our waiting chariot,<br />Adrift in slush-filled parking lot.<br />We’re in the back seat, looking down,<br />We can’t get up or look around.<br /><br />My mom arrives and dad gets out,<br />We hear a moan, a cry, a shout.<br />They enter our wet biodome,<br />Silence reigns the whole way home.<br /><br />We haunt our cold, damp, metal jar,<br />Til’ mom and dad unpack the car.<br />We march into the house, a mess<br />Of flapping boots and slushiness.<br /><br />Supper comes (and quickly went),<br />A face wash and some Pep-so-Dent.<br />Soon we all are sent to bed...<br />Nothing asked. Nothing said.<br /><b><br />Mick McKellar<br />December 2023</b><br /></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-26497324534065023382023-12-23T01:16:00.000-05:002023-12-23T01:16:31.945-05:00Not The Life I Hoped For<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGCGZTXl9qqMd-pzUQ5SBcJXogvX2vY4jkGS0XczmwNX_k2XE2OX4EKCSAU4ZzEhg9SXw66PefS6OVD-1A6Et2nosB-XT1cyb17QxvPRWJQL22LDGDCwAsnUDz6xbk_D-pvSOdB38H1Eow-3wQmAlBwdlX2TetpwWlv6HZtu1ejttmheEoUtTncFQr0KH/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGCGZTXl9qqMd-pzUQ5SBcJXogvX2vY4jkGS0XczmwNX_k2XE2OX4EKCSAU4ZzEhg9SXw66PefS6OVD-1A6Et2nosB-XT1cyb17QxvPRWJQL22LDGDCwAsnUDz6xbk_D-pvSOdB38H1Eow-3wQmAlBwdlX2TetpwWlv6HZtu1ejttmheEoUtTncFQr0KH/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>I don't need you to fix me. <br />Though sometimes I cry, <br />Alone in the night,<br />From the fear I might die;<br />And ashamed of that fright.<br />You’ll never hear that sad plea.<br /><br />I need love and compassion.<br />If you see me grimace in pain,<br />Your patience is what I desire.<br />I hate being sick again.<br />“Stay home.” Is what they require,<br />And medical gear’s out of fashion.<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />December 2023</b><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-11489118260010395502023-12-14T20:33:00.000-05:002023-12-14T20:33:22.504-05:00 Golden Days<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4qjDjpS5EXuZ_mJ-GMvJSiRiOZ_a0yKYki8oR1bNojuiTQ01HoQhDc4upTqBICks-2eOXLncX5uq6XHJ-tbNA9l1cBZml9_HM3DZWhQfntraCc-sBqA_SWBjNd9_Wi6qgzNxQX59AAY0UktGe2d48txPb81Vf4V4xAoHt4uwmwjL0Y6p1wBeq3DAvB_r/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4qjDjpS5EXuZ_mJ-GMvJSiRiOZ_a0yKYki8oR1bNojuiTQ01HoQhDc4upTqBICks-2eOXLncX5uq6XHJ-tbNA9l1cBZml9_HM3DZWhQfntraCc-sBqA_SWBjNd9_Wi6qgzNxQX59AAY0UktGe2d48txPb81Vf4V4xAoHt4uwmwjL0Y6p1wBeq3DAvB_r/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Advice I give is good more than a year.<br />I make soup from a raindrop and a smile;<br />My stories bring both laughter and a tear,<br />And both of them repeat after a while.<br /><br />My beard and mustache used to be dark red,<br />But now they’re mostly white and silver-gray.<br />My hair no longer covers my whole head;<br />What’s left seems like it wants to fade away.<br /><br />I used spend my days working around,<br />And now I spend them sitting on my grass!<br />I spoke and sang with such a mellow sound,<br />And now I sneeze and cough and pass some gas…<br /><br />Days -- they flitter past in merely minutes,<br />Far fewer up ahead than left behind.<br />Golden Days are here with all their limits:<br />‘Long as I get to live them, I don’t mind!<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />December 2023</b><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-39513903292367840152023-12-04T13:26:00.000-05:002023-12-04T13:26:09.060-05:00Snow<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmKaSnRdf3FpQFzHGJuFw4Ms_8jOaVOAM_LiutNh00GhKrk5siH9Uo_XgkWL67zH1aWz-EHN98XPrj53PuUzcuYLz9qK9U7TVJoagAIfTPZ-I2QXhvVYOaR5XQOHa1yAARQ_D4f7nd-kqeyiHZiQFE17S9NurQeo27SxZ8y18v6iOZgn4NYQ5J4g9uafA/s383/snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="335" data-original-width="383" height="560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmKaSnRdf3FpQFzHGJuFw4Ms_8jOaVOAM_LiutNh00GhKrk5siH9Uo_XgkWL67zH1aWz-EHN98XPrj53PuUzcuYLz9qK9U7TVJoagAIfTPZ-I2QXhvVYOaR5XQOHa1yAARQ_D4f7nd-kqeyiHZiQFE17S9NurQeo27SxZ8y18v6iOZgn4NYQ5J4g9uafA/w640-h560/snow.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>by Mick McKellar / December 2023<br /></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-78288823955219855232023-11-28T13:52:00.000-05:002023-11-28T13:52:20.463-05:00 Three Angels<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAAywpgbDl4r0nsmHmVh36wJRSQsDbT1N_tDBH3P9N03lvOqrf_vLTFsxkl2oU2yQuyCNYqtsnfF7Gv3NqBk3PZy6XDMtIllDwjPlK0DeoTlJe_8EL9_xmHTJMABQL417jiJB0w8VfomXWovulZ2judPoAPEx15qItjNLVBHUC0aVyhLHH3_VuyU2Fg8Zm/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAAywpgbDl4r0nsmHmVh36wJRSQsDbT1N_tDBH3P9N03lvOqrf_vLTFsxkl2oU2yQuyCNYqtsnfF7Gv3NqBk3PZy6XDMtIllDwjPlK0DeoTlJe_8EL9_xmHTJMABQL417jiJB0w8VfomXWovulZ2judPoAPEx15qItjNLVBHUC0aVyhLHH3_VuyU2Fg8Zm/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br /><p>Three angels lifted me up high so I could see<br />The oceans and the lands of our blue home.<br />They did not speak to me, but stood back, silently<br />And gestured quietly, I would say solemnly,<br />That I observe our planet’s biodome.<br /><br />I didn’t understand and quickly raised my hand<br />To ask them if this was some crazy test.<br />The angel in command, with gesture broad and grand,<br />Repeated his demand that I observe the land,<br />But gave no further nuance of behest.<br /><br />I gazed upon the Earth, the planet of my birth;<br />Where my gaze stopped I felt emotions strong.<br />Few places had a dearth, too few were filled with mirth,<br />And rage’s mighty girth gave prejudice a berth.<br />But love and joy seemed nowhere to belong.<br /><br />An angel caught my eye and sighed a mighty sigh,<br />And gestured for me, please, to step aside.<br />“You kill until you cry, yet don’t stop to ask why<br />The rage drives your outcry. You kill until you die<br />And glorify the deaths with wrathful pride!”<br /><br />I felt no anger there, nor did I sense despair,<br />Just sadness -- so immense it blocked the Sun.<br />I felt my deep faith flare, erupting in a prayer<br />That burst forth in midair: “Life is love to share!<br />Rage and hate and killing profit no one.”<br /><br />I turned around to see three angels grin broadly;<br />They shook my hand and laughed and called me brother.<br />Inside, buried deeply they’d found some empathy,<br />And prayers held in by me that emotions set free.<br />They said farewell and flew to find another.<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />November 2023</b><br /><br />Young men dream of glory<br />Old men dream of peace<br /><br /><b>Mick </b><br /></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-70936548313265658472023-10-25T22:54:00.000-04:002023-10-25T22:54:07.342-04:00This Too Shall Pass<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVvdY5Dl79mJJMnWJCLdcSySShNFvM7uXIn8wlqr0wUhXeEFtQkcc7vOcpEeL6N0gaofiupSPigymvVTba6-yyYseGYhVs0w9Y3FgVIQoBB2nYa-8JxUbPmidz-klp8sJEtIvrVHcJg8KvHdNvWyIzu1sy9AkGM_HMT_ViAdZUnc81wELsQ11H-3JWlz6/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVvdY5Dl79mJJMnWJCLdcSySShNFvM7uXIn8wlqr0wUhXeEFtQkcc7vOcpEeL6N0gaofiupSPigymvVTba6-yyYseGYhVs0w9Y3FgVIQoBB2nYa-8JxUbPmidz-klp8sJEtIvrVHcJg8KvHdNvWyIzu1sy9AkGM_HMT_ViAdZUnc81wELsQ11H-3JWlz6/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>A nomadic band in a desert land,<br />Trekked border to border on golden sand.<br />They found an oasis where none could dwell,<br />For sticky, black goop had poisoned the well.<br /><br />That meandering folk who used to roam,<br />Parked at the oasis and called it home.<br />Word spread far and wide that their wondrous goop<br />Smelled like rotten eggs, and made awful soup.<br /><br />Big foreign investors and local toil,<br />Helped them pump out a vast pool of crude oil.<br />Though the pool is empty, the well gone dry,<br />The land’s still a desert under the sky.<br /><br />They once lived on that land dwelling in tents,<br />Now it’s high tech and complex investments.<br />Then they remembered an age-old story,<br />Of fleeting wealth and vast vainglory:<br /><br />For the happiness of an ancient king,<br />His people made war for a golden ring.<br />The ring knew his joy would never last,<br />Its inscription read: "This too shall pass!"<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />October 2023</b><br /><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2768572585731254064.post-8377812136585254072023-10-21T22:37:00.000-04:002023-10-21T22:37:18.780-04:00Storm In A Jar<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-luOgEIBi-UoHor3wHFuVpsEy0ERPET7214LyLDBuOs_QTlIeY7uM6yzgyt8CAm3h2gMMulGbTkmDsOmQPNvfXWnf5XnMjsdHs8nRBgS-IkGHOMgPREh-AgdykX6veWntXuBe0speGWgvguQJ3WaGGTWx9pNfuX_x5MHdysM4arYBS6lmTX5d5N1M7OJ3/s378/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="284" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-luOgEIBi-UoHor3wHFuVpsEy0ERPET7214LyLDBuOs_QTlIeY7uM6yzgyt8CAm3h2gMMulGbTkmDsOmQPNvfXWnf5XnMjsdHs8nRBgS-IkGHOMgPREh-AgdykX6veWntXuBe0speGWgvguQJ3WaGGTWx9pNfuX_x5MHdysM4arYBS6lmTX5d5N1M7OJ3/w150-h200/WIN_20170619_00_41_46_Pro%20(2).jpg" width="150" /></a></div>On the back of the shelf, <br />Sits an old glass jar.<br />It’s all by itself.<br />It looks empty;<br />At least that’s how it looks so far.<br /><br />No one knows for sure,<br />What it once contained.<br />I just know it’s a cure,<br />Welcome help,<br />When I’m angry or I’m pained.<br /><br />I saw it flash one night,<br />When I was so mad,<br />That I wanted to fight;<br />Hurt someone.<br />Could have hurt someone bad.<br /><br />Floating there in the jar,<br />Was a tiny storm cloud.<br />Lightning flashed so far,<br />It hit the bottom;<br />But it wasn’t too loud.<br /><br />When I’m sick or I’m hurt,<br />There’s bad weather inside.<br />All my pain I divert --<br />And everyone thinks,<br />That I take it in stride!<br /><br /><b>Mick McKellar<br />October 2023</b><br /><p></p>Mickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09102690853658870173noreply@blogger.com0