Blended Voices

Blended Voices

I wish my poems could listen to you,
For your thoughts are more beautiful than mine.
But telling stories is all they can do,
That, and touting opinions I opine.
It’s my poet’s curse to paint and to sing,
Using only words (words that sometimes rhyme),
Of ocher sunsets in earliest Spring,
And of diamond carpets in Wintertime.
I can paint broken hearts with clumsy hands,
For words are a subtle, forgiving brush.
I can sing broad beaches, bright silver sands,
And moonlight that shimmers on ocean rush.
Yet, could my creation but hear your choices,
Think what we'd create with blended voices!

Mick McKellar
February 2015

At times, I cannot sleep because I hear the rolling moans of millions of poems, languishing in darkness, unfettered but unread. Perhaps they are simply so personal, relating to them is too difficult.

Mick

The Chaos of Loss

The Chaos of Loss

Yesterday, I remembered who you are.
Today, I know your face, but not your name.
The distance to tomorrow is so far,
That likely there will be a guessing game.
The words I want to say are written bold,
Upon a wall too far away to read.
My friends say this is part of getting old,
But, that won’t tell me how I should proceed.
For shelves where I once stored my memories,
Are growing barren and covered with dust.
Could someone help me find what’s missing, please?
There’s so much missing, my mind won’t adjust.
Would someone please unlock the recall dam,
And then, help me remember who I am?

Mick McKellar
February 2015

Call it Alzheimer’s disease or dementia or forgetfulness, it does not feel natural and it is frightening.

Mick

Regrets

Regrets

I sat alone with starlight as my aide;
My thoughts adrift on echoes of my past,
And deftly cataloged mistakes I made.
The number left me startled and aghast.
In welcome, veiling darkness, I grew pale,
And shook with bitterness I could not hide;
As I examined each precise detail,
My heart wrenched in its prison and I cried.
The icy starlight offered no relief.
The burden of my past seemed shattering,
Until my heart recalled my firm belief,
Only what’s done in love is mattering.
Wisdom I found to save my aching soul:
Perfection is a guide and not a goal.

Mick McKellar
February 2015

Upon reflection, my life has long been about embracing errors and learning from the mistakes I've made.

Mick

Ocean of Dreams

Ocean of Dreams

Although sleep, for some, is a slice of death,
A necessity fracturing their day;
Every human having drawn a breath,
Needs to close their eyes, and to drift away.
Go where slumber allows us all to stand,
To a place where little is as it seems:
We walk crimson clouds and run silver sand;
We surf with whales on an ocean of dreams.
We see stars in a distant childhood sky,
Recalling the wishes we planted there;
Remembering what, but not always why,
Leaving our memories everywhere.
Dreams introduce us to all we desire,
And those dreams are where memories retire.

Mick McKellar
February 2015

Why do I need to sleep? Why must I dream of days long past, or of things yet to be? And, when I forget, where do my memories go? I had a dream about it...

Mick

Journeys to Otherwhere

Journeys to Otherwhere

Soft nightwinds brush the meadows in my mind,
Stirring dream shadows across darkling moors,
Where foxfire illuminates paths I find,
Lest I swiftly stumble through twilight tours.
My nocturnal pilgrimages alone,
Which scarcely require that my feet touch ground,
Lead hither to otherwheres unbeknown,
For I have no clue where I may be bound.
The path that I choose as I close my eyes,
And reach for the essence that spins my dreams,
May lead me to truth or to myths and lies,
And nothing is ever quite what it seems.
I savor my journeys to otherwhere,
And I fondly dream I might tarry there.

Mick McKellar
February 2015

I sleep more now, than I ever did before. Yet, my dreams are wonders to behold, grand stories and marvelous journeys on the soft winds of the night.

Mick

Passports

Passports

Books are lighthouses in a sea of facts.
They are the force that drives the tides of change.
Books are the bait, that silently attracts
The minds that see the wonder in the strange.
A lens to bring the distant marvels near,
A boon companion in the darkest night;
A book can teach you, so you do not fear,
For the unknown can cause the greatest fright.
Books hold the records of our storied past,
Tales of the faith and failures of mankind;
Stories of science, love, and hate amassed,
And all the magic, born of human mind.
They are the wind which sets the spirit free,
And the very heart of humanity.

Mick McKellar
February 2015

I love books: hardcover, paperback, audio, and ebooks -- they have been my companions, teachers, and sources of solace since I first opened a cover to read. A book is my passport to otherwhere and otherwhen.

Mick

Not Human, Technically

Not Human, Technically

I don’t laugh anymore, I LOL,
And I check online media, a lot.
One misunderstanding I must dispel:
That my phone is smart, because I am not.
I need sunblock due to my monitor,
And I have friends that I have never met.
I rarely touch anyone, anymore,
And thought I might get a digital pet.
I converse with friends through a camera,
And take photos with my digital phone,
I type text to chat, and etcetera;
It’s an episode of the Twilight Zone!
To gain more speed and convenience, are we
Becoming digital humanity?

Mick McKellar
February 2015

This was, of course, written in my dark little office, by the flickering light of my monitor.

Mick