Shadows on the Snow

Shadows on the Snow

From inside my parka's hood,
A fuzzy warm cave for me;
I peer through the howling white,
But winter is all I see.

I cannot see where I am,
And barely see where to go.
I navigate by the sun,
And by shadows on the snow.

The muffled cry of the wind,
Laughs at my bundled up ears,
Sings to my frozen heart, that
This journey will end with tears.

Only up here in the North,
Where spirits of snowstorms talk,
Could I get lost without hope,
Taking the dog for a walk…

Mick McKellar
April 2015

OK, maybe I’m stretching...just a bit.

Mick

Weary Voyage

Weary Voyage

A bit of fatigue sets my mind adrift;
Cut loose from it's moorings, it rides the tide.
Swells toss it about, and the sudden shift
Causes changed perspectives from the rough ride.
I drift rudderless along the shoreline,
Venturing unguided before the gale,
Running attuned to the rising wind's whine,
Powerless to skipper without a sail.
My cerebral navy remains afloat,
To follow all the currents in the sea.
My weary acumen is in that boat,
Gratified for such opportunity.
Despite my grand expense of energy,
It's strange that my fatigue should set me free!

Mick McKellar
April 2015

Sometimes, I believe my mind must be weary to drift away and see life from a different perspective.

Mick

Sleepless Night

Sleepless Night

The lights are on upstairs tonight,
And shadows move behind the shade.
It seems I cannot douse the light,
Until I write what must be said.

The words are frantic to be free,
To dance across my empty page.
Those I ignore, will scream at me,
Until I open wide the cage.

Should I not quickly write them out,
Or try to hold them in my mind;
When I check back, without a doubt,
There's nothing left for me to find.

So, pen in hand I just comply,
And write the words I want to keep.
When I am finished, I will sigh,
Put down my pen, and go to sleep.

Mick McKellar
April 2015

There's no fighting it, when the words want to play, I never get a bye.

Mick

Angel Eyes

Angel Eyes

I’m sure I met an Angel once,
Or maybe it was twice.
Still, to let me know for certain,
Would have been very nice.

That seraphs walk among us here,
Is certainty for me.
I wonder if the secrecy,
Is how it has to be?

For many times I’ve felt their touch,
A cool hand on my hair,
That lifts the burden of my pain,
But, no one’s standing there.

A look, a smile, a tender word,
That lifts my spirit high;
Yet I cannot recall a face,
And I can’t explain why.

Long have I watched to find a way,
Angels to recognize;
I think the only way to know,
Is look into their eyes.

For though each face escapes my ken,
Their haunting eyes remain,
And I’ll remember to give thanks,
When I see one again.

Mick McKellar
April 2015

In December 2011, an Associated Press-GfK poll showed that 77 % of adult Americans believe in angels. It is nice to have company.

Mick

Serenity

Serenity

Sometimes the tears come softly in the night,
Silent sobs cannot my torment allay,
And although I may rise to fiercely fight,
Haunting, nameless fears never go away.
I try to still my shaking in the gloom,
To hide my weakness from my family,
Writhing all alone in my darkened room,
Hiding my shame so nobody will see.
Anger sustains my terror and despair,
Lurid companions on my somber quest,
To find no cancer lurking anywhere,
And grant my screaming heart a chance to rest.
Brief harmony my chagrin to assuage:
Serenity making peace with the rage.

Mick McKellar
April 2015

Sometimes, when I am alone, I grow restive and angry with this body I no longer recognize or understand.

Mick

Plainsong

Plainsong

Deep within the early morning light,
Softly breaking silence of the night,
Drift sweet chants of simple melodies,
Whispered hymns of sun and summer breeze.

One needs only silence plaintive thoughts,
Center on the joy each morn allots,
Clear your mind, and open wide your heart:
Feel the music simple songs impart.

Countless voices chant across the years,
Sing of love and loss and tender tears.
Happy moments happening each day,
Soon forgotten, never go away.

Acts of kindness given without heed,
Resonate to comfort human need.
Heard in coldest snow and warmest rain:
Modest murmurs sung with mild refrain.

Softly canticles set souls alight,
Singing humble, joyous anthems bright,
Shining through the darkness of the night:
Plainsong in the early morning light.

Mick McKellar
April 2015

The simple joy of waking up each morning brings to mind the mystical beauty of morning prayer or Lauds, and chanting of hymns to welcome the new day. Be the dawn the gold of risen sun or the pewter glow of misty morn, music rides the light and brings joy to the day.

Mick

Dustbins and Brooms

Dustbins and Brooms

A blazing hearth alight within my mind,
Gives poignant memories passion and light,
In an inglenook difficult to find;
Leaving dread doubts and worries in the night.
My living spirit burns on the hearthstone,
Aglow with soul and vital consciousness.
My memories and I tarry alone,
Seeking sufficient time to coalesce.
My memory mansion has many rooms,
Most remain tightly sealed, locked, and shuttered.
Despite using mental dustbins and brooms,
Most rooms have become dusty and cluttered.
Nightly I sit near the hearth and obsess,
About the best way to clean up the mess.

Mick McKellar
April 2015

Who knew my mind would need Spring cleaning?

Mick