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