Turtle and "The Hair"

When young, I read the fable
Of "The Tortoise and the Hare;"
While sitting at a table,
In a library somewhere.

I dreamed about a turtle...
In a presidential race --
Who couldn't jump a hurdle,
Or sustain a rapid pace.

Home values was his platform,
And his message stayed on track.
He weathered every storm,
For his home was on his back!

His campaign was an odd one,
For he ran against "The Hair."
Hair's platform? Well, he had none,
And he really didn't care.

He thought: Would be fun to run,
And make promises quite grand.
He knew he'd never keep one,
But to run would help his brand...

The Hair was growing older,
And to run that fast was hard;
So he threw mud, and bolder
Yet, sat resting, in his yard.

He called the Turtle bad names:
"Loser," "Crooked," "Fake," and "Slow."
Nasty innuendo games,
Were all that he seemed to know.

The Hair kept chanting labels,
Which were echoed in the press.
Though none were more than fables,
Turtle got splashed with the mess.

Yet Turtle kept campaigning,
And The Hair kept shouting threats;
While campaign funds were raining,
On mountains of campaign debts.

Though Turtle crossed the finish,
And he thought he'd won the race,
The Hair sought to diminish,
The full value of first place.

The Hair claimed his victory!
And the Turtle was aghast:
There was no way he could see
That The Hair had moved so fast!

Yet, somehow he lost the race,
Though following rules of games.
The Hair had taken first place,
By calling him awful names!

The Hair was bragging out loud,
That he'd won in a deluge.
That he had the biggest crowd;
That his victory was "huuuge!"

The moral of this story:
In such political games,
To win all of the glory,
Just call your opponent names.

Mick McKellar
June 2017

I read that there are many versions of The Tortoise and the Hare, so I thought: "Why not add one more?"

Mick

Final Road

Time was, we'd sprint the snowy distance fast,
Or laugh because the rocky road was tough.
Too soon became those carefree days our past,
And hand-in-hand we traversed through the rough.
At times, we carried little ones along.
At times, we stopped because we needed rest.
And sometimes, we would break into a song,
Because our time together was the best!
And then, there came the toughest road of all,
Whereon I faltered, stumbled, skinned my knee.
You held me up so that I would not fall --
Walked slowly, for twas then you carried me.
And love helped me complete my last adieu:
A last walk down the final road with you.

Mick McKellar
June 2017

We walk many roads with those we choose to love. Though some seem impassable, impenetrable, or impossible -- it's together we journey far.

Mick.

My Summer Song

I cry for light that pierces gloom,
And brings forth hope which fills the room;
That bathes my soul to banish strife.

I sing my lovely winter song,
And seek a flame all season long,
That melts my spirit — sealed in ice.

I still believe in summer days,
And love the light, with brilliant rays
That touch my heart with hope and life.

I raise my voice, with no surcease,
And sing of love, of hope and peace;
That all will hear — it will suffice!

Mick McKellar
May 2017

Although I have sung of winter these many years, I still believe in summer days.

Mick

Pie Crust Castles

Your campaign voice wove pageants in my mind,
Bright images flowed swiftly into place.
Your promise of the riches I would find,
Did quickly pull me into greed's embrace.
I saw the fantasies you did describe;
I heard the phantom wind in distant trees;
I felt desire's touch -- its subtle bribe,
And yearning brought my reason to its knees.
The walls, the parapets, the towers seem
So real, I scarce believed that they could fall.
And yet they shattered, fracturing the dream,
Until the castles crumbled, one and all.
Your promises were more fragile than fair,
Your lies, your pie crust castles in the air.

Mick McKellar
May 2017

I wonder if politicians ever think about the sense of loss that must overwhelm many of their volunteers and dedicated supporters when, after they are elected, they fail to pursue the wonderful dreams they spoke about, the pie crust promises of their campaign.

Mick

Invisible Hero

The smartest man that may ever have been,
Though he espoused advice both wise and sage;
Could walk and talk, both unheard and unseen,
If he appeared to be a certain age.
His comments could a famine bring to heel.
His wisdom broker long-envisioned peace.
His passion teach a country how to feel
Compassionate, to make the hatred cease.
And yet, it's likely he would be ignored;
Remain invisible and stay unheard.
Our brash cacophony will just reward,
The risqué, the vulgar, and the absurd.
He'll simply fade to black, an anecdote:
An old fart in a polyester coat.

Mick McKellar
May 2017

I have discovered the secret to becoming invisible and silent as the grave — become old.

Mick

A Night Terror

I crouch, a curmudgeon, before my screen,
With tears in my eyes, for I am in pain.
My eyes burn savagely for what I’ve seen,
As the words that I read have seared my brain.
Each day our country tears itself apart;
We kill each other for color of skin.
Religious fanatics want new wars to start;
The rich sit back and watch profits roll in.
The media flood with half-truths and lies;
Our fountain of truth spouts poison and hate.
Then as the soul of democracy dies,
We helplessly watch, for it is too late...
I awake, my eyes filled with burning tears,
And I vow to try to confront my fears.

Mick McKellar
March 2017

How are you sleeping these days?

Mick

Touched by Light

I lay asleep upon my bed.
I woke and wondered -- was I dead?
I looked about, and wondrously
A golden light enveloped me.
It felt so warm upon my skin,
It penetrated deep within.
Its touch so gentle, filled with power,
I lay enthralled for near an hour.
No voices boomed, no vast release,
I simply felt, at last, at peace.
Within that golden, glowing touch,
I'd never felt so loved, so much.
As I recall it, lovingly,
I feel it glowing still -- in me.

Mick McKellar
March 2017