Self-cleaning

Imagine you had the power to create worlds. You could design planets that were gardens, frozen spheres, furnaces, or even desolate rocks. The gardens would need tending, so you could hire or even create caretakers for your garden world. But should they fail to care for it, or worse exploit and poison the garden, would you not build in some sort of self-cleaning mechanism, a sort of re-start button?

I wondered, what if the self-cleaning mechanism for our world has been activated? Could all the storms and climate changes be our own world attempting to "reset" or "reboot?" Not being the Creator of our world, I could not comprehend His mind, but in my own limited fashion I present one possibility...

Mick

Self-cleaning

I stood upon a bridge that spanned the sky,

And surveyed all the world that turned below.

I cast my gaze from pole to pole, and I

Despaired that what I'd planted did not grow.

My garden wasn't simply choked with weeds,

Weeds had joined the trees and seas in dying.

My caretakers had filled only their needs,

The toxic mess they left had me crying.

The gift I gave them, a priceless treasure,

Needed only careful, loving tending.

Greedily they'd wasted the full measure,

Of resources now reaching their ending.

Reluctantly, I flipped a switch, meaning

I'd started the cycle of self-cleaning...

Mick McKellar

May 2011

Memorial Day 2011

Memorial Day was never just a day off work for my family, because so many members of my family were in the service...all but me, actually. Medical and health issues kept me from service, but never diminished the pride I feel for those who served.

This year, we're in Rochester, MN, at Mayo Clinic, and I cannot be with my family. We attended the Memorial Day ceremonies at Soldiers Field Veterans Memorial, and I found it moving and reassuring to see a community give honor and recognition to its veterans, both the living and the lost. The memorial is a beautiful structure of granite walls, etched with battle scenes from all major U.S. wars. The memorial was packed, so I stood outside, peering over a wall, with several hundred other visitors and veterans. Their solemnity and pride made this a special Memorial Day.

Mick

Memorial Day 2011

I watched them march, peering over the wall,

The proud veterans and their families.

They were gathered together, one and all,

For music, and singing, and homilies,

Recounting the valor and sacrifice,

And the giving of the last full measure,

By their sons and daughters, in the service

Of their country's freedom, timeless treasure

Requiring constant vigilance as cost.

Their faces, unsmiling, were filled with pride,

Through speeches focused on those that were lost,

In wars where their young neighbors fought and died.

I stood and I watched, an unremarked guest,

As they remembered their brightest and best.

Mick McKellar

May 2011

Silent Smile

Did you ever watch someone read a letter and try guess the contents from the expression on his or her face? For some messages, the general nature of the contents is readily apparent -- especially strong emotions. Good news brings a grin, a chuckle, or a laugh. Bad news can show as anger or sadness. The one I like best, I call the silent smile.

Reading a letter from a friend that touches your heart and makes you feel warm and loved evokes a joy in your soul and an uplift to your spirit that softens the aspect of your face, and nearly always brings about a tender look in the eyes and uplift at the corners of the mouth...the silent smile.

Mick

Silent Smile

I watched her read a letter from a friend,

Her eyes moved back and forth at quickened pace.

I wondered if before she reached the end,

The contents could be read upon her face.

Sometimes her eyes would backtrack and re-read,

A word or passage slowly, carefully,

Or jump ahead with incredible speed,

To stop and gaze at something thoroughly.

Her face relaxed a little as she read,

And gentle tenderness filled her brown eyes,

To silently back what her soft smile said.

And though each fleeting aspect often hies,

A loving look will linger for awhile;

Knowing you're loved begets a silent smile.

Mick McKellar

May 2011

An Ordinary Day

I suppose everyone dreams of a utopia or a special place, where the wrongs of our own world either do not exist or can be resolved by magic or just by caring friends and family. Mine always seems to include images from my favorite books, especially the fantasy works of Tolkien, Lewis, and Brooks; all mixed up with peace and plenty for all.

The images of an "ordinary" day in that wonderful place, I keep in a corner of my mind, as a refuge or redoubt -- a retreat from some of life's harsh realities. It is my special place, where I go when a procedure is painful, or I need a few moments to collect the ragged end of my emotions, frayed by an unexpected challenge or grand disappointment. Fear and anxiety cannot exist there, and once free of that pair, I can think freely and put things in perspective -- and that is on an ordinary day...

Mick

An Ordinary Day

I dreamed that I was in a wondrous land,

Where wizards cured diseases with a spell,

Or healers might, with a touch of their hand,

And a secret draught, make anyone well.

The rulers of the land were fair and wise;

The people were content and lived in peace.

The countryside was easy on the eyes,

And errant knights were the only police.

I moved from place to place with just a thought:

From room to room, or far as I could see.

Folks said it was a myth that wars were fought,

And none had ever heard of cruelty.

We celebrated life in ev'ry way,

And that was just an ordinary day...

Mick McKellar

May 2011

Dream Canvas

I was blessed with the heart of an artist and the hands of a farmer with arthritis and a rusty bucket in which I cannot carry a tune. Entire symphonies, layered and deep intrude upon my musings and my sleep, but I have not the talent or training to write them down, nor the voice to bring them to life.

However, the world of words, not sundered from my life by any physical limitations, becomes the brush in my unsteady hand, the myriad colors upon my palette, the orchestra in my mind, and the chorus of my dream choir. I treasure the moments I am allowed to walk in that dream world, and find the mysteries waiting there for eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to embrace.

Mick

Dream Canvas

If I could write the music in my head,

And paint my words until they light the way,

Then dance unfettered, touching sky instead

Of letting all that beauty wash away.

If I could gather all the love I see,

I'd pour its essence deep upon the page,

So that the words alive inside of me,

Would live forever on the paper stage.

If I could sing an aria, profound

Enough to open all the wounded hearts

And souls, and share its loving healing sound,

I'd mend each broken spirit's fractured parts.

And though, my palette has but words, it seems

I'll paint upon that canvas in my dreams.

Mick McKellar

May 2011

Train

How often I have heard folks tell me that, life is a journey and I should enjoy the ride. I suppose, like most Type A's early on, I was just like the people who built the expressways and superhighways across America. My focus was on the destination, not on the journey to the destination. Then, I got my first motorcycle and I learned quickly two very important lessons. First I learned that I did not like riding a small motorcycle on the expressway. Second, that it is important to enjoy the ride.

I no longer ride a motorcycle, but I have learned to enjoy the ride. All of life is a journey and I want my life to be that journey, punctuated with the spice and bitters of destinations along the way. If my life were just about destinations, more than half of it would be missing. Life is a journey. Enjoy the ride.

Mick

Train

I slept, and dreamt that I was on a train.

The coach in which I rode had no window.

I could not tell the weather, sun or rain,

Had no idea where the train would go.

The coach was larger, ever than I thought,

And it held more people than I could see.

All held tickets just like the one I bought,

Some were short, some were long, and none like me.

Folks got on and got off, I know not where,

And so, to pass the time, I made some friends,

Yet, when I turned around, they were not there.

So, I often asked when the journey ends.

They said I'd know, I'd feel it, deep inside,

In the meantime, I should enjoy the ride.

Mick McKellar

May 2011

Blossom

Blossoms in the wind, dancing and dodging, wobbling about with every little gust, seem so delicate and frail they should simply break apart and scatter their petals upon the gale. Yet, they bend with the pressure, bending and shaking, nearly breaking, and rebound to display their beauty. Rooted firmly in good soil and lovingly cared for, it offers the joy of its presence and the reassurance of the tenacity of life.

Planting and cultivating a friendship, especially one that will be tried and tested again and again by life's stormy gales, requires a loving hand, careful watering and tending, and occasionally a little manure -- applied judiciously and spread very thinly. For those lucky spirits upon this ancient planet, who in the course of their lives have known true friends, I grant you may be the richest souls alive.

Mick

Blossom

A flower, pale, bright, dancing in the wind,

Chancing its petals upon whirling air,

An offer of beauty it can't rescind,

From root, it endures, bravely standing there.

Its life delicately touches my eye.

Its sweet, simple promise touches my soul.

Its honest spirit makes me want to try,

To capture its essence, to keep it whole.

A treasure because it’s so very rare.

Its seed so tiny it defies eyesight,

And cultivating it requires such care,

That few of us manage to do it right.

Yet, with hard work and lots of love to spend,

We can blossom, and become a true friend.

Mick McKellar

May 2011