Firefly at Dusk

Firefly at Dusk

Tiny stars that float and flicker,
In twilit dervish dance so brusque,
Only daydreams perish quicker,
Than firefly flashes in the dusk.
High above, the stars, eternal,
Flickering, though their lives endure,
Keep their silent watch nocturnal --
Bright chroniclers of time's grand tour.
In their long view of creation,
Do souls continue burning bright,
Or flare, brief illumination --
Just firefly flashes in the night?

Mick McKellar
October 2013

When I walked out our front door this morning, I was greeted by Orion and stunned by the majesty of the early morning sky. I wondered: If the stars are watching us, how must our brief explosions of life on this Earth appear to their ageless eyes?

Mick

Dance of Days

Dance of Days

A-shimmer in the wintry morning light,
Ephemeral mist drifts on icy air.
Warm, humid, human breath shines rimy bright,
The touch of warmth no longer barely there --
As delicate mist shadows on the snow,
Caress the canyons riven through the drifts,
And tiny shadow dancers soft and slow,
Flit silently cross crevices and rifts.
My days seem as translucent as the mist,
Of life's breath crystallizing in the sun:
The diaphanous wraith, by Jack Frost kissed,
Becomes a ghostly veil to jump and run.
My own luminous shadow skips and sways,
An eerie evanescent dance of days.

Mick McKellar
October 2013

As day 960 since my transplant drew to a close, I was thinking about how swiftly and delicately the days fly by. The image of warm breath misting in early winter morning sunshine jumped into my mind.

Mick

Snow Shark

Snow Shark

I'd go out walking after dark,
And never once feel insecure.
I imagined a great snow shark,
Made my safety a sinecure.
I'd stride as if I owned the road,
Just taking my shark for a walk;
Invisible -- it never showed --
While hiding that twas all a crock.

Although the shark remained unknown,
I knew its aspect could cause dread;
My guardian was wholly grown,
To roam dark places in my head.
I learned that bullies would think twice,
If I'd pretend I had a guard:
Impervious to snow and ice,
Invisible, but strong and hard.

These were skills that I had to hone;
It doesn't work if you're lazy.
But bullies may leave you alone,
If you're a basket of crazy.

Mick McKellar
September 2013


Okay, I know this fantasy sounds a bit crazy, but there is a kernel of truth. I found that bullies in school would leave me alone, if I acted as if I had nothing to fear. After a while, they were no longer scary and dangerous, just annoying and dangerous (like heavy traffic or thunderstorms).

Mick

Chimera

Chimera

A thought intruded, suddenly,
While gathering wool, sipping tea,
And gazing inward, I could see
I wasn't me, entirely.

A river red and blue, it flows,
From top of head to tips of toes.
Yet ev'rywhere the river goes,
Its misbehavior often shows.

It knows a secret, wild and fey,
That makes it act in a strange way:
My life's blood, as blood tests betray,
Contains my brother's DNA.

I may not appear differently,
I look the same; I look like me.
Yet, me, myself, and I agree,
I'm not myself, entirely...

Mick McKellar
September 2013


939 days since the blood and marrow transplant, and I am still not used to the knowledge that, essentially, my brother's blood flows in my blood stream.

Mick

Senses

My mom, my dad, and me...in 1951.

Remembering my Mom (September 13, 2013):

Today would have been my Mom's 83rd birthday. She died in May, 1990. I miss her everyday. This is the poem I wrote upon her death and read at her funeral:






Senses

I see in my reflection, clear,
The image of your face.
I glimpse your shadow, standing near,
In each familiar place.
Your perfume permeates the air,
When sudden, I take note,
And lingers long and gently there,
On letters that you wrote.
When injured, or when feeling sad,
I feel your soothing touch.
And smells of cooking make me glad
I loved your food so much.

Now, late at night, when silence reigns,
I hear your voice again.
I know that after tears and pains,
Your flame is gone - your warmth remains.

Mick McKellar
( written upon the death of my mother, May 6, 1990 )

Summer Symphony

Summer Symphony

I dreamt all adrift in the warm/cool shade,
Softly relaxed in an afternoon haze,
My backyard transformed, now a shining glade,
Where wind shadows caught my wondering gaze.
The breeze tickled leaves and tossed limbs around,
As it capered and cavorted in glee,
It's soft susuration the only sound,
Except for the hum of a bumblebee.
The sky sang a deep, rich, blue melody,
As the earth roared harmony, velvet green.
Bright clouds led a daring counterpoint, free
To join the green choral polyphony.
Blue sky melody and green harmony,
Blessed my eyes in visual symphony.

Mick McKellar
August 2013


When summer finally arrived in the Keweenaw, I had to spend a few hours dreaming in the shade of our porch swing...at least when the bugs allowed it.

Mick

Sleep in Thunder

Sleep in Thunder

I dreamt that I walked far beneath the earth,
And wandered caverns enormously old,
Through cracks that would barely permit my girth,
Surrounded by shadows silent and cold.
I felt the weight of the rocks overhead,
And touched the face of the gathering gloom.
Yet, although the earth is home for the dead,
I did not succumb to fear of the tomb.
I met myself in a saturnine shade,
Waiting for me in soundless composure.
He showed me the fog of fear I had made,
And brought me peace with whispered disclosure:
A clear mind tears deception asunder,
And a quiet conscience sleeps in thunder.

Mick McKellar
August 2013


I read an Old English proverb late last night before I retired. Somehow, it insinuated itself into my dreams. The proverb says: "A quiet conscience sleeps in thunder." How it got from there to wandering caverns deep and dark and cold, I haven't the foggiest...

Mick