Touch of Peace

Touch of Peace

Sometimes I close my eyes and feel the peace,
That permeates our home on winter days,
And though it seems the snow will never cease,
The silent blanket smothers my malaise.

My life path on occasion has been rough,
Though with help, not insurmountably so.
Prayers of friends and family were enough,
To see me here, my safehouse in the snow.

By looking back, I see I must let go,
Of all the strings I used to tightly bind
To me, the hopes and dreams I tried to grow,
And set them free, their own life paths to find.

In solitude, I ponder thanks to give,
Though fame and success quite eluded me,
For friends and family, and time to live;
I’m grateful for that living legacy.

I sense the slowing of life’s mighty wheel,
Days grow shorter and the nights grow colder.
I live each day, prepared for when I feel,
God's gentle touch of peace on my shoulder.

Mick McKellar
November 2014


Once again I’ve been reminded of the delicacy of my health, and in the silence of late night, put to work pondering my fragile legacy.

Mick

Merry Mind Music

Merry Mind Music

The ebb and flow of words that dance and sing,
Upon my daydream river’s closest shore,
Sparkle just when the sands of thought they bring,
Ascend to form bright crystal songs that soar.
I see and hear their meteoric rise,
The chiming of their lucent silver notes,
An orchestra of sound in midnight skies,
As prancing points of light through star-shine floats.
The wintry words of wonder sing a song,
Of glad thanksgiving and of yuletide cheer,
To make my spirit yearn to sing along,
When Christmas comes to visit ev’ry year.
The music in my mind lets me enjoy,
These bright and merry songs of Christmas joy!

Mick McKellar
November 2014

The complicated rhythms of the music in my mind,
Were captured by the early Christmas shows and ads I find.
Hijacked by the splash and flash and glitter that they’re showing;
I wrote about Christmas ‘cause outside it’s always snowing…

Mick

Someone Else’s Eyes

Someone Else’s Eyes

Back when I lived alone inside my head,
I gazed inward to seek that golden thread
That led to me, and yet to my surprise,
I found myself in someone else’s eyes.

Together we, traversed a living sea,
And weathered storms with equanimity.
I stood each watch and learned to improvise,
With strength I found in someone else’s eyes.

I’d constantly reveled in being free,
When suddenly, our simple we, were three.
My whole life changed when I, between her cries,
Beheld pure love in someone else’s eyes.

As each child taught me things I didn’t know
About myself, and forcing me to grow;
I learned to see beyond my own disguise,
And found my soul in someone else’s eyes.

It seems my life is rushing towards its end;
And soon I’ll spend all that I have to spend.
I see my legacy, that wondrous prize,
As memories in someone else’s eyes.

Mick McKellar
November 2014

Sometimes we have to see ourselves as others see us, or as Robert Burns wrote:

“O, wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!"

 Mick

Halloween Odyssey

Halloween Odyssey

He seeped through the mists on All Hallows Eve,
A shadowy, homeless wraith on the wind:
His grasping arm, like a stick through his sleeve,
His jacket, draped on a hanger and pinned.

Though welcomed at homes with Halloween lights,
Where smiling folks said his costume was good;
He thanked them, then ate with ferocious bites.
They didn’t know he was starving for food.

He shuffled through town as fast as he could,
Stuffing his pockets and his shopping bag.
He ate more candy than he knew he should;
Often chewing so fast, he’d almost gag.

An hour later, collapsed in a yard,
The ghost of a child, small and pathetic;
Lay moaning, shivering, breathing hard,
Full of candy now, and diabetic.

He writhed on the ground, and cried to the night,
His stomach now full of delicious treats:
Why must he suffer sharp pain and fierce fright,
And be left alone on the city streets?

He was drifting now, riding waves of pain,
When he felt a hand softly stroke his hair.
A voice said he’d never feel pain again,
And instantly, he was no longer there.

A smiling old man in odd looking clothes,
Was singing a song about life and death,
About secrets of life nobody knows,
Without stopping, even to take a breath.

He took the man’s hand and stepped through a door,
Where he met his mother, he knew had died;
Looked back at the shell, where he lived no more,
And for a second, he silently cried.

The Minstrel stepped back and he sealed the door.
He knelt by the body so still and mild,
Then he sang a prayer for the homeless poor,
And the tragedy of a starving child.

Then he prayed that this sight would do its part,
When viewed in the glare of the morning sun,
To change even one indifferent heart.
Then took out his phone, and dialed 9-1-1.

Mick McKellar
October 2014


Not all that is sweet is good for you, and costumes often conceal dark truths.

Mick.

Master of the Deck

Master of the Deck

Now warm within the confines of my home,
I shiver at the long remembered chill
Of wind, which stirred my backyard sea of brome;
Which touched my beating heart, and always will.

I stood my watch upon my deck, adrift
Amid the shifting swirls of midnight mists.
Dim moonlight touched my face, a silver gift,
Awakening a dream that yet persists.

Upright and tall, the master at the rail,
And captain of my stationary ship,
I navigated, certain we would sail,
Until we silently docked in our slip,

The flexing of the deck beneath my feet,
The snapping of the silver sheets aloft,
The thrumming of the lines made my heart beat,
As counterpoint to sighing breezes soft.

A street lamp, now a gleaming barbican;
Whose tower watch, alerted by my sails,
Sounded a horn -- from misty minivan,
Unraveling the threads of dreamy tales...

I summoned Dante back up on the deck,
And slowly I unhooked his cable tie.
I turned back once, to ponder and reflect
On reverie, and sadly said goodbye.

Now warm within the confines of my home,
I shiver at the long remembered thrill,
Of voyages, where dreams let the heart roam,
Where old souls sail away, and always will.

Mick McKellar
October 2014

On one recent evening, as I trod the boards of our deck, surrounded by thick fog and faint moonlight while Dante completed his late night duties, I was carried away upon a sea of imagination. Captain of my fate and master of the deck, I navigated toward a distant light on a fortified seawall...until a minivan honked on the next street, breaking the spell…

Mick

Humble Pie

Humble Pie

The gurney was narrow as a park bench;
It rattled and shook with bumps on his drive.
One nasty pothole gave his back a wrench,
But served to remind him he was alive.

His eyes were dazzled by ambulance lights,
As EMT's lifted him in the back
Of a van, full of beeping, blinking sights;
Counterpoints to the night’s velvety black.

An hour before, he was watching TV,
Silently slouched on this favorite couch.
Mouth full of popcorn, a glass on his knee,
He sprawled and he growled, the consummate grouch.

He cursed all the challenges of his life,
He blamed his whole family, one and all.
He even cursed his long-suffering wife --
A curmudgeon with a clarion call.

Family members ignored him, of course.
So tired of years of verbal abuse,
Delivered full volume, without remorse,
They despaired of ever reaching a truce.

Tonight was definitely different,
A change in the weather brought them around.
The storm in the living room went silent,
Except for whimpers and a choking sound.

His popcorn was scattered everywhere,
He was on the floor and was turning blue.
They entered the room, and they just stood there,
And watched, like they didn’t know what to do.

The youngest finally dialed 9-1-1,
Though he hesitated uncertainly.
As the others’ composure came undone,
They all began calling, frantically.

Time seemed to stop in a flash of green light,
A shadow lifted him off of the floor,
And his dying eyes saw the strangest sight,
A man dressed like no one he’d seen before.

The song the man sang seemed to clear his throat,
And air rushed in, once again he could breathe!
But he was an ornery, vile, old goat,
His temper returned, he began to seethe...

As the Minstrel’s song held his bile in check,
He saw himself through his family’s eyes;
He saw his fury make their lives a wreck,
A monster that they could only despise.

His two little children, his loving wife,
Long time targets of his tantrums and ire;
Had all hesitated to save his life,
So frightened of him, they’d let him expire.

They’d looked relieved as men took him away.
If he could have breathed better, he’d have cried,
As the anger he fed everyday,
Was lost to great sadness and quickly died.

The Minstrel, like always, had disappeared,
But his song long haunted the old man’s mind.
His family came back, though he had feared,
They’d leave him for someone loving and kind.

He learned to enjoy eating humble pie,
For the next time, they might just let him die!

Mick McKellar
October 2014

Take care to sweeten your words when you share them with your loved ones. Someday, you might have to eat them.

Mick

Domestic Chimera

Domestic Chimera

I dread my dreams in the dead of the night,
And impossible stories they relate.
They exceed the limits of wrong and right,
And they go where they will, with no debate.

In images, bright and spectacular,
Movies in high definition unfold;
With characters speaking vernacular,
Who can’t see that I’m both grizzled and old.

In my dreams, my mind is fully intact;
My memories are completely restored.
In an instant, I can find any fact;
My brain is so quick, I never get bored.

My reverie self is both strong and quick,
I run like a rocket propelled gazelle.
I never get hurt; I never get sick;
And have a phenomenal sense of smell.

Inherited indestructible health,
Grants a legacy of long life from birth.
With a source of inexhaustible wealth,
My dream self travels all over the Earth.

My dream adventures are wild and carefree.
Well, they are, most of the time anyway.
But, things do go wrong occasionally,
Yet my nightmare self somehow wins the day.

Though all dreams must fade with the end of night,
Remembering the excitement and fun;
The domestic chimera must now fight,
His mundane, real battles under the sun.

Mick McKellar
October 2014

Sometimes, waking up is the hardest thing I will do all day.

Mick