"Know thee well, that thou shalt never leave this place alive."
MINOTAUR
I stepped into
The Devil's tomb
A maze I felt
The best of fools
A charging beast
I could not see
Hoof and breath
An echo's beat
How deep I wade
My heart betrayed
A fearful call
Was no retreat
Was days, may weeks
I played that beast
Through twist and turn
Our paths would meet
The Minotaur
Bore his horn
I feigned, I fell
The bloodied floor
He thrust once more
My side he gored
This house of Hell
To mourn one more
His uncloved hoof
My shoulder pinned
His cud was smooth
Unclean as sin
He bent to bite
Was then I moved
My unsheathed blade
Her sharpness proved
I wrapped my arm
I gained my legs
Drew my sword
Across that vein
What poured forth
An evil smoke
As black the sheen
That wore his coat
I dragged his head
I walked unseen
A path pursued
Where none had been
To light it led
A moon as full
An eye as white
This sacred bull
He Was a Child Once, Too
He was a child once, too—
before the dusk outgrew the dawn,
before his little hands knew
how much a heart could carry on.
A face once lived beyond his sight,
then slipped away from memory’s light;
and childhood, like a fading tune,
grew quiet beneath a borrowed moon.
He became a roof in someone’s rain,
a little warmth against their pain;
he gave his flame so others could see,
while darkness kept a place for him silently.
He wore the years like a borrowed coat,
kept every storm inside his throat;
and though the world saw strength in him,
I know the child still lives within.
To me, that man is not merely strong—
he is the real hero of my life.
I love you, Abu.
— Zehreen
The Archer Robin Hood
The
archer
Robin Hood
from Nottingham
Shire aligns himself
perpendicularly
to the target whilst notching
the drawn arrow from the quiver,
and draws the longbow’s bowstring to the
anchor point, aims, and then lets loose the shaft.
That flies through the air, hitting the bull’s-eye
to the cheers and jeers of foresters
in the English countryside, where
they have challenged him to an
archery contest, but
folly beguiles them,
rendering him
the outlaw,
Robin
Hood.
***
Everyone walks around
carrying on their shoulders
a heap of sorrow
the sorrow
of so many things
never attained
the sorrow
of so many things
that never came to be
Inside every heart
a tragic tale
playing out
in the drama
unfolding within
someone is wounded
someone defeated
someone is fighting
in silence
within
Are we all
seeking the strange happiness
of becoming
a tragic hero?
A hydro engine, Myer made'
It put car makers in the shade.
He was soon to die
Cause filed, vauge suspected.'
Just a ( stroke of bad luck.?)
Or murder directed.?
Born 13th of October 1923 passed 26th July 2026, what can I put about Reg and
His mates? Heroes by any standard they
Forged their fate, in blood and mud, against maleria and dengu fever, they
Stood this test against 16000, Japs.!
all frontliners Imperials;
Then, yet our ( part time soldiers ) had at them, boy these
Were real men! Just 77 they took sone hits
Their biggest weapon a mortar pipe, yet
on with it.' The Jaos small mountain cannons unleashed many a barrage, these real
ANZAC fighters contested every yard..
Each foot they gave, the enemy paid, their
Owen guns rattling, All Aussie homemade
Some fired and ran into enemy lines
Even throwing grenades at the same
Time..Holding on till re-inforcements
All four hundred and eighty' came, then
they counter-attacked.' And
Pushed on through the pain, the enemy retreating
( was God on their side.?) I am inclined to
So venture.? That He heloed turn the tide
They saved Australia and maybe even the
West.? I salute Reg and his mates these were the best of our best.'
his mockery was vermin that the smuggler forcibly humming sharksucker
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 24–30, 2026)
“All grown-ups were once children... but only few of them remember it.” ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
Childhood's magic once cast spells of wonder.
Wildwood berries turned to pirate's plunder.
That bright hummingbird, extraordinary,
in flight, became a wish-bestowing fairy.
Then, imagination made a carpet fly.
Men were heroes, never falling from the sky.
I miss that genie spell that lasts but twenty years.
I kiss childhood goodbye as it disappears.
Death,
Come not in haste!
For You are monstrous Mighty;
For your hand were deep, Long over our innocent hearts!
Death,
All your paths
Shall breed mournings!
Upon man’s endeavors in the sun, Above their presence;
Mission and vision.
Death is a great ocean!
Never meet your heroes, lest they fail your expectation
Resulting in the crest that's fallen down from that elation
Experienced upon neglecting self-examination
Overlooking what it took to gain this elevation
Poet's Note
Dr. Abdus Salam (1926-1996) was born in Jhang, Pakistan. He became the *first Pakistani and first Muslim to win the Nobel Prize in Science* in 1979. With hope and resilience, he showed the world that greatness can rise from humble beginnings.
Bite Size Contest no 151
Theme*: Hope & Resilience
Chalkboard Dream
Abdus Salam dreamed on a chalkboard
Dust and cracked shoes reached the sky
Storms of doubt, no hand to guide
Still he earned Nobel pride
For Pakistan, for Muslim light
Hope and resilience never die
-
“K here! I have come to cheer up your night
dear maiden, silent beauty, as you rest.
A once dull eve is now a gallant knight.”
“W here! From you, this knight, I’ll wrest. “
“K won’t allow what is to be to not…
be. In a jiffy you will wear my ring.
Verily, we two will soon tie the knot.”
Will W from glad, the sadness wring?
K says, “W vexes – what is new –
but he will never stop the marriage rite”.
You’ll have a happy ending as you knew.
(That’s just the kind of poetry I “write”.)
W to Miss H, eleventh hour:
“Call me ‘Dub’”, for this wedding will be ours.
am district formulate jabber shakeout shuck snore southeastward strangle sunk was
tactfulness warfare
with inhuman
constrict your
expendable headmistress
noncritical nonradioactive
bombsight puff
leveling hippie
activism and
boundlessness beatniks
were receptor
to inducement
leech anestrum
always ballerina
trusting jazz
wallop the
alchemic turret
through spunky
foothold will
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 10–16, 2026)
The draft-dodgers who fled and even more
Deserters who abandoned their posts
These are the real heroes of war
They’ve paid their personal costs
Their names will never be known
No obelisks will be erected
Their very existence will be forlorn
Otherwise scorned and rejected
They knew they would be slandered
But by saving their own lives,
They gave the answer to their offenders
Let’s flee, despite of being despised
It’s a senseless slaughter for false ideals
Of politicians with high morality
To whom people’s lives aren’t a big deal
Who dream about their own immortality
Let their faithful armchair analysts snap
They never fight wars only talk a lot
Patriotism fits well with a nap
One snore away from the hot spot.
I was but three when I took a stand,
just me and my hired hand,
a lonely, used-up kitchen scrubber,
and an intrepid band of rubber.
I blew up a little red balloon,
tied to a basket and left too soon.
Hero Categories
Definition | What is Hero in Poetry?
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