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Where Intention Once Stood

My thoughts walk barefoot on gravel roads—aching, slow, and scattershot.

My mind drifts like dusk in worn linen—frayed, faded, and folding in on itself.

My mind, grown tired of its tidy metaphors, slumps like a clerk at closing hour—unnoticed, necessary, numb.

My brain, vast as prairie land at sunset, lies fallow—dreaming the hush between thunderclaps.

My brain has taken the quiet path through woods not quite snowy nor lovely—just worn, and wondering where it last turned.

My brain, a lantern gutted of oil, flickers faintly beneath the architecture of centuries—it remembers too much.

My brain, a parched cathedral steeped in sermons long forgotten, weighs the dust in its own procession.

My brain, a faded lyre, trembles with thoughts too tender to hold—each one a ghost of once-bright song.

My brain, like Arthur's helm at gloaming, rests—dented by thought, dulled by long crusade.

My brain, a theater haunted by a thousand borrowed tongues, performs rituals where intention once stood.

Its voice speaks as though the soul were sharp as steel—blunt not by age, but by silence.


Copyright © 2018 by Mickey Grubb

PIROUETTES

PIROUETTES
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
autumn, poised, dances,
a ballerina en pointe,
forges leaves to gold,
listens for rustling music,
performs graceful pirouettes~
cherishing her earth-bound gift

crisp leaves swirl and twirl
golden whispers touch the ground 
autumn's grace unfolds 

Poem written for “Tanka-Haiku Poetry Contest,” Oliver Mckeithan, sponsor, July 30, 2025

Keep them Laughing

he covers up the pain of his upbringing with comedy
making people laugh gives him purpose
the louder they laugh, the more he performs
He is a monster, an alien, a dog and pony show
He is a trickster, a jokester, a jester,
But wait…..

There is a side the people never see
Because he is a trickster
his feelings are his own
he keeps them hidden in the sleeves of his costume
never bringing them out
hiding them behind a super wide smirky smile
a clown….

No matter how dim things get
no matter how dire
how alone, or lonely or depressed he feels
he covers this up with cloaks and daggers
Pulling rabbits out of top hats
stunning the audience with sheer outrageousness
Keeping them laughing
so, he can cry
in silence…..

Pens of Praise

The factories no longer exhale fumes but fillers
Clanging steel is traded for selfie stick.
Whip is gone but the gaze remains.
Wage is still dingy and stale.
Accepted without questions.

When the labour was visible, we called it brutal.
Children with soot in lungs, blistered hands,
bodies bent before they grew.
Now the soot is scrubbed, hands are clean
but the bending of spine begins much earlier.

They are raised in pens of praise.
milked for their innocence like diary calves
hooked to the teat of validation.
They don't toil but trend.
Sweat has replaced sponsored smiles.
The mines are gone but digging continues.

Rafflesia has been renamed Rose
and the stench smells like aspiration
bottled, branded
and sold as hope.

Law shields the body not the soul,
factories can be condemned not studios.
A worker is trudged; a creator performs.
And performance is the wound taught to pirouette.

Fists won't rise nor will ink spill,
as the table is set too neatly
and the chairs are too soft.

Even after a century
money still has grandfather rights.
Sitting at the head of every table,
blessing the hunger and
deciding who eats.

I Feel Threatened by ThisCathedral

gargoyle friendly
dark cathedral with arches
Victorian glass

attracts vampires
priest performs exorcism
adjoining graveyard

hair stands up on arms
eerie silence from this place
I feel threatened

Regional Theater

Living in New York, I see
A lot of Broadway shows
And most of them have stars on stage
That everybody knows.

Yet often in the lesser roles
Are actors out to make
The audience acknowledge them – 
To earn that hoped-for break.

In local theaters, all the cast
Performs from that same place,
While dreaming that the world will know
Their name or voice or face.

And thanks to that, they try their best
And give it all they’ve got,
Providing all who watch them
With a show they’ll like a lot.

From duality to singularity

caged in form, memory erased
constrained by a fragmented mind
sensory inputs leave us dazed
to light of Self within heart blind

scriptures cajole us to explore
truth of being and so awake
by being still, making heart pure
lust and fear choosing to forsake

with head and heart poised in balance
viewing life like a lucid dream
mood and mode vibrant nonchalance 
we sing a song on love’s moonbeam

in timeless time, ego recedes
we dwell in the eternal now
through our hands God performs His deeds
with each heartbeat in joy we bow

with thoughts rested, time too slows down
we recognise space is a veil
at peace within, in bliss we drown
soma nectar our preferred ale

in as ordained, our ego drops 
the dead leaf falls off from the tree
the universe fades and time stops
revealing our Self, at last free

living light, shaped like a heartbeat 
is who we are, outside space-time
self-existent, feeling complete
in peace it renews heart’s love chime 

holy scriptures point out the way
prompting us to metamorphose 
that we may see God, clear as day
whilst resting in blissful repose

At the End of the Day

The voice within, a whisper bruised,

Fights the noise the world has used

To carve a man from primal bone

To cage the beast, to leash the lone.



The mind, a mat where wars unfold,

Instincts wild, but nurtured cold.

They tame him not with chains or rods,

But with applause and wooden Gods.



He wears the mask, rehearsed and tight,

Performs by day, forgets by night.

Painted smiles, a jester’s role

Each laugh, a wounded soul.



Temptation hangs like a golden fruit,

But plucked, it tastes of ash and soot.

He dances for a wage, a name,

A line in ledgers, rank and fame.



Rituals rot in daily spin,

A prayer to clocks, a suit for sin.

Validation, the new divine,

Poured like wine to numb decline.



Frustration bubbles, seeks escape,

But lids get screwed in human shape.

No scream escapes the echo’s hold,

The cage is warm, the bars are gold.



A one-way street with silent bends,

From cradle’s cry to coffin ends.

And what shall grace his stone in sleep?

“He lived to please. He died too deep.”

The Clown

The spotlight flashes with a funny flair 
on the sagged dress of a meek man on stage.
A miniature crimson cold sun shines stuck  
on his puckered porcelain face of forced smile.

An animated caricature captured
in the frame of a comical frail figure, 
tramps in inertia round and round  
the circus arena to amuse awhile. 

The sprightly body swivels in reflex
with the flexed shuffle of acrobatics,
as the sleight of supple hands performs 
the perfect act of jugglery.

The labored buffoonery performed  
by the funny fragile clown of lost soul,
falls flat as flakes of stale joke 
on the silent spectators. 

Before the neon lights go out 
in the last show and the curtain falls,
the slapsticks peel slowly
the paint off his sweaty face.

The unmasked face trenches the trail of tears, 
he has long shed un-noticed.
He leaves the stage singing a song, 
the lyric written by his broken heart.

The uproar of laughter at long last
explodes with claps in the gallery.
The applause hails the clown, 
left to live the comedy of hollow life.

The Headliner

             Dolce
By:Sonidos de Baja Frecuencia

Infatuation is blind to problems
wishful thinking and careful
considerations
True love requires and fosters
a sense of security
and a feeling of trust
the blind sense of security

                   Legato
By:Ritmos Románticos
             A style
cantabile and sooth flowing
it echo's even when the song is over
it moves your emotions
and causes you to think
it can create sessions of conversations
where many people move toward
looking forward to certain things
love enhances a romantic feel
the right sound and situation
a genre rich
crossovering perfection
rehersted, restyled
and of pitch and perfection
that close to perfect directing
guiding and leading the way

Book By Instrumentio King
written by: Bottle O Courage
arranged by Love
For Love
and In Love
all rights used with permission
of
Revenge Type Lovers
Manseeks-Womanseeks
Ya'll Beat-Knought!
performs "Catchy Tunes"
with Groovey Sounds
from Ryhmn and Lyrics Inc.

Camping With The Friends

Once upon a time, it was a good day to be camping with the friends,
We stroll into the campgrounds, put the logs into the firepit, 
Light the fire in the fire pit, get out our marshmallows,
We sit on the makeshift benches, we have the ingredients,
To make our Mountain Dew glow in the dark,
We exchange ghost stories as we roast our marshmallows,
We hold our soul mates hands, as we sip our sodas,
Some of our soul mates jump, startled by,
Mike’s ghost story as he performs with his body language,
the mysterious ghost of Darkwood cemetery,
our soul mates suddenly jumps,
a shooting star passes over as we gaze at the stars,
brightly shining, we wish upon the star,
as we gaze into each other’s eyes and wish upon the star,
that, we be soul mates forever,
Oh, yeah, it was a good day to be camping with the friends.

- Grandma Skating -

        Grandma maneuvers
        and performs tricks on the board
        She keeps up with most kids
        Skating creates friendships
        at different age levels

        I guess you can imagine
        how she felt when she discovered,
        Saturns rings
        Grandma was immediately attracted
        When life presents a challenge,
        don't worry about anything

Little Beige Gecko

Romance in Nature is filled with dancing and singing, and a little color. 
~ Poet

A sprightly creature shares my home.
Little beige gecko, oft times green,
regards my porch as if his own.
Many hours he may be seen
from railing to roof, and in between.

My porch, his favored retreat,
filled with ferns and jasmine yellow,
provides his shelter, idyllic and neat.
He loses his temperament mellow
when time to challenge another fellow.

At mating time, he struts proudly.
Neck swollen, throbbing ruby from red,
he swaggers and performs loudly. 
Prancing around without dread,
he becomes the male he sees in his head.

As Darkness Falls

As darkness falls without, it also falls within;
where listless slumber slowly takes me by the hand,
leads me to a place where I relive every sin
while Lilith does foretell what fate for me is planned.

The darkness not yet deep enough for me to drown
the fading light not bright enough to shine the way;
I fear the rabid laughing of the coming clown
as he performs his ghastly, nightly cabaret.

Old Harlequin will dance and whisper in my ear
and tell of all dark things that lurk within my soul;
for these, not those without, he knows, are what we fear.
Come here, my dear, abide with me, he will cajole.

Then, as he ventures forth to give his foul-breathed kiss,
unkindness host of ravens swoop, take out my eyes;
then, slowly I dissolve to silence, darkness, bliss;
another night, I have denied the devil's prize.

bone beach

As Autumn idles
A laziness caresses the moon
Resting on a soft cloud bed
Her shadow taunting the night
In a nocturnal game of hide and seek
A soft aroma rises
From freshly trodden leaf beds
A chatter of empty branches
Counts a metronomic rhythm
A feathered dance troupe performs
Taking a final bow
Beckoned by a distant sun
Urged on by a chill wind
Take flight my children
Heed well the scents of nature
Follow the wisdom of your soul

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