The sun rose that September morn, brightly dim.
The moon waned with tears in the shadow of Muhammad.
Stars scarred by footprints, heavy,
as Allah made the descent,
wings seared from the heat of hate,
hitching rides on freedom flights,
Almighty power clothed butchery of innocents.
What idol worship can move the soul to cogitate
that crumbling skyscrapers thrust so deep
would anesthetize a slumbering giant?
Awaken, arise like the billowing dust permeating blue sky,
ascending to heaven with supplication men dare pray
in places children dare not.
Dawn’s chaste early light reconciles blue-crimson white
with the Ancient of Days’ incarnate flow,
cleansing all unrighteousness,
providing hope of our salvation.
Revenge is Mine.
Justice is ours.
Godspeed.
Let’s roll.
Copyright © 2001 by Mickey Grubb
Abounding blest compassion divinely exudes fulfillment
Toward a flourishing life with peaceful glow
Midst caring and sharing along blessings’ flow
All from the Lord we can enjoy by gracious empowerment.
Granted heavenly ... instilling justice, kindness, loving mercy
Blessings from God multiply with His magnanimous grace
As we utilize them, devoid of greediness-trace
In our gratefulness to utilize resources devoid of complacency.
Nourished optimally, providing quests’ resplendence
Gifts of the Almighty are loaded with contentment gain
Vanquishing haughtiness of covetousness-pain
For faithful stewardship yon earthly transcendence.
Satisfying triumph, upholding virtuous worth
Faith in Christ champions blissful trust-delight
Freely fueled to vanquish doubt of skeptic blight
Toward reaching-out, creating paradise on earth.
There I now have stars in mine hair.
Attained cosmic radiance beyond compare.
The light of the stars is now all mine.
Cosmos being shifted by my will so divine.
There I now hold the Suns in my hands.
Providing warmth and light to all my lands.
Photosynthesis one of many original laws,
I am simply a new goddess healing flaws.
There I now have the Moons atop my head.
Shifting the tides and oceans of all people.
Guiding in times of darkness and dread,
As I am purifying nights, purging all evil.
There I now hold the Earth in my arms,
As my prayers for every nation and child
Slowly unfold over time reducing the harms
And someday life will be more mild.
I go back there all the time
in my mind when awake
in my dreams when asleep
They say, ‘You can’t go back’
(so) I lurk unseen, in shadows
a not-so-innocent bystander
inspecting scenes for authenticity
re-directing them, providing elasticity
rewarding poignancy with canonicity
Perhaps you wonder what it’s like
to review the span of a rich lifetime
I’ll let you know
~ go back there first
Didn't feel the bird would fly off abruptly
No break in providing food and water
The cage, however, stayed open off and on
Dating on the treetop _ new boyfriends
28 August 2025
you weave a cushion
to what might've been a free fall
dragging each tumble
into elongated bounce
gentle—over trampoline
instead of one splat
letting my body shatter
flipping narrative
providing a fluffy cloud
unable to hold my body weight
sort of metaphor
easiest to decipher
if seeking what's flipped
is what you have been after
not a murder with knife's back
The Earth spawns Man.
Man spawns Descendants.
Descendants rape the Earth.
The Earth stops providing.
Descendants start dying.
The Earth continues spinning,
And forgets we were ever here!
A shape of the void is providing innumerable occupations for characters on the stage to emote through clearest and wet lightning
the distortion of audience perspective sustains briefly
Sweet tea and tongues spill the cream.
Loose lips chew ice cubes and a story,
twisting it slightly to fire up a regime.
Unsettling words come out in a stream
becoming more and more accusatory.
Sweet tea and tongues spill the cream.
Getting jollies while cooking a scheme
they sell something as simple as glory.
Twisting it slightly to fire up a regime.
Reprehensible behavior to redeem?
Nope. It never fits into that category.
Sweet tea and tongues spill the cream.
Add sugar leave out a clear cut theme,
providing clarity is never mandatory.
Twisting it slightly to fire up a regime.
Bored so they want to blow off steam.
All of the dialog? I've taken inventory.
Sweet tea and tongues spill the cream,
twisting it slightly to fire up a regime.
What is the gift the Creator doth give?
Providing a purpose for which to live.
It could be the consciousness He gave man.
The awareness we’re part of His grand plan.
Faith and trust in what’s physically not seen.
An eternal life, but what does that mean?
Thoughts that come to us from we know not where.
Caring without knowing just why we care.
Feeling the unity of all as one.
The gift of planets, the stars moon and sun.
Animals and plants, all things here on Earth.
The miraculous miracle that’s birth.
It must be more than just one of the parts,
All Truth starts inside of our hearts.
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.
everyone wants women to be a sunflower;
bright, tall, forever reaching for the sun.
but honey,
some of us are sprawling bushes filled with blackberries,
hidden by bramble.
some of us are mighty oaks,
strong, secure with no intention of giving way.
but the beautiful thing about blackberries is
if you make your way through the bramble,
and gently search through the leaves,
you'll be rewarded with their sweetness.
and the comforting thing about oaks-
they will withstand the storm,
they will sway & dance in the wind,
providing you shelter & shade.
Thank you,
and all of your angels above
Thank you,
for all your love
Thank you,
for helping me
Guiding me,
providing me
Thank you,
for giving me strength
Thank you,
for the water I drank
Thank you,
for the food I eat
Thank you,
for my two feet
On the hills is a forest of windmills.
A chimera mirage of
shrill, garish pinwheels,
Wailing an endless lament
to the tragedy of the commons.
They spin a yarn of the
collapse of self-sufficiency
and starved frugality,
that yearned to curb our needs.
It's already too late,
or almost too late to ever succeed
in providing for the commons.
Pain that rips across my head
Like a bullet in the sky
Other problems are the cause
Answers to which belie
Clearly it’s not straightforward
As a multi-faceted mind plight
The road still being navigated
With no clear end in sight
What does it take, one wonders
To strip me from this shell
I must somehow battle endless angst
And fight my way out of this hell
The tendency to go insane
Is soothed by the sounds of drops of rain
Providing consolatory solace to
The prison in my brain
On an excursion of investigation
To a solution momentous
A dilemma once explored by Freud
My ‘non compos mentis’
Healing, a path
Will take much time
Dealing with each of the root causes
Obstacles, I’m yet to climb
Bearing little room for pauses
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