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
Upon the shores of Alexandria’s gleam,
A Library rose, ambition’s dream,
Where scrolls amassed like autumn leaves,
And scholars spun what mind achieves.
Muse-haunted halls, papyrus gold,
Ptolemaic hands, ambitions bold,
Zenodotus and Eratosthenes,
Measured Homer, measured seas.
Callimachus penned the Pinakes’ art,
Cataloging wisdom, knowledge’s chart.
Hero taught as numbers demand,
While diacritics shaped the poetic land.
Yet history’s tide began its turn,
With exiles forced and scrolls to burn.
Caesar’s fire, a shadow cast,
Yet stubbornly, the Library lasts.
Through Roman years, the dust grew deep,
Support grew thin, the scholars weep.
War and wrath swept ancient halls,
Until silence claimed the marble walls.
Serapeum’s shadow lingered on,
A haven for minds, though nearly gone.
Swept away by decree and strife,
Lost forever, Alexandria’s life.
So knowledge bloomed and knowledge waned,
In Alexandria, wisdom reigned
Until the world forgot its name,
But I'm here to bring back it's fame.
In seventh grade’s uncertain glow,
She sat outside where shadows grow.
Backpacks slumped, the sunlight waned,
While restless truths could not be named.
A thought slipped free, both shy and sly,
A quiet murmur: I think I’m bi.
The friend leaned close, her gaze intent,
Questions sharp as the day was spent.
How do you know? Does a girl’s soft face
Haunt your mind in a secret place?
She shook her head, though deep inside,
The truth stirred fierce, refused to hide.
Two girls in Python’s tented gloom,
One kissing the other’s skin in bloom—
A spark had flared, both hot and sweet,
A memory time would not defeat.
Curious—nothing more, the claim,
A verdict wrapped in quiet shame.
Yet there beneath that fading sun,
Her truth had bloomed—its fight begun.
I heard a song that took me back
The lake in '85
Almost like I was still there
And she was still alive
I listened and I sang along
Then heard her voice so clear
Singing with me, in my head
As if she was right here
She left me all those years ago
It wasn't in our plans
I held her as she closed her eyes
With her holding my hands
The song was playing as twilight waned
The water mirror still
I remember gazing at the lake
And held her close until...
We used to be huge baseball fans
(The Yankees, but, of course!)
And followed all their games and cheered
Until our throats were hoarse.
Our fervor somehow waned and now
We couldn’t even name
The players on the team, although
We still enjoy the game.
While visiting Milwaukee,
We learned there would be a match
Of the Brewers and the Pittsburgh Pirates
Which we (pun!) could catch.
The Pirates pitcher, we found out,
Had quite an arm to wield,
So my husband got us tickets
And we headed to the field.
Their ballpark is a beauty
And we joined in with the crowd
Rooting for their favorite Brewers
As instructed – very loud!
At inning six, a race is held;
Five “sausages” compete.
The winner was Chorizo,
Bratwurst,* sadly, in defeat.
The final score was 4-2,
The Brewers with the prize,
The Pirate pitcher taken out,
Which was a big surprise.
Despite not being N.L.**fans,
We had a lot of fun,
For certain sayings hit the mark
And “When in Rome…” is one.
*The others include Hot Dog, Italian and Polish
**National League
Lost in echoes of darkened time
dampened, dithering, dazed
wet withered witches mime a dime
fearful, I’m mazed or crazed
Calling Divinity, voicebox shut
eyelids glued, nostrils stuffed
lips zipped with copper thread
eardrums worrisome waned
Where are chiming confluent clocks
highways and internet ?
shadows dim whisper, “badly blocked,
pointless you bet, get set !”
Surely I paid every debt
learnt my lessons very well
trusted faith, no futile fracas
rose from every slothful rut ~
LOST, part of adventurous life
to find own lucid laws
undoing inner sceptic strife
opens all barred doors …
The forested , odorous moonlight
is bedecked with an unparalleled dream.
It shields the colored, mazy
track from the fettered,
chained grass.
The gory river gleaming
in the miscellaneous mirror.
the glittering dreams
sparkle like an oracular,
, eventide
Kissing the ideal,
heterogeneous rill
I feel an unwavering
felicity.....
The waned brook shines
like the vanity of earthy
emptiness.
The forested ,odorous
moonlight
causing me an unparalleled dream.
It shields the colored , mazy track
from the fettered, chained grass.
The gory river gleaming
in the miscellaneous
mirror.
The glittering dreams
sparkle like the eclectic,
oracular eventide
Far inland, in the cold and gloomy,
misty wooded mountains,
I huddled up to an open fire.
I picked up a large conch shell,
clad in mother of pearl,
resting by the fireplace and listened,
eye-to-ear, to its bottled,
shanty message.
I heard the soft familiar,
sweet hissing sound,
of the ocean’s breath.
Not a roar, not a crash,
but akin to
a mother weeping with joy.
to have her lost child back,
in the arms of the sea.
The sound surged and waned,
with wave-like surges
breaking and rolling in a lilting lullaby.
Ebbing with the tide,
receding in a glide,
en-gracing in its slide,
into my consciousness.
For some like me, are sea creatures,
devoted lovers of the sea,
that the sea loves to welcome back.
The sea never forgets.
It casts its seashells adrift,
far and wide,
with a message within,
to lure its lovers back home
to 'Mater Mare', the sea.
Malcolm and Courtney at Memorial"
In the halls of Memorial Junior High,
Where lockers clanged and dreams flew high,
Two hearts met in a gentle spin—
Malcolm and Courtney, love would begin.
Between math class and lunchtime chatter,
They found in each other what truly mattered.
A glance, a smile, a whispered joke,
And soon, young love softly awoke.
Courtney laughed like sunshine in May,
Malcolm's grin could brighten a gray.
Passing notes in folded art,
Secrets scribbled from the heart.
They walked the halls, side by side,
Where crushes bloom and fears collide.
But theirs was calm, like steady flame—
A spark that lit and never waned.
Dances, science fairs, and football cheers,
A bond that stretched through awkward years.
First love blooming, bold and bright,
Under the junior high gym lights.
Now time has passed, but still they say,
It started back on that fateful day—
At Memorial, where fate took part,
Two young souls shared one brave heart.
*Broken*
Emotions that breaks a heart
Feelings of deep caring
My desire for someone to talk to
Loneliness to grieve
My suppressed pain
Oh! This temporal defilement
When my soul becomes merry
The days of happiness is past
The hour of sadness is now
This part hurt to know
This fruit of mine unripe
Taste sour yet enjoyed
Monsieur Lucifer at work
My feet singing tunes
To the lullaby of a foe
For years till date
My chameleons hid her colours
Come, sit with me friend
Give ears to this fool's grief
My cries are not
This daughter of Eve brewing tales
I need my growth not waned
Sadness that held up my tears
Aching for changes that sting
Devil's green snaky being
Desiring to have a taste to me
This life I loathe, detest
The days of heart games gone
As eagle flies in the sky
Shall aid my increase to bloom
That cold sparkle of despicable antipathy,
which never waned and was held inside secretly,
didn't start any true affection or desire in me:
on death's final breath it'll agonize me!
Turning somewhere else is seeking vengeance,
from somebody so embolden by anger and apathy;
being unkind is showing the falsity of pretense:
cling to me and spare yourself more days of agony!
Compassion is another form of unpretentious sympathy,
it must be felt adequately to be convincing and genuine;
no comfort is offered, only shallow words that swiftly dwine:
their echo is louder than a thunder rattling any gloomy sky!
Turning somewhere else to find a plausible answer
won't alleviate the anxiety built by a tragic outcome;
come to the senses, knock down the wall of lonely prisoner:
behind it stands the road to freedom, don't be too fearsome!
It's either deranged madness or unwillingness to appease
an imploration suffocated by tears so mercilessly unheeded;
no arms are open, no ears listen to anyone who's wrecked and afraid:
will human mercy be shown when the tides turn and events displease?
‘if I could I would fetch you the moon a spoon …’
opalescent like a chakra’s rainbow
your lustrous promise kindled
a path to peace and stability
to the moon and the back of beyond
shining darkness
radiance emerging from shadows
archetypal togetherness forged from above
a pearlescent moonstone
bestowed on our marriage
guided by an expanse of time and space
crowned with infinity
and transcendental esprit
infused by mind body and soul
lunar crescents shone waned
and waxed once again
for better worse richer poorer
in insanity and restoration
to love and to cherish ...
founded on divine intervention
heavenly bliss interspersed
by carnage and despair
blessed by the gift of recovery
it took what seemed like eternity
to understand that
not moon spoon nor
what wants to be written in stone
can be taken for granted
a moonstone
represents more than
stardust to become
or a fanciful pebble
carved by the Universe
love thoroughly vanquishes obstacles
and has inscribed miracles
into our wonderful lives
Melancholy
passed those grey purple sandstone faces
glowing on an ember sun
in the old mahongany buick we used to
drive in
down those highway lines that struck fast with their electric yellows and
white hot itensity
down the sea foam over pass the one
on the old side of town
all blues and indigo ink runs down beneath the sub floors
bleeds into the streets as
black india
the sterling life beneath which only they
now know having plumbed black water since
as if we remembered
shock white marshmellow foam floats on the surface
lit by a cold faceless
not yet waned
where then were those grey
purple sandstone faces
and her clear blue, of
new dawn
The ambitious dreamer,
Fell in love
And obtained the flame.
Now, he's reined
In the scene of dailiness.
Woe, such rebellious spirit waned.
On the stage of his mind,
Emotionally drained.
quot: "The teacher who is indeed wise does not bid you to enter the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your mind.".. Khalil
I met him at a square dance, beneath the stars,
A square of joy where laughter filled the air.
Not long before he saw beyond my scars,
And asked me to change my path with care.
His lessons weren't just found within the class,
But in the way he taught me how to see—
No pressure placed, just guidance when I'd ask,
A teacher, yes, but more—a friend to me.
In the darkest days, he stood by my side,
A mentor, a teacher, a steadfast guide.
When pockets were empty, and hope ran thin,
His hand reached out, pulling me in.
Through trials and pain, his smile remained,
A beacon of light when all else waned.
How can I forget the strength he gave,
The reason i survived, the way i stayed brave?
With every step, he lit my way,
His kindness helping me seize the day.
In this foreign land, I owe so much,
To a heart so warm, to a soul’s gentle touch.
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