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Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Flight 93
by Michael R. Burch

I held the switch in trembling fingers ... asked
why existence felt so small, so meaningless,
like a minnow squirming feebly in my grasp ...

... vibrations of huge engines thrummed my arms
as, glistening with sweat, I nudged the switch
to OFF ... I heard the klaxon’s shrill alarms

like vultures’ shriekings ... earthward, in a stall ...
we floated ... earthward ... wings outstretched, aghast
like Icarus ... as through the void we fell ...

till nothing was so beautiful, so blue ...
so vivid as that moment ... and I held
an image of your face, and dreamed I flew

into your arms ... the earth rushed up ... I knew
such comfort, in that moment, loving you.

NOTE: This poem imagines the struggle in the cockpit for control of the Flight 93 airplane. The terrorists apparently intended to crash the plane into the White House. The heroic passengers kept that from happening, at the cost of their lives. Keywords/Tags: 9-11, sonnet, Flight 93, terrorists, terrorism, heroes, heroism, courage, bravery, loyalty, patriotism, sacrifice, love
I'm wearing my earbuds in my t-shirt
to listen music in class,
and text or change the music.
Play flappy bird or Pac-man
Because you downloaded it on your calculator,
Or on your E-reader.
Writing on everything,
And teaching people how to shoot
Crunched pieces of paper,
With a hair tie or an elastic band.
Talking, Laughing.
Throwing shade at the teacher.
Regretting not studying,
But you were smoking crack instead,
So it's okay I guess.
Eating in class.
A full competition
of who can spin the most rounds,
behing the back of the teacher.
(I was 3rd of the whole class :)
And laughing when you get an F
Stealing the answer keys to the homework,
And sending it in the group chat.
4 cups of coffee every morning.
Switching laptops with your friend,
Who studied for the test.
So you both get an A,
And pass the class.

Just another day of school.
Even my will to live is bigger than my grades...
sksjsskskskjsjssksssj
That was the worst pun every sorry.
<3
Khoi Apr 2019
Blessed rice on rivers of love
confetti danced into the ocean
salt preserved the truth with consummate glory
Dean and Anthea and Dean and Anthea and Dean and Anthea:)))))))))))))))))))))))))) wise man say only fools rush in.........
Hakim Kassim Sep 2016
'MayChild' '93.
       (to my sister Amal on Her           Twentieth Birthday)

Musical Cild of May, spirit fierce
     and fair!
Born to Spring when the cricket
     cheers, or
Drowsy nightingale weeps in
     melody, to beget
A new breed that in future glory
    may rhyme--
Here to the twenty, and thousand
     to come,
Of all your soft and moon-lit
     mid-May eves.

  Strange how much change the
        passing day reveals,
Stranger yet how your heart,
        sweet child, stays in love;
           ever-truer,
Blind to what was or will be said.
        Glow!
MayChild of that immortal season,
       ancient friend
To Hyades that forever mourn and
        weep for their slain.

Pray, MayChild, to lift a lowered
        world up to higher ground:
Pray for Mulki, avid, able, so full of
       life,
And for him who from womb to
        tomb trod his way too soon;
Pray for Leyla, hostage to a future
        brighter than can be said,
And for this one, proud and
       defiant if broken they say;
Pray for Ilham, a beauty that will
       burn another Troy,
And for Kamal, princely and tall
       and to reign;
Pray for Fatah, to whom God
       left enlightening common
           minds,
And for Sahardid, gifted with what
       for so many in envy crave;
Pray for Guled, made of the rare,
       born for the best;
Pray, MayChild, for mean and sick
      of heart were not said of you--
Pray for us now and at the hour
      of our birth!
Tender Star of May, beauty
      blessed before her birth!
Rich and loyal in love, as
      some are not,
Forget not: the ways of the
      world are not those of
            love:
In a rugged world where
     brutes tread their petty
         ways of hate,
They break the heart that
         shows love in full faith;

Venus, who versed you well
        in perfumed gardens of
            of Spring,
Knew that men's promise
      and trust die away with
         the fleeting hour:
Consider Echo who, for love
      sincere,  became but a
         faint voice,
Consider one might not be
      so loved by whom one
          loves so deep!
              -by Hakim Kassim.
Notes (optional)

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