Read Poem Dr Mike Gibson PhD. by Cleveland W. Gibson

Please, don’t let the flowers
on my grave wither and die,
because if you do, I know
Mum and Dad will surely cry.

All Saints church stands tall, dignified,
not far from the grave where I lie,
A church filled with soulful people,
but ‘miss you, Mike,’ I hear you sigh.

In mellow eventide or chapel,
I hear the sharp bells ring out.
Once Dad took me into the belfry,
I loved the thrill without a doubt.

But there is a wind so cold,
as it blows across my chest.
I thank God for singing birds;
happy songs I love the best.

I’ll sing a song of sunshine,
my, I love the many seas so blue,
playing on the golden beaches
of the Med, Greece and Malta too.

My life has never ever been easy,
about DMD, there’s much to say.
But I’ve always done my best,
to smile, to pray up to my last day.

I loved to play War Games 40K,
in the pub and far into the night,
friends around the table, such fun,
it’s normal and, to me, so very right.

I studied hard to go to Uni,
and was proud of my PhD,
Oh, what new doors opened!
R & D on ‘Big Guns’ if you please.

My thesis built on solid Autofrettage,
it drove the Prof Z. wild with delight.
Then I went to work, kept on thinking,
on gun problems, hours into the night.

Many thanks, Vicki. Also Tom and Charlie.
Me: the boy who couldn’t even walk,
but I rode Charlie in fields of daisies,
led by Vicki, who smiled at all my talk.

There are friends I miss, to challenge,
to prove we can be the Queen’s Best,
so bend your back and work hard, lads.
I did. Can you? Be a cut above the rest


Michael, Poetry by Darlene Laboy

I like to watch
This one kid in class
His grandmother’s black
His grandfather’s white
And I love to see his skin.
His past.

Genre: Friendship. Biracial. Love.

Michael by Darlene Laboy

I like to watch
This one kid in class
His grandmother’s black
His grandfather’s white
And I love to see his skin.
His past.
Fighting for dominance
On the edges.
Like three hundred years
Was not enough.
Like billions of lives
And years of racism
Doesn’t affect
The universe of his skin follicles
I see the fight in his skin
Clearer than I see all the dark faces
Behind all the gray cells
I want to beg his pigmentation:
Don’t give up
We’ve won this war once.
I don’t think he knows
His importance.
I’m hoping this will find him.
He gives my sunembraced
His skinDancing
birds under the summer sun
Makes me feel
Milk chocolate
In bleached sugar
Never have I
Seen something so savory.
To have this constant war
Under your clothes
Constant explosions
Over your heart
Must be binding.
This war,
Centuries old,
And yet still being fought.
How do you feel
When you wake up to
Gun smoke
Under the brims
Of your eyes?
Have you ever noticed
All of the fallen soldiers
Dotted across your face?
I hope he remembers
The sweetness
Of the bleached sugar
Instead of holding on
To the bitterness
Of the milk chocolate
Your follicles no longer fight
To destroy
They fight
To fuse…
Your skin fights for this world,
Don’t let it down
By picking sides.


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