I am huddled in the coroner,
a little beast within a man, And when at night he studies bodies, I come out, now and again.
The sun is shining, games not played
only the dog walkers parade Morale declining children pining This is the plague decade. Key workers nervously bravely give service while others wait to discover their fate. Watching wretched news numbers are rising much televising loves no one would choose.
Corona Virus days
coronary episode— coroner report © 2020 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
5/13/2020 - Poetry form: senryu - © 2020 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
the word reciprocation
died of an unnatural death it so required an in kind responsive breath* too few understood the dire straits it was in not ever being returned mutual oxygen's kin as a consequence of the term never receiving air there ended the life of its courteous fair the coroner's dictionary apportioned blame at the feet of they who *knew not the name
My thoughts bear me back
I can hear self speak To mediocrity n’ tack; Horror, how my words leak! Hear me dish out What I was handed My worst - Infernal spout - The vermin banded. If I do live in me mind What Paradise I expect to find? Despite the daughter, my sole joy, laughter What! Must my body travail From rafter to rafter? Then again, vermin mill round I tap away, coroner profound
A private party
Etudes People around me Vanity and beauty From where I sat A glow of hope In an ashen sky Abandoned arguments Reviews and dismal news Changing moods Pauses for profanity Shadows and reality Simulacrums Patented predictions Solemnity and sorrow Corpses for the coroner Silence.
— The End —