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Ylzm Apr 18
Surer knowledge by cross examination
of witnesses than belief in imaginations
Will more certainty than mindless chance
Shakespeare was a man rather than monkeys
and Eve than washed up fishes learning to walk
Mystic Ink Plus Sep 2020
When you talk
I perceive different

I listen to the tone of your voice
And observe how the lips move
And when and why did you paused
And watch the expression of the face
And see the furrow of the skin waves
And inspect when the pupil dilates
And light the glow in the eyes
And track how often the head tilts
And admire the reason of your smile
And search the roots if it's the pain

And lastly I witness
How lively you feel
When I am next to you
I see it all
Listen and nod

Just listen
As a raw truth
For now
Prescribing you
Is the inside job

Get well soon
Genre: Clinical Experimental
Theme: That's what I am trained for
Mark Toney Apr 2020
(Pentagon E-ring office—executive officer knocks & enters—General motions him in)
























                             (XO nods his head, smiling)


                             (shaking head)









                               (XO exits)

© 2020 by Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.
4/25/2020 - Poetry form: Alliteration - This is the 8th poem in my Alliterative Alphabet Series. Each poem describes conversations between two or more people while only using words that start with or sound like the first letter of the title of the poem. I’m publishing the poems as I write them on, not necessarily in alphabetical order. My goal is to write at least 26 poems to cover each letter of the alphabet. I hope you find the concept interesting, maybe even clever. Most of all I hope you enjoy them :) - There are a lot of words starting with "X", but it's a challenge creating a coherent dialog with just "X" words.  Saved by the definition of alliteration: "The occurrence of the same letter or sound at the beginning of adjacent or closely connected words."   Ahhh... so the same "sound" would fit the bill.  Thus, the use of words beginning with "ex" would provide the "X" sound, alliteratively speaking :) - Disclaimer: This poem is fictional and does not depict any actual person or event.  The names used are ficticious and were chosen to satisfy the requirements of the poetry form. - © 2020 by Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.
Bus Poet Stop May 2015
The dermatologist demands a pre-summer scan of my visual delights fully magnified.

Peering into places where no one else has ever peered, even me, reminds me that this is a potentially "disruptive" process.

Eye don't know what his eyes have seen.  

He works in silence pin punctuated by the occasional mmmm or throat clearing rumble.

Snappy removal of neutrally colored gloves signify conclusion, he opines as follows:

"Were you aware," he inquires, "that the lines, the furrows on a your forehead correspond to the life your have lead?"

"You have three, deep deep tracks, and that's a fact."

Yes, eye know,
and each one is a tree ring notation
of my existence.

Each a different year,
each a different moment fearful,
a death and a birth,
a passing, a regaining.

No, not children or parents,

Markers of our lives are the
birth and death of our illusionary,
our revelation minutes, that measure and scribe
what dug those furrows is now officially,
no more.

Until we start anew,
a different Pretense,
a channel commenced to commemorate.

Living the dream, they say,
aren't we all, eye think, and so inform him.

The doctor did not bill for this
Shiv Pratap Pal Mar 2019
When I was Born
I had Knowledge
I had Talent
I had wisdom

Then I was sent to School
They taught something new
I gained some more knowledge

Then they asked me to wrote Exam
Then exams became a routine
Weekly, Monthly, Six Monthly and Annual

School became a transformer
It transformed itself from a School to
An Examination Conducting Machine

And then I became an Idiot
I also became a Duffer
Question is – "Who ruined Me?"
An Important Question. What is the purpose of education
Gods1son Jan 2019
He has a bad attitude
But he wears the blame on other people
He never tried the blame on for once
Maybe it never crossed his mind
Or he thinks he's too right to ever do wrong

I liken him to a blind man
Looking at several mirrors
But could never see himself
And calls all the mirrors blind

Maybe the bad attitude is not the problem
But that he is blind to see himself
Or arrogant to accept his wrongs
And that he's not a flower but thorns!
Rod E Kok Dec 2018
I used to open up
about how deep
I was sinking
into quicksand.

Open yet closed,
nobody really knew

Demons were my lovers;
the succubus
held a flame
to my heart.

Willing to surrender,
I fought myself.
I hurt my body,
my soul…

Today I am different.
Weakness is still
my strength;
temptation still
holds my hand.

I recognize myself
in the mirror of
I reach out to me,
showing grace
where none is deserved.

Willing to surrender,
I forgive the old me.
I embrace myself,
and learn
to love.
Originally published on my website for OctPoWriMo, this was my day 1 entry.
Nysa Jul 2018
Oh! Mr. Examination, oh!
Mr. Examination
For god’s sake go away,
For we have no preparation.
In class we pay so much attention,
So much as we cannot mention,
You are a burden, you are a tension.
Ah! The problem has no solution
You have given way to corruption
For cheating has become a convention,
Which leads to character destruction?
Who is responsible for this retardation?
We shout without any hesitation,
That you have dragged us to fraction.
Oh! Merciless Mr. Examination!
When will you get satisfaction?
So, run away with infinite acceleration.
We long for your immediate reaction,
Quit, Quit, YOU mental agitation!
My Exams are going to start...
So, this poem is dedicated to Mr. Examination.
Arlene Corwin Jan 2018
Pain Of Place

We were happy or we weren’t.
Blended feelings formed the most;
College, restaurant, bookshop, church,
Street, park, architecture host
To chunks and bits of searching,
Forming eyes of yesterday.
Covered market, cups of tea,
Open market on a Wednesday,
Stalls of veggies, jewelry;
Child to school and child picked up,
The walking to, the walking back,
The elder tree we plucked, hands cupped,
While counted blocks betrayed a lack
Of some fulfillment.  What the target?
Surely not the streets and market.
Not the people either, nor
The daily passing through home’s door.
Gone.  But pictures still remain.
And with the pictures tints of pain.
Of place that’s not the face,
Not company.
The place acts independently,
Its energy “the spirit of…”
Its colors move.
Algos: pain.
Nostos: going home again.
Sweet nostalgia’s pull is ‘bull’.
Place may frame the pre-ordained;
Memory’s the game pre-pained.
Twists and lists: a dream.
Place and act, smell and sound:
Mind boundaries.
Mostly, we were happy or we weren’t.
an objective, detached examination of the past
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