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Mark Toney Apr 25
(Pentagon E-ring office—executive officer knocks & enters—General motions him in)

XO,
Explain
examinees...

                              Examinee
                              X-11,
                              Xander
                              Xanakis

Experience?

                              Explosives
                              expert.
                              Ex-Army.
                              Executive
                              experience

Exam?

                              Exceptional

Excellent!

                              Excessive

Exessive?
Explain

                              Extreme
                              xenophobe

(expletive)
Exclude

                              Examinee
                              X-12...

Xavier
Xanthopoulos...

Experience?

                             Expert—
                             extraction,
                             exfiltration.
                             Ex-Navy,
                             Executive
                             Experience

Exam?

                             Excelled

                             Extracuricular
                             extras...

Explain

                             Expat,
                             X-games,
                             xylophone...

Expat?

                             Xalapa

(chuckling)
X-games,
xylophone—
(laughs)
X-Factor!

                             (XO nods his head, smiling)

Xenophobic?

                             (shaking head)
                             Xenodochial.
                             Exeptionally
                             xenophilic!

Expectations?

                             Exceeds
                             Expectations

Excellent!

XO,
exclude
examinee
X-11...

                              Excluding
                              Xander
                              Xanakis

Expedite
Xavier
Xanthopoulos

                              Expediting
                              examinee
                              X-12

XO,
excused

                               (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 Wattpad.com, 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,
illusions.

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
visitation.
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
me.

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
self-examination;
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
Ignatius Hosiana May 2016
Today I poured away my favourite beer
for the long awaited tomorrow's already here
tomorrow I dust my feet and wipe sweat off my face
because finally I've finished running this race
tomorrow I bend down to my shoes and free my lace
pen and paper down, in honour of the moment I rest my case
tomorrow I pat myself in the back and wish myself luck
for seemingly bright is a future that was once dungeon dark,
After writing the very last word in Human Resource Class
tomorrow I'll finally take a deep breath and out, alas!
Another beginning for preference of not using new
tomorrow I've got tops to pop goat's meat to chew
tomorrow I'll dance to the rhythm of momentary serenity
I'll shout out loud from a three years' pent up insanity
to set free the monsters that had sieged my psyche
tomorrow my life changes because I'll start another hike
an adventure to nowhere for that's what I call everywhere
this life hasn't been my cup of tea, neither has it been my food
so tomorrow I say goodbye to calculus, albeit probably not for good
I've learnt not to think that the last page means the story is over
No! Happily ever after doesn't mean no more rolling in the clover
tomorrow for once in my life I shed a tear of relief
it wasn't a record breaking hike but I've overcome the cliff
tomorrow I credit tension and debit nonchalance
I've lost a drink today but I'll make up tomorrow
****** drained and deadbeat till the bone marrow
forget the agony of the fateful arrow of sorrow
tomorrow I'm the man with the whip, the legend of Zorro
A butterfly ready to fly straight out of the cocoon
the air caught within an overinflated balloon
tomorrow I start sailing the high seas once again
in the rocket ship of ambition, space bound shine or rain
for this isn't one of those stories of escapes so narrow
but one of years in a fortress from whence I get acquitted tomorrow
Emily Budrow May 2015
I was born January 30th, which might explain my stares that are as cold as a winter night. People assume that since I am five foot eight, I should be intimidating although I'm the furthest from it.
You see, I have this vice where I chew off my fingernails when I get nervous. I suppose it's because I've somehow convinced myself that if my fingernails become minimized, my anxiety would too.
I know it sounds absurd but I enjoy laughing really hard at poorly composed jokes for absolutely no good reason. And, although I don't allow myself to cry as often as I should, it reminds me that I've still got fixing to do.
My mind works like a treadmill. Things are always coming back to bite me no matter how far I run.
I'm still running.
I'm still learning how to whisper.
You see, when it comes to talking about myself, I shout! I'll talk to anyone who will listen. However, even though I seem to open up easily, I have a fear of people getting close enough to hear my heartbeat.
I have this odd fascination with nature. I assume it's because no matter how persistent I am, the trees never argue back. I don't like being alone but when it's just me around the flowers blooming, the wind blowing, and the bees buzzing, I can feel my heart growing fonder.
I've never liked the idea of the military but I have this purple heart. I got it from beating myself up over things I have no control over.
Hi, my name is Emily and I'm still trying to figure myself out.
My hobbies include over-thinking until I give myself a migraine, blurting out my life story, and trying to convince my mind that my heart is worth listening to.
Inspired by Rudy Francisco's "My Honest Poem"
June 7, 2014
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