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“For once in my life, I want to be a poem” — Anne Winter

If I were a poem
Could my poem be a poet?
If such could be done
Who besides me would know it?

If my poem—as a poet—wrote something new
Could I as a poem be the other poem too?
Or would I simply exist on a document list
Along with other poems that coexist?

(As a poem I would be …)

Living on the edge of poetry forms’ parameters
Running ever changing rapids of trochees and iambs
Line dancing varied rhythms of iambic pentameters
da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM ad infinitum

Dancing two-step footles with the poem of my dreams
Braving slalom ski runs of Klein’s Vase Verse
Climbing lofty peaks of Heroic Crown of Crowns
Then doing it all over again in reverse

(I do have a poetic license you know …)

I think of such thoughts from time to time
When my muse is confused and obtuse
Especially when finding it hard to rhyme
My head flooded with thoughts most abstruse

What would it take for me to be a poem
Vice versa my poem to be poet?
The very next time my muse starts to roam
I’ll try to find out—don’t you know it!



© 2025 Mark Toney
Light verse. © 2025 Mark Toney. Inspiration for this flight of fancy was “Poems and Poets” by poet Anne Winter. A Footle is a two-line, two-syllable trochaic monometer poem with an integral title suitable for light, witty, pertinent, topical verse. Klein’s Vase Verse is a copyrighted poetry form created by Suzette Richards. (2025) An Heroic Crown of Crowns is a collection of fourteen heroic crowns (of sonnets) linked together with the final, or fifteenth, being comprised of the last sonnet of each of the fourteen to become a heroic crown of master sonnets.” (Mind Blown!?!)  Remember, too much iambic pentameter can bring on the medical examiner!
People call me a pixie
they say I'm mischievous,
I'm actually evil
but also quite devious
renseksderf Jul 31
Éclair My Heart

Fill me up with custard’s glow,  
soft as secrets whispered low.  
Chocolate coat our midnight vows,  
each bite a bow that time allows.  

Glossy tease of vanilla sighs—  
declare your love in pastry cries.





.
....bow instead of bough, so the spelling hints at its pronouncing.
Anais Vionet Jul 26
Here at our rooftop, collegiate, ‘resort of the mind,’
an early heatwave has struck - we’ve been advised.
Like we needed it. It’s 94°f and climbing - we’re not insensitive.
We’re aware that the sun is bright and the air is crisp and hot.
It was Friday morning, until the sun pointed to noon.

Nothing’s going to stop the summer swelter except thunder storms - which are on their way - we’ve been advised.
A seasonable tempest is being piped-up from the sea.
Like we needed it. We can see the far horizon’s shadowed billows and curtains of rain - we feel the changing wind.

But we have every reason to be cheery, forewarned as we are,
here at the pool, in the still needed shade, armed with margaritas.
The weather may change, the season alter, but we will, unaltered, remain.

We seem to have captured a moment of buz. People are swinging-by, dropping-in, bringing drinks and party snacks then lurking by the pool.

Fridays are 'sui generis'—magical—because they play tricks with time. Dreary weekday landscapes seem to transform, as the old week wanes and ‘the pert and nimble spirit of mirth awakens.’
(A purposeful Shakespeare misquote).
.
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Songs for this:
Heat Wave by Linda Ronstadt
Heatwave by Bronski Beat
Heat wave - Bing Crosby
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 07/25/25:
Sui generis = something unique, or in a class or group of its own.

I have a (FaceTime) Med School interview with John’s Hopkins on Monday!!
I'm duper-nervous.
CE Uptain Jul 23
Haiku – Some Fun
Haikus are fun
You can put in a little
Something like a pun

Haiku – In My Brain
Haiku in my brain
I can’t stop I’m just insane
Haiku don’t complain

Haiku – *******
I see stars, I fell
It’s hot, am I in some hell
Get up you *******

Haiku – For You
Haiku just for you
Learned to count them 5-7-5
Now I’m stuck to you

Haiku - Till Morning
Last one for the night
I can only dream some more
Can’t wait till morning
Ok. I'm getting a little carried away. My last group for a bit.
Joel K Jul 22
Butterflies are flying around—on a bright sunny day.

Butterflies that are a honey brown— as the crust of the sun.

Flying around because the sun is out.

Not to hide or hibernate in their cocoons.

Concealing themselves from the outside world—not doing that today.

They can't inherit the trait of being anti-social, because they are not human.

At least not in this season, because it is bright outside.

Not being contrary to anyone’s belief.

Not worrying about the input or the output.———
These butterflies are free, scavenging around for places to hide.

Although the night had ceased, the Sun.

They—> Butterflies,
ran around like elephants encountering mice—
or humans encountering roaches.

Looking for a tree to settle on, as if there were not numerous amounts outside.

Out of all the figures outside—
It chose to stand by me?

The spot on my skin that is the most rough.

The spot on my skin textured like trees.

The spot on my skin that looked like the trees.

“Oh.”

Realization then dawned on me, just like that the sun woke up like a new idea—
and the Moon left to attend a party on the other side.

Like the Moon, the butterfly flew away, back onto the tree with a newfound realization.
I wrote this poem free-writing and because of an encounter with a butterfly.
I thought it would be a fun idea to incorporate repetition in my writing because I am trying to increase my writing skills.
The Sound of your Paws
Jumping up at the windows and Doors.

The wagging of your donut shaped Tail.
lts fast enough To set Sail.

your eyes are so bright and full of glee.
I Love seeing you so Happy to see me.

Your dangling tongue is bouncing To The right,
seeing you makes my mood feel bright.

The licks and Kisses show your love,
now I know what love is made of

you give me the Best welcome home greeting, My heart swell and Start fast beating

I'll never get sick of this feeling,
you help my head and heart with healing
The best welcome comes from my pug.
Bree Jul 22
His arm is over my waist as I sleepily adjust.
Bristles of an old, worn curtain against my hip.
I can feel that.
That scratchy cloth barely grazing my thigh made me feel more alive. I knew I had to be alive.
No way I’m dead.
I would like to be the first ghost who feels a breeze.
Anais Vionet Jul 20
I have a confession to make. I’m a trust fund baby
and a member of the educated Elite.

In my defense, I'm a newcomer in both categories.
I got my trust fund at 18 and graduated Yale University this year.

I was a double major, at university, in biochemistry and celibacy,
until as a sophomore, I met this tall, handsome, awkward, disheveled, physicist in a coffee shop and knavishly schemed my way into his life.
(He insists that he knavishly schemed his way into my life.)

Let’s get poetic-ish..

I said,
“Let’s start a flirtationship
abstract, immaterial and fun.
We have a little chemistry - an interesting.. tension.
Could we just have an involvement and not read into it?
Something  friction free, hands free, germ free, and guilt free?
Let's get a pizza, don't worry, I'm paying."


Of course, that was a lie.
I had designs, I wanted him in the utmost
and honestly, when do I not get what I want?

"I was by far the knavishist." I admitted.
"Then you don't know knavishEST.," he responded, shaking his head 'no'.
.
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songs for this:
Honeypie by JAWNY
Really Saying Something by Bananarama & Fun Boy Three
Hanging On the Telephone by Blondie
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 07/20/25:
Utmost = something that is the highest degree.
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