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Shannon Oct 2020
Four friends together for dinner,
Made speeches while the night grew thinner,
First was, “I’d like to make a toast,
To the man who needs friends the most.”

The second went with a smile,
And said, “Let’s scorn people so vile,
That decide to brag, tease and boast,
To the man who needs friends the most.”

The third stood, his face full of food,
And said, though his manners were crude,
“Let us dedicate this fine roast,
To the man who needs friends the most.”

“We’re all good people are we not?
Unless there’s something I’ve forgot,
Let’s announce ourselves,” said the host,
“To the man who needs friends the most.”
This is my favourite of all my non limericks I wrote, its an anti-bullying poem, but it can mean anything you like       who do you agree with?  put it in your comment
Shannon Oct 2020
What’s that creak-crack in the house?
Was it a person or a mouse?
What’s that shadow on the floor?
That Monster through my closet door?

The fear of it I must contain.
It’s started to drive me insane.
I can’t take it anymore!
That monster through my closet door.

I can’t stay here home alone,
It starts to chill me to the bone,
It’s making me a total bore,
That monster through my closet door

The closet keeps making loud pings,
It keeps me from doing routine things,
I now keep clothes in a drawer,
That monster through my closet door!
Mark Toney Nov 2019
Patience is my super power
On full display every hour
If someone mad gets in my face
My patience helps me maintain grace

When railroad crossings block the road
I simply enter patient mode
If caught up in a traffic jam
My calmness filmed by traffic cam

Long checkout lines leave some irate
Patience helps me endure the wait
Restaurant wait times are the worst
Composure wards off loud outbursts

Patience is my super power
Keeps my life from going sour
One exception my Kryptonite
Sibling face-offs leave me uptight!
11/5/2019 - Poetry form: Kyrielle - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Breon Apr 2018
A boarding pass, a taken seat:
Deny the oft-occluded street
And while the miles away on high -
Good Lord, preserve me if I die.

The cramp and bustle of the aisle
Refutes the notions "sleek" and "style",
But, packed and stacked, we came to fly -
Good Lord, preserve me if I die.

I'll miss the rails and roads, well-tracked -
And miss them more, my stomach wracked
By nerves, by swerves, by wind and sky -
Good lord, preserve me if I die.

"I loved the skyplane's daring curves
In youth, but now her fuel reserves
Do more to shore my faith," I sigh.
Good Lord, preserve me if I die.

I ache to meet the ground once more,
But not too soon. If that's the score,
I plead, spare my beloved's eye.
Good Lord, preserve me if I die.
It's been a long time since I flew. Watching  the world recede away from the plane - sure, yes, it was technically the plane receding - was pretty unforgettable.
Tryst Sep 2015
Oh what is life if not a thrill,
To crawl, to walk, to run downhill,
To mumble, crumble to old age,
To this end I shall live my days?

To be unseen, to be unknown,
To be afraid to be alone,
To toil to scrape a living wage,
To this end I shall live my days?

Or yet, to pillage viking halls,
To barrel-roll Niagara Falls,
To greet a shark without a cage,
To this end I shall live my days!

Oh what is life if not a thrill,
To this end I shall live my days!
Dhaye Margaux May 2014
The day before was so perfect
He’s always there just to protect
He sang her song, painted her face
He left her with such tender trace


She smiled at him, she admired more
All his good traits deep to the core
She dreamed to hold, to hug, to chase
He left her with such  tender trace


The day they danced in that grand ball
She never thought that she would fall
Unto his arms, to his embrace
He left her with such tender trace


And from the day that he was gone
She cried from evening up to dawn
She missed more of their fine, sweet mace
He left her with such tender trace


But moment would come to renew
The pledge and dream would still come true
There in her heart, there is a place
He left her with such tender trace.
A Kyrielle poem
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