tiny fragile bud
clean prune cultivate nurture—
precious child blossoms


© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

Labor pain
I write this through a haze
Going in and out remembering grey days

I woke up from a dream
Where I had to fend from three
They didn’t even know me
I was only 13

Labor pain
I’ve moved past the blame
But how can make sure
You’re Journey doesn’t go the same?

I wanna protect you from  the world
But the world taught me
It is what you make it
When I was only 15

Labor pain
This is my labor pain
I’ve cut the chord
So you won’t have to feel my shame

Labor pain
This is my own labor pain
It’s not yours
I’m doing the best I can
To make sure your playground is free rein

The Forge
by Michael R. Burch

To at last be indestructible, a poem
must first glow, almost flammable, upon
a thing inert, as gray, as dull as stone,

then bend this way and that, and slowly cool
at arm’s-length, something irreducible
drawn out with caution, toughened in a pool

of water so contrary just a hiss
escapes it—water instantly a mist.
It writhes, a thing of senseless shapelessness ...

And then the driven hammer falls and falls.
The horses ***** their ears in nearby stalls.
A soldier on his cot leans back and smiles.

A sound of ancient import, with the ring
of honest labor, sings of fashioning.

Published by The Chariton Review, The Eclectic Muse, Trinacria, Poetry Life & Times, and  Famous Poets and Poems

NOTE: This is a sonnet about forging sonnets. The gray "anvil" is the human brain. The fiery "glow" is the poetic imagination. The cooling and shaping are the process of revision. The hammer is the poet's pen, producing order out of chaos. Keywords/Tags: Sonnet, poem, indestructible, irreducible, hammer, anvil, forge, labor, fashioning, shape, smithy, blacksmith, ironworker, sword, pen

every fruit has fallen
branches bent beneath their weight
sagging with the memories of what once was

every fruit reaches the lips of another
sweetness trickles down their chin
devouring each bite with fervor

every fruit is gone as quick as it came
sticky remnants rubbed away from skin
ridding any memory of what once was

they return to her roots
desperately waiting for her branches to dip
with evidence of her labors

only to consume and
feel refreshed
as she withers away

You won't remember all the fuss you
cause, my precious microcosm

This strange bewildering exhausting
global economy you dwell in

Apparently the lease expired and your time has come

Driven by grievance more than strategy

It sets the stage for fireworks and confusion

In one dizzying morning into afternoon

I'm searching for who to blame

Histories on the episode may well spend a chapter on
your mother's unhinged notions née crazy talk

It becomes clear in real time how the risks
of an escalating trade war

give a centimeter, take a centimeter

And the fraying of longstanding ties

Could quickly outpace the ability to evict you

As your mother, the normal first responder
to your distress, I can do

Absolutely nothing about it but push

In what seems a shoot-first approach to such
a delicate moment

The escalation, the unpredictability, the erratic
nature of developments

Is central to what is going on

Something is breaking

That something is me!

Our world is on edge

Looking for a sign of what to do next

The labor market drops and you're crowned
a royal pain

Peace is found, it's proportional

And by all measures you're quite hale
quite beautiful!

This offsets the damage of a messy exit

The disconnect I incessantly prayed for offers
melancholy over relief

In our opening act you're already moving
away from me

While the female body is a powerful tool

It cannot provide a settled rule book for
such internal battle

Still, this adventure, scary and catastrophic as
it was, is well-suited to the wonders that I am

For that I'm grateful to my Creator

The lesson of the last several hours is that forces are unfolding
that we can't do much to contain

We're merely nesting passengers en route to
a foreign destination

Always Remember:
Hope comes after despair!
Cure after pain!
Smiles after tears!
Laughter after cries!
Health after sickness!

Love after hate!
Joy after sorrow!
Healing after forgiveness!
A newborn life after labor!
Eternal life after death!

Light after darkness!
Dawn after night!
Blue skies after storm!
Spring after winter!
Beautiful landscape after rain!

Hussein Dekmak

O black toad,
Sage of the sodden floor,
Grant me your stoicism
As I go my labored way.
And may you prosper,
Consume legions, grow fat;
Yet deftly elude all
Who would do you injury.

Red-Winged Blackbird

Here you are again, in the chain-link fence.
It's the same every day as I pass by
heading home--you perched there.
Are you waiting for someone?
Do you, like me, wonder what's next?

I'm often on the fence, too. Each day
I pray for success for my six children.
I can't rest until they are on their own,
thriving.  My wife is the same.
We keep our eyes on hope.

Blackbird, you neither sow nor reap,
nor gather into barns.  Do you question,
each day, how you will feed your family?

People urge me to write a will.
It's inevitable, but I feel responsible.
I want to be here for them.  I still talk
to my parents and am pretty sure they listen.

I don't know if you, blackbird, contemplate
these things each day like me.
I'll swing by again tomorrow.

Daybreak and weathered men with their fermented drinks,
make way for the morning.

Doorways dimly lit beyond the ruins of lesser worlds,
older boys laughing aloud,
Near the honest sun
and the absent clouds.

The mesa seemed heavy as birds shimmered above-
whats their place in all this land?

Mornings were always cold
even while sunbeams flourish,
The farmhands copper in color, congregate near cattle, pipes in hand, hoping for good days ahead.