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Troy 1m
What’s the point of love?
You only get hurt in the end
Traumatized and broken
Left to feel unwanted

Begging to understand
What exactly happened
Why you are left alone
Why they chose to hurt you

You fear the loneliness
Yet you also accept it
For it’s the only thing
That won’t leave you

The sorrow and emptiness
Is almost comforting
It surrounds you
Holding onto you tight

Yet at the same time
You feel a urning
A urning of love
But too afraid to grasp

Tossed in an endless torrent
Of back and forth emotions
Wishing with all your heart
Things would have been different

Darkness clouds your heart
You turn away from love
Knowing that in the end
It’s only going to hurt

No matter how much you beg
No matter how much you wish
No matter how much you cry
They don’t see how bad you hurt

They don’t see how much you love
They don’t see how much you want them
How badly you need them to be there
How badly you crave their touch

You dream of the past
Wishing the love was still there
Then remember the pain
And begin to cry again
hardwood memories
well-rooted, time-tested, safe
~ hiking in mind's woods






Mark Toney © 2021
Poetry form: Haiku - Mark Toney © 2021
Zywa 1d
I didn't take the best

photo's: of us, getting dressed –


being on the way.
“Champagne” (2021, Esther Gerritsen)

Collection "On the fly"
they told the tales of their adventures,
how the quest were tough to pass,
and their aches mends through laughters,
the inside jokes and shenanigans,

but i seen it as if it was a movie,
as if it was a trilogy book,
it was so fun to see the smile on their faces,
but only in a distant were i was belong.

where i was in the wrong part of a history,
and i was there all alone,
to remember the memories,
were i wasn't part of...
A living "still picture" if you're living,
A once lived "still memory" if you're dead!!
As the sun arose the horizon,
I am engulfed by clouds of poison.
Green and toxic it may be,
The beauty of the morning sun numbs me.

As the storm comes,
No clouds hover me.
The sky is clear and free.
I am calm as the birds hum.

As the rainbow shines,
I feel the rain fall.
The sky is grey and sad.
Why am I Crying this bad?

As the sun sets behind me,
The darkness then ate me.
Waking up with no past to remember,
My heart now lost its ember.
Written By: Paul Joshua B. Santiago
V May 8
If I vanished completely would you even notice?
If I sailed away on the winds of times changed.
Would the memory of me find its way across the sea?
PMc May 8
My pen is leaking
ink pooling into my pocket protector
the one I’ve had since before the new math
My uncle gave it to me – I remember
it’s got the logo of his insurance company on it.
that and, now the ink stain.

Ink running through the cracks in the pocket protector
leaking where uncle’s meat thermometer pushed through tight plastic
staining a once yellow shirt

Stopping by the dry-cleaner for pick up
the vendor says she couldn’t get it all out
but it’s better than it was.
Hands me a small plastic sandwich bag filled with strips of paper
the size of those you see on magnets
for fridge poems

“Don’t know where these came from” she says, “****** near ruined my dryer
spinning around there – clogging up the air exhaust”

words……
I whisper under my breath

From the ink.  
The words in the pen
would not go unnoticed.

I pay her – grab my shirt, my jacket, my tie
grab the baggie of words
in no particular order
thank her
and with the welcome bell’s ding
I head into the street
a very satisfied customer

****** pen is still leaking by the time I get home
It’s leaking tears by now
tears that fill the ink well of my memory
dip and scribble dip and scribble

Thoughts almost painful
long forgotten
or so I thought
Last days on Brunswick Avenue
knowing I would have to return to school
emptying that huge street-facing bedroom
I got a lot of miles looking out of those windows
if I wrote a lot
I don’t remember
Late nights, very early mornings listening to
the hourly chime of that nameless clock
that made up the entire downtown Toronto skyline back in the day

The words that dotted the paper sometimes
sometimes made no sense
my friends politely remarking
“That’s good.  I like it” were unhelpful

Further future desperation wasn’t far
just need a receipt or a bar napkin or
a box from a Big Mac ripped into 4x2x1x2x4
whatever I could get my hands on
just trying to appease the leaking pen
from getting too far ahead of my regretful memory.

IOUs, shopping lists, debits to society
love poems, goodbye notes, “I miss you”
they’re all there, we just have to remember what they are

Words write themselves.  
The ink, the tears
the blood, the fridge magnets
have already formed the words.
I am the one with the ideas
when I meet a new lover or
fall out of favour with an “ex” – yet again or
attempt to describe three shades of orange or
when I want to remember to pick up pickles

They are stuck in the pen
until I am ****** good and ready
with the roll of the ball-point
to see where the words land this time.

drip
drip
drip
Written as part of a pandemic poetry group from Jun 2020.  We challenged one another to various formats and "themes".  I think this one was to "write about writing".  Alas, the pocket protector and the insurance company are my doing.
Jackie Mead May 5
To ride a bike
To run wild and free
To play hopscotch and marbles outdoors in the sun
To laugh and run
To eat Jamaica *** and Raisin chocolate on a Saturday night
To wait up late to watch a man walk on the moon
To hide behind the settee when Dr Who comes on the T.V
To climb trees
To watch cricket played in the park
To roller skate
To swing as high as the cross bar
To grow your hair as long as your knees
To try and get it to curl with rags in your hair, desperately
To have your family motorbike and sidecar towed home by a taxi
To run on the sand
To watch the Royal Marines marching band
To swim in the sea
To walk on the moors
To be free to explore

And some people don't and that's okay.  These experiences are unique to me.  Allowed by my parents to play wild and free.  Free of the shackles, growing up with epilepsy.
Just remembering.
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