Turned off the gravity to lessen the weight of my shadows.
But did that ever work, or was the melt down what follows.
Trying to focus on anything other than me,
Maybe that made it easier when it was I who undid me.

You can live in a dispassionate, destructive state,
You can keep adding worries and doubts piling up your plate,
Darkness falls like an avalanche moving at an exponential rate,
Its not 1 into 2 but 1 into 3 then 3 into 9,
Then when every part of your persona is taken apart by its design.

Who is left and who am I?
What is left when the birds won't fly.
Who will care when the clock strikes 12,
When the day is over and your down on yourself.

When the world has had it's pound of flesh but still wants more.
The fatigue is suffocating expanding from my core,
It fills me up until it leaks like tar from my pores,
Muddles my mind twisting 1 thing into a 1000 thoughts.

Trying to relax
on my high-rise roof
I notice you across the street on
your balcony seemingly aloof
listening to vintage Carly Simon
          "... you say we can keep our love alive"

You stare my way and enthusiastically waive
          "Babe all I know is what I see"

I hesitate, smile and then return the gesture
          "The couples cling and claw"

As if on cue you stand and press against the railing
         "and drown in love's debris"

Still smiling as my heart beats faster
          "... we'll soar like two birds through the clouds"

"What's your name?" you playfully cry out
          "But soon you'll cage me on your shelf"

"Who wants to know?" is my surprising reply
          "I'll never learn to be just me first by myself"

Suddenly flashbacks hijack my thinking
          "... it's time we moved in together
          and raised a family of our own, you and me" 
 
Why is this happening?  Why am I sinking?
          "... that's the way I've always heard it should be
          you want to marry me, we’ll marry"

I hear your beseeching, unintelligible shouts as I retreat
Painful memories open like an oubliette under my feet—
       p
           l
              u
                  n
                      g
                          i
            ­                 n
                                 g

Lost and languishing in isolation's labyrinth





© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

1.
In order to live gently
without causing harm
be like a snowflake, only softer.

2.
Be mindful of the grass you walk upon
and the sky you look up into -
it is the backbone of the earth,
the softest skin between her thighs.

You were created in this world
you ruptured yourself into the world
and caught on fire as you grew older
that crafted you into what you are
and what you will become.

I found a boardwalk in the woods
leading, seemingly, to nowhere,
In a timberland swamp I knew from much younger days;
Decaying and rotten,
Most likely long forgotten.
I wondered how long it had been there, abandoned to its fate:
Quietly mocked by the still standing timbers,
As yet spared the sawmills blade,
For its needless sacrifice, useless decay
As its strength is silently weathered away;
used
but unrequited,
wasted,
faded and unmade.

I followed along its decrepit path
as far as I could make,
and so laughed to myself as I thought aloud,
"Such is life's disarray."

Resurrection


When the seas, all seven, align and combine,
To form one tide, do you believe we have a selection, to
Reside, hide and remain alive?
Or is that our mind tryna confide,
In our own made lie, afraid to die?
If the angels rein down a path to heaven,
I wish to accept, find, listen and abide,
Until I arrive.
Once I’ve arrived at my final destination,
Only then will I quit the investigation,
Quit the pacing,
Where thoughts are constantly racing.
End of days where I communicate,
Debate and question every nation.
An owl of silent observation,
Mixed with a perfection I can imagination,
To relate,
To create,
And modulate,
An exhilarating answer to the allegation,
Fact or fiction,
Which is resurrection?
Such unbelievers, who claim afterlife is an illusion,
Unaware that they are too, just bait,
Heading straight,
Into the great,
Hands of fate.
The weight of the truth,
And proof,
In representation of resurrection,
Cannot be ignored, just like an antique china plate,
Or a mate,
Who’s at times, difficult to tolerate.
It’s inevitable,
So renumerate,
Your pure self, and reinstate,
Circumnavigate,
To the Golden Slate Gate.
Enter your new estate,
Where you are enchanted with the power of illumination.
Before you can await,
The glorious one who turns death into rebirth,
Giving your soul a chance to resurrect,
Recreate, and once again illuminate.





Natasha .K. Bailey

Why do spring and autumn look the same here?
Tears always taste saltier in April.
May flowers never come.
Why,
on the day I felt most afraid,
did the water in the creek stand still?
Doesn’t the water care about me?
Does this creek not weep for the dying trees around it?
For the fish whose corpses quietly float down on it’s floor?

This crow seems to know.
Alone, he squawks,
mauking my pain.

Maybe I’m the stranger,
The irrelevant dot in a map more complex than my cogged brain can understand.
Or maybe the world does dance all around me  each day,
Choosing to ignore my thoughts and actions.
But it’s selfish to think like that, right?
Or perhaps that’s just me falling in love with myself.