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Rescel Aug 2020
You searched the world for a lullaby
and found it in their screams and cry.
Your greatest art was death itself
and your melody was their beg for help.

But let's go back to your story's start,
when you still didn't have a monster's heart.
Let us go back to your innocence,
when your world was confined behind your backyard fence.

You once had been a young good boy
but with a family like those broken toys.
Your parents' fights were your fairytales
and your bedtime story was your mother's wails.

You'll go to school with hidden cuts--
black-blue bruises from your father's bat.
And though they tried to be friends with you,
their happiness was your source of blue.

Until one day, you found a cure;
her name's Emily, a bliss so pure.
Her smile, your happiness; her eyes, your stars;
her hugs, your haven; her tears your scars.

You learned to find the sweet from the bitter,
hoped that maybe there's a happy ever after.
You've buried your heart in darkness' grave,
not knowing that soon enough, you will be saved.

Yet fate won't let you get away;
peace and joy will never stay.
Your precious one, they took and ****--
Emily's dead, lying cold and still.

The pain you've buried for many years,
the darkest past, your endless tears
the rage you've buried brave
came crawling back out of its grave.

"Evil is good, retribution is fair!"
Goodness became something you don't want to care
Justice you'll bring with bloods on your hands
Farewell to the angels, by the devil you stand.
Killer's Tale
Mark Toney Aug 2020

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.
8/8/2020 - Poetry form: Narrative - Italicized lyrics from the song “That’s the Way I’ve Always heard It Should Be” (1971) written by Carly Simon and Jacob Brackman - © 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Anwer Ghani Aug 2020
When we left the icy land to drown in the scent of the bustling city, the streets were rippling with hearts stealing. There is no quiet in the bustling city nor winter, so there is no place for any cold word or heavy souls. Everything here smiles, the eyes are filled with incense and colors, and mouths have hymns. In the sweet moments here, you can't find anything but amazing moments and deep stories. Colorful lights paint the walls and cheeks and bloom with henna on the hands. I cannot forget that tree-covered road caressing our heads and the skyscraper that stands at the heart of an enchanting beach.
Mark Toney Aug 2020
When I was coming up
momma and daddy both said
"Finish your plate, son.  Eat the rest!"
More often than not there'd be something
I didn't like, or didn't like enough
and momma or daddy one would say
"Finish your plate.  Eat the rest!"

I'd eat a little more, ask to be excused,
momma or daddy would see my remnants
"Eat the rest, child!  Eat the rest!"
I'd eat a bit more. "May I be excused?"
"Listen to me, son, you best eat the rest!"
So I'd sit there, pitiful like, and eat the rest.

Reflecting on this, I am keenly aware
proponents on both sides argue 'beware'
Forcing a child to always finish their plate
can lead to obesity's worrisome fate
But letting them stop whenever they want
selfishly teaches life's lessons to flaunt

It doesn't matter which side you're on
I'll agree with you so let's move on
There's a deeper darker side to this
that I need to mention lest I be remiss
After year's of being told to eat the rest
is it possible I actually consumed "my rest"?

The rest I seek when I try to take a nap
The rest I pursue when I wear my CPAP
The rest that eludes me at work or at play
The question my wife asks me every day:

"Honey, were you able to get any rest?"

No, dear.  When I was a kid, I was forced to
finish my plate and eat the rest, so there's
none to be found.  I done ate it all.




© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
8/4/2020 - Poetry form: Narrative - The ramblings of a man raised by a momma from the South and a daddy from the North ;) - © 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Aspen Jul 2020
“Depression, how long will it be ?”
“𝑼𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.”
“Where’s Empty?”
“𝑯𝒆’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.”
“And happiness?”
“𝑫𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆.”
angelique Jun 2020
I sink into the ridges of the cedar table – the last piece of furniture my mother bought for this cottage.

A table that was once home to pairs of reading-glasses and piles of books, coffee mugs and scattered paintbrushes; a table where poetry was read and written in amber candlelight, where ideas were discussed and colours were mixed - memories that now hazily linger in leftover words and shards of conversations.

Outside, fire-nettles and blackberries twine over garden beds and over the collapsed bird-bath. Windows heave under layers of vines and floating rust.

The little cottage is home to many memories that are still aglow. Memories that are held up by loving hands of cedar and cement and terracotta, held up by the books and artworks that line the insides.

It breathes, and so do I.
It sighs, and so do I.
It remembers, and so do I.
i feel a deep connection to this place, for it is alive with memory.
Iestyn Tudor Jun 2020
It stayed with her forever,
The faded **** in her skin.
A permanent reminder
Of courageous origin.

Welsh suburbia,
The week’s paper nestled at doorsteps
And cars lining driveways.
The sloped street dared
Every child to climb
Onto their bike and conquer.

She avoided it when shaving
As though an accidental cut
Would pollute
Childhood's lustre.

No stabilisers. Wicked.
The street’s children envied her.
A goddess of danger.
They all lined up on the day,
To see their idol
Dominate the asphalt *****.

Imagination made it prickle
In board meetings and cafes.
Time marched on
And the sensation with it.

Parents peered
Out their front doors.
Grandad stood vigilant
Fighting a smile.
The silence before calamity…
…and the forward push.

The scar sat beneath her shin,
Short from a distance but
Taller the closer
You came.

Whoosh. Down she went
Gulping the air and
Smiling like a belle.
Children blurred as she passed,
Everything became a haze
And she hollered.

It prickled
At Grandad’s funeral last year.
That made her fight a smile,
And she eventually succumbed.

Euphoria blinded her
To the oncoming curb.
The bike lurched, and
Heaved her off.
Pain echoed through naïve bones
Radiating beneath her shin.

Her husband asked about it.
'I fell off my bike as a girl.'
Her children asked about it.
'I fought a dragon.'

Grandad appeared instantly,
Deft hands wrapping
Gauze around a cut.
With an affectionate ruffle,
He pulled her up onto his shoulder
And carried her back.
When she cried in pain,
He pulled her closer.
K-ROB Jun 2020
So, I met a cool bartender, her name is Megan
She's good people, even when I'm beggin
For a free shot, a free beer, her phone number...
She won't give it to me and that's a ******
She looks kinda like Pink but even more HOTTT
And because of her, this bar is my new favorite spot!

Megan always gives me attitude, but it's just her way...
Of saying keep dreaming girl, "I'm not gay!"
I do think she would make a real good friend,
and someone that I would stick by til the end

Megan did almost warm me about this slutty girl
When I look at Sara now it makes me want to hurl
She went home with 4 people in a week, not including me
(Megan said she almost warned me, but didn't think it was her place to say)
I guess I can see why, this girl claimed she wasn't even gay!
I just hope I didn't catch something from this *****
If I did, it's gonna be on , like a light switch!

I told Megan that is so not my style
I don't know why I am going so wild
Sara kept touching me and I told her to stay away,
So Megan helped get her off me...
And I need to tell her thanks for that, if I may!
I know I say this every other day,
I guess it's just e coping; it's just my way
But I definitely learned this time!
and now I think I'm done with this little rhyme
Throwback- written 5/13/10- this ended up framed and on the wall at that bar!
Benjamin Brown May 2020
I once asked a demon
who’d fled eternal night,
“Why did you flee the darkness?”
Its answer was, “the light.

My home lies far beneath me
is filled with nought but night.
It’s there I dreamt of fire
that knows the way of light.

Because my home was dreary
and filled with nought but dark,
I caught a glimpse of fire
and sought to catch its spark.

Because this home was measly
and filled with nought but night,
I left to meet that fire
and seek the way of light.

My home lay far behind me
When I’d left dark for light,
and stepped towards that fire
that burnt so bright at night.

My home lay far beneath me,
once I’d escaped the dark,
and stepped towards that fire,
To catch myself a spark.”

Then, I asked the demon
who’d fled towards the light,
“What did you learn from fire?”
It’s answer was, “it’s bright.

My home, so far beneath me,
had dimmed my measly sight,
as living deep in darkness
all one can see is night.

I went towards that fire
and touched the burning light;
living deep in darkness,
you don’t learn flames can bite.

They burnt my skin, let darkness in;
the dream had been untrue.
Fire’s not right, to light up the night,
to make me one of you.

“My demon friend, how did you then
become as one of us?”
Its reply lit up the sky,
the answer was, “I trust.”
Just a bit of fun.
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