We meet on a
a crowded street
and stand still,
like a pair of boulders
caught in a river
surrounded by salmon
as they swim upriver,
flowing by and
paying us no mind.
Off to the side two men
share a meal al fresco,
laughing into wine glasses.

After what seems a lifetime
you touch my face,
and I touch yours.
And I remember
every minutia.
We've been apart
for so long,
and yet it's like
a garden revealed
when the snow melts.
The freckles,
the spots,
the creases
beside your lips.
And I watch with glee
your goosebumps
rise and can tell
by your smile
you can see mine.

"Get a ******* room!"
One of the men hollers
with a chuckle
as the other guffaws
and nearly chokes
on his bread.

We look to them
and laugh,
a laugh shared
by strangers
knowing love
when they see it;
of a shared humanity.


-
By Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet

Kneel and repent for you have sinned.  
In this town, you fail to see those unseen;
Trudge the cliff and hold the lethal knife—
Stab thyself to free from one's life.

Filthy lucre cannot mask through larceny.
Alack! No one can abscond for they inscribe rapacity.
In the arms of perils, you may nestle, but you can't free from the angels.
They bestow solace thru the guise and besiege for some lies.

Behold these men who **** not to die.
Bespeak Words to gratify death, to beautify.
Deceive fellows for greed makes them alive.
Perish, neither to escape nor to hide but to divulge the truth; revive.

The primordial savagery should vanquish
But left unspoken, untouched, and has not perished.
Desperately creeping but found unequal equality—
For their obscure prowess remains as anxiety.

Those crocodiles trample people's right
To brew fright, but they will never deplore.
Countrymen do not benefit from what they worked hard for,
Greedy government grow and live as our so-called knights.

I realized yesterday,
that I've written many poems,
but only shared a few.
I think it's because I've convinced myself,
that my words are too much,
and that no one wants to read another tragic tale.

No one wants to hear about me,
my messed up emotions,
or my dead friends.
No one wants to read about,
the days I felt like I was drowning.
There's no point in sharing what others find boring.

But then again,
it helps when I share.
I feel like even when no one seems to care,
at least I got my thoughts out there.
At least there's a chance that someone who's struggling,
will see that they aren't struggling alone.

So from this day forth,
I won't hold back.
I will pour my soul out for the poor and unfortunate.
I will tell you the stories of heartbreak,
I will tell you about the one's I've lost.
Even if you don't care to listen.

I'm afraid
Of
Eyes
Seeing me for
Who I truly am
That "they" might
Hate me
Because
I'm different.

I'm afraid
Of
Ears
That "they" might
Hear what I have to say
But
No one will want to
Listen

I'm afraid of
Hands
That "they" might
Make a fist or
Worst
Point a finger at me and
Single me
Out

I'm afraid
Of
You
The public is
Dangerous and
THEY have no time
To care about
My opinion
Only
"Theirs"

My twenty poetry collections
divided into subsections
listed below as follows:
Eleven are public
the rest are private
but the total
showing is
zero
Why?



© 2020 Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.

When we are in public:
I was like riding at the back of the tricycle as I was looking at you , walking forward.

Mary Seacole
Black nurse sculpture
Your determination points
To injustice. Your struggle
To serve, be accepted.
Why were you shamed and denied?
This is the broken land where we live.
Your courage, your stride
Takes me to our weakness

To the ache in my chest like a
broken blood vessel.
And trace the lines in my hand
To a bad rotting root.
How many wounds did your hand with compassion soothe?

Behind your certitude
I imagine pain.
Did your hurting
Search out injury and loss?

And as you nursed those violent lacerations,
Patiently waiting whilst the pathway beat its course,
Did you see as if through a veil,
Your own fractured self,
Fusing with your patient’s,
Both your Injuries restore back together
All the way towards their good health?

To clap, or not to clap, that is the question
Whether it’s nobler in the mind to give
Undying love to those who save us
Or by opposing, expose those
Who have systematically underfunded
A public fed service with malice
It dies, we die, there’s the rub
Chatter and cheer will rightly raise from
Many whose hearts are true and proud
Whose hearts must be hardened
Next at the ballot box to lift us:
There is no country without unity
No unity without truth, no economy
Without each and every soul, always

never knew how blinding the
sun could be before I hid from it.

the dark is a dangerously
safe place to be isn’t it?


I think I found a new emotion
it comes from experiencing
the beauty of things I find
repulsive

all the dream house
developments nestled
like cheap toys

sun glinting off the bumper
to bumper traffic
arcing above the horizon
semis blocking out the sun

parking lots
fractals of shiny beetle shell
car bodies disappearing into the glare

countless things
somewhere between awe and loathing
it’s kind of like a scream
stuck in your chest.


also,  I think I keep seeing people
who aren’t real.
they exist. other people see them too.
but they just seem out of place.
or maybe too in it.
too predictable

I say I hate public transit
but ya know
I think half the time
I like sitting on bart
more than doing
whatever the **** I left
the house to do

my mind wanders best when
my body is hurdling through
space at high speeds