I send my roots into the earth,
accepting the sacred duty.
The gentle, yielding, firm,
and fertile ground of the mother.
I will water her.
I will protect her.
I accept responsibility
for this ground.
I yield to this process.
Enveloped by life. By time.
I yield to the watching.
I accept what it brings.
I choose to love
what comes before me,
so that what blooms
when I wither away,
may always be love.

at the end of the day, i stared at the teabag
that i scooped out from the ***.
wet and sloshy, its scent faded and sweetened;
it wasn't itself anymore.

without its lingering bitterness
without its verdant hues,
or its unique aromas that they fancied,
it could never be who it was.  

the used teabag, now that its purpose was served,
is no longer wanted.
was it fulfilled by the amount of tea it gives,
or was it emptied?

lack of future preparation - inherit debris fields of neglect




Mark Toney © 2022

Self pleasure is the definition of the Devil.
We must strike a happy medium,
for the soul is Christ yet the body is sin.

Life, a battle of what lies within.
I, myself, struggle yet seek holy kin.

Promise me virtue,
tomorrow you’ll forget.
Mold form, for my design is ****!

Edit the author, punish the script.
Fight the altar, praise the stripped.

When the sun sets, flecking clouds with diaphanous light and birds whistle daytime’s last summer psalms, we call it night.

We’re moonbathing and Sunny’s features are inlaid with glamorous silver-blue patines. We’ll reawaken soon, our time is measured in assignments, not in hours, days or even seasons.

Responsibility is a villain of our own devices. You can run from it, bolt your door against it, only to find it’s right there - in back of you - smiling like a tiger or a parent.

Unfortunately, the university isn’t a hotel. It’s more of a competition, like those survivor shows.

We’ll enjoy the moonlight, for a few, laconic moments, for it seems to possess a sweet power to cool and calm, but soon our purposes will call, irresistibly, and we’ll return to the performance.

Choice
Responsibility
Interlocking concepts
But rarely as simple
                                     as cause and effect

We always have a choice
To act
           To react
                          To endure
                                             To survive

Choice is a source of power
It can’t be taken away by another

Don’t believe them when they say
“You have no choice”
Even if they
are you

But our choices alone
                                       are rarely the only cause
                                                           ­                        of our circumstances

Other peoples’ choices
The systems we must navigate
Our environments and ecosystems, human-built and beyond
All contribute to determine
                                                  the fertility of the soil
                                                                ­                         from which our range of choices grow

In fertile soil
Choices abound

But even in barren soil
You still must choose
To act
To react
To endure
To survive
While holding onto hope
                                              for future change

Through intention
Through community
Through action

To believe that your choices alone
Are responsible for an outcome
Whether fortunate
Or dire

Is the height of arrogance
Born of a need to feel in control
Of the world around you

We all should be held accountable for our choices
But take care
How you parcel out responsibility
                                                              an­d blame

To yourself
To others
With awareness of the state of the soil
                                                                ­     from which those choices grew

Give me the sea and I'll drink it
all of it
Give me the sky and I'll blot it out
cut it out
leave the gaping earth barren of its liquid dressing
and leave the sky naked of its blue face
there is no compare
that is
not to say you are not enough for me
not at all
it is to say you are more than I could have desired
more
than I could have dreamed
and I do not tire of you
not in my darkest moments
when I'm stretched thin
and there is no longer
a devil-may-care draped about my addled mind
when my patience snaps
when my jaw clamps
my eyes droop
my brain thumps against my skull
not even then
with the last vestiges of civility held in grasp
not even then can I think to lash out at you
not even when you poke
or ****
plod about my sensibilities
maim my sensitivities
not even then
not even when you roll your eyes
give me that long 'hmmmm - really...'
I don't give in to the nagging,
nigh satisfying itch to shake with rage
and curse everything that stems from the womb
I am cool as a cucumber
placid as a windless lake
I roll my shoulders
flutter my eyelashes
look you up and down
say,
'My... my... tired aren't you?'
Your shoulders slump
Your efforts to topple me abate
You nod your head
curl up on my lap
isn't it
funny
how comforted we become
when we are offered solace
in exchange for an argument
that neither of us
would win?