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toleomato Jun 29
To happiness and health
and future prospects
of wealth.
Honey so sweet
A truly tasty treat
A sweetness so complete
No one can beat
Syrupy and yellow
A dandy fellow
Tastes good on toast
I love honey the most
The corners singed
Smoke rising
It was on too long
So not surprising
Next time I won't read:
The email, the text, or the
Instagram message.
Tomorrow I'll forget
I'll flick the switch
And my mind will drift
Like a balloon sailing out to sea
And once again burnt toast
Will be waiting for me
©️ 2021 Joshua Reece Wylie. All rights reserved.

I burnt the toast again tonight. Good thing. A poem came of it.
julius Mar 12
in an old blue car
driving on the highway
in the snow
i gripped the steering wheel
my knuckles turned white
like the road
my heart didn't beat
it trembled
crying, mirroring
the weather
i think
god would've wept today
if he
here at all
Zack Ripley Dec 2020
With friends and family near,
Holiday cheer is here
Even though it's been a trying year.
And though we've shed some tears,
With more to come I'm sure,
Let's raise our wine, eggnog, or beer
In honor of us for making it
And in honor of those who aren't with us physically anymore.
reyftamayo Aug 2020
isa pa, itagay mo pa
tatlong ikot na lang ubos na.
hindi malamig,
ubod ng lamig.
iisa lang pala ang tama.
ibigay ang pulutan
doon sa malakas kumain.
pagkatapos nito, isusuka rin.
Dvali Taytem Jul 2020
Not one person in this lonely world
Walks on some singular path alone
But every once in a horrible while
There are those that come up and push you along

Here is a toast
To those that boast
And say they wish you well
When all along
They sing some song
And march you straight to hell

May they rot and grow crazed
In their shallow graves
For what they did in life
And know that sin
Is what fills the graves in
Even if they don’t remember it right
7/12/2020, 11:59 PM

I dedicate this one to my mother: may you find peace in what’s left of your life. You took that from me when you chose a side, and I wouldn’t wish such a thing on my enemies.
Jennifer May 2020
morning: my least favourite time
of day, is made not so bad by
a slice of buttered toast and a
black coffee.

morning: when my hair is a mess and
my sheets cling to my damp
skin, is made not so unhappy
by the sunlight spilling in.

morning: when my eyelids are
heavy and i’m too tired to speak,
when my lips are dry and my
thoughts are static;

i think i’ll put the kettle on, and
sink into the day: slowly, slowly,
slowly, so that the hours trickle
old willow May 2020
Standing by the gate to admire green grass view,
I saw a traveler passing by.
Not knowing where she came from,
Her question startled my heart.
Answering my doubt,
She handed me a wine jar.
Not looking at her departing back,
I smiled and took a gulp.
Today, I made a friend.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
The Toast
by Michael R. Burch

For longings warmed by tepid suns
(brief lusts that animated clay),
for passions wilted at the bud
and skies grown desolate and grey,
for stars that fell from tinseled heights
and mountains bleak and scarred and lone,
for seas reflecting distant suns
and weeds that thrive where seeds were sown,
for waltzes ending in a hush,
for rhymes that fade as pages close,
for flames’ exhausted, drifting ash,
and petals falling from the rose, ...
I raise my cup before I drink,
saluting ghosts of loves long dead,
and silently propose a toast—
to joys set free, and those I fled.

Originally published by Contemporary Rhyme. Keywords/Tags: toast, death, time, passages, dreams, clay, flesh, ash, sun, sunset, age, grave, end
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