#abecedarian
Another day
Bright and sunny, the sunshine
Crinkles against the tree leaves. Yet,
Doubt arising again, another day
Even worse; I
Found no difference from the rest.
Growing pit in my stomach
Having still no resolution.
I don’t know what to do.
Just give me a few days, even though I
Know the feelings still won’t settle.
Let me do what I want to, do not
Make me succumb to you.
Not because I do not love you,
Only because I am becoming anew.
Promise you’ll give me the cue,
Qualify me to do what I want to do.
Rotating variables constantly
Swing in my mind
Telling me the pros and cons of each side. Yet
Unless you do not love me, support me,
Validate me, I
Won’t know what to do. A
Xenial atmosphere brought by
You, would grant me great,
Zestful life.
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 3:08 PM UTC
—some closeness is measured not in touch, but in the spaces we dare to share
Work spouse—HR shorthand for a lived cliché.
X-rays in long-abandoned airports read sonnets under our silk.
Yes, we learned the steps of that corporate ballet.
Zippers silently weep—damned to sulk.
As highways unbuttoned, our days lived out in lost miles.
Blouses slipped one notch—sheer fabric testing powerlessness.
Car seats cupped our curves; we smirked, flirting—no touch-fouls.
Daring skirt slits breathed; lace played guard—pointless.
Eyes of passengers traced her mystical curves through glare.
Fabric clung to dark peaks where snow-white silk knelt.
Glimpses of her smirk took flight; I claimed her midair.
Hours traveling, our souls open, our hearts only we truly felt.
In terminal rows of eyes, I leaned too close; she inhaled me.
Jeans pressed warm to skin, soft curves for her revealed.
Knowing gazes followed—strangers traced the lines I offered free.
Lingering scent—hips held her there; to her alone, I stayed sealed.
Metal elevator doors breathed closed—our bodies, no light between.
Near-whispers of breath; my ******* pressed warm to her silk back.
Our shadows merged—one muted melody of want, half-seen.
Palms hovered, held in that pause; desire stalled, trapped.
Quiet space, please receive me—I replay her body in meditation.
Remembered scents bloom where her eyes once stayed unspoken.
Solo, I trace what we never crossed—secret liberation.
Touch turning inward, I explore us slowly, eyes closed, body open.
Under sleep’s permission, she comforts me—oh how I ache.
Visiting nightly, I am hers alone, surrendered, overtaken.
Jan 10
Jan 10, 2026 at 11:48 AM UTC
and knowing this, he slow steals it away,
all fine, remembering all those details,
slow, then steady, then regularized,
and finally, not caring, just knowing
what is needed, worth it, desired, and
prioritizing the heart and heads emotions,
to process our interactions in to a
single weave of multi colored fabric,
one day silk, next cotton, even scratchy
wool serves a purpose, but it is the skin,
the skin that notches that sparking, after
talking, when you them truly, for the first
time, and you say hey! you part your hair
down the middle, and so engrossed, did not
notice, how it falls just over each corner's eye,
and that is so engaging, so teasingly attractive
I, smitten, suddenly struck silent,
I remember the why,
I remember the very
instant, the exact first,
the opening bursting,
when our eyes met,
and we smiled exactly
the same way, halfway,
opening both thinking
we could be, we could be, we could be a be...
Oct 30, 2025
Oct 30, 2025 at 11:22 AM UTC
"*How could I live
without metaphors?
To call things by their names,
not to drown in longings,
not to color them,
to make shapes less painful?*"^
><<><
this quest, this verse curses
my drifting senses. now all attentions,
the outlined shapes that haunt, daunt,
lacking ****** substance,
just wafers and wines symbolic,
to defer away the many pointy fingers,
hands of nothing but forefingers
aiming exactly at our temple's
temple
stating most factually,
J'accuse
shadows are metaphors,
images meta-stasizing
into what ever
you believe,
what
you think you meta~need to see,
in the dark late of the light of our soul's night,
so you right of,
you write of
seasonal changes,
hardly illusory,
failing to note, that when you wrote:
How could I live without metaphors?
the answer metaphorical+historical,
for the question is only
rhetorical
for you know~knew
that once we know the name to everything,
we will no longer want them,
but only to write of them in
idealized metaphors
so we can sleep~dream on,
perchance
while the
restoration of the imagination
is our brain sourcing
new things
that seek, crave,
to satisfy our urgent needs
to describe, define, our every fractional moment
Oct 2, 2025
Oct 2, 2025 at 4:27 PM UTC
A
Blackness
Condenses,
Digging into
Emptiness - a scar
Falling from the mountain.
Grasp, grasp for hold with a stiff
Hand, like a memory faded
Into a second past, frantic search
Juxtaposed with the slipperyness of
Killed memories' blood, covers anything with
Laquer, and if we don't find what we came here for,
Madness will take us, pull us down, define us, but with
No language, no sound, no form, only that fleeted scent that's
Owned by that evil sand-monster of time. We got a taste of
Produce discontinued, till maybe or maybe not it will rise
Quietly from the ashes like an apparition. But when we try
Reeling it in, we get back a hook empty of water, only filled with
Space. Something stolen from us by its memory. Skin, flesh and bone, all of
them
Torn from us under anesthesia, too deep to feel, by now we've woken up and
Understand there's something missing and oh if only we could just go back, go
back to
Valley, nameless and knownless, I just know it's a valley, a smudge between a
horn and a
Weeping river of frozen rips that pile like great heaps of sand, a desert of
disaction. Point
X lost as much as we, a part of our soul somewhere between and somewhere
in these all, and unknown
Y a junction and we go down both our arms that are chopped off at the wrist,
there's nowhere else to go but
Z, the very end of our journey, where we look at the red blooms of hands, and
we move on, with our brief day.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 5:45 PM UTC
passion
thirst
hurt
ephemeral
physical
cold heat
hunger
water walking
brutally real
physical
skin colors
words spontaneous
devious planned
desire desired,
physical
concrete
parchment thin
muscled strong
catch a caught
physical
making
creating
cresting
cannot live without
physical
electric
shocking
eclectic
varied
realized
why? stop here?
eyed
fingered
tongue tasted,
ear sensual
dreamt
famous
buried
tragic
comedic
gaming played
unsafe
at any
speed
languorous
fire immolating
physical chest pains,
incurable
incumbent
to possess
otherwise, death
fingernails poking
knuckle kissing
lips wetting
blood exchanging
oh yeah physical
foreign native
young old
permanently temporary
infinitely finite
definitely unending
nowhere
no expression
dying dreams
best better
agonizing
agonizing
unrequited
offer everything
receive shoulder
colder than hell
defensive
offensive
cape laid
walk on me
chivalry
until we hold each others fingers knotted
until I stroke your hair unexpectedly,
until we agree to hell with all the rest
until we say the say the same thing simultaneously
until we come together
when we have satisfied each and every one of the above,
freely confess
know nothing of love
but the picayune details that make us greater
greater than greater, greatest, then and only then
we, might have a few clues
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 9:47 AM UTC
Apart
Blaming
Conditional.
Defined by
Expectations
Fears
Grades.
Heavily moving
Into dark.
Joined by anxiety
Keeping it all in.
Longing.
Mad mix of feelings
Never far away.
Only living to please
Pursuing ways to disappear.
Questioning the established.
Repeating behavior.
Secrets.
Temptress
Underneath the mask.
Victimized.
Willingly responsible.
eXit from religion.
Yearning to be special.
Zero confidence.
cbd03/28/25
Apr 21, 2025
Apr 21, 2025 at 11:09 PM UTC
**for all who understand perfectly why perfection can never be,
and Adriana Barreiros~**
<>
Todays new millionth sunrise bids me stand,
observe the river traffic from my kitchen window,
accept that my takings are debts,
a few, even paid back,
yet, most still owed,
for the origins of all my poems,
are oddly and oddity old,
unoriginal, second, third handed
as I look through the eyes of the dead,
and yours too,
this my unoriginal,
original sin....
(pretending I am a poet)
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 3:33 PM UTC
*“your arrhythmic rhymes, skinflint perspectives,
this is what I ask, what I need, what you can give,
what is in your possess, what you need to unburden,
making me better for making you lessened” *
<>
she offers me this,
a way out to more,
a way in to lessen,
knock on heavens door,
a suggest tendered,
treaty of mutual arms-ments-to-be?
perhaps is my answer,
utter the skinflints perspective,
maybe it is no treat, this treaty,
but a rad road well traveled to
mutually assured destruction,
the intended embrace
of unintended consequences
Jun 3, 2020
Jun 3, 2020 at 11:48 AM UTC
~for r, just because~
*put her in my mouth and she became my
mouth.
put myself inside her and she became my
insides out.
spill good words on her belly, licked & laced us together, then came my
poetry.*
***on elbow, she claimed coauthor-ship, demanded her name above
mine.***
I smiled, answering most matter-of-factly,
surely they’re your creations, you-a-ruler, procreator, foremost, first,
the ABCedarian
the muse goddess of alphabets, all that is poetic divine mistress to
thousands
I’m mortal,
your transcriber, copyist, alphabetically seconded, merest mere,
the ABEcedarian
I’m rudimentary without you, lost midst the masses o’poets nameless.
*She snorted, said
**“sounds like poetic ******** to me”****
but returned to her sleepy heaven,
mumbling most contentedly.*
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 7:47 AM UTC
<>
“Stop this day and night with me
and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun,
(there are millions of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things
at second or third hand,
nor look through the eyes of the dead,
nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either,
nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides
and filter them from your self.”
Song of Myself (1892 version) by WALT WHITMAN
§§§
*These admonitions are the ten conditionals
commandments of straight talk,
boy,
you’ve spent a life lessening and lesson-learning
and all laid before you for taking, gaining,
but for what? for naught?
Start this day, having spent my night with you,
possessing less than what is my now
completed,
this,
my unfinished commencement,
provisioned, a simultaneous beginning and finishing,
emptying a void of
fulfilling questioning.
What does this life desire of me,
that it granted and then removed,
the knowledge of perfection?
leaving me striving, writhing,
shivering unceasingly,
in my saddened, bursting, hacking
and hackneyed chest.
I walk the same cobblestone streets,
observing the descendants of your ancestral tugs
portaging, paying homage to East River tides,
carrying those goods,
the origins of all poems,
from where? to where?
unknown,
but always past our conjoined eyes.
And yet do I look, with our merged eyes,
filtered by a century’s discoloration,
forgive me Walt, for now recalling sights
that you first observed,
that I witness first hand,
100 and fifty years later,
sharing a stolen wisdom with you.
Todays new millionth sunrise bids me stand,
observe the river traffic from my kitchen window,
accept that my takings are debts,
a few, even paid back,
yet, most still owed,
for the origins of all my poems,
are oddly and oddity old,
unoriginal, second, third handed
as I look through the eyes of the dead,
and yours too,
this my unoriginal,
original sin....
(pretending I am a poet)
§§§§§
6:24AM
Manhattan Island,
By the East River
Thu. May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 8:33 AM UTC
Shakespeare predicts the future!
Marian. The devil a puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned *** that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded of himself; so crammed, as he thinks, with excellences, that it is his ground of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.
Twelfth Night Act 2, Scene 3
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
But I always forget to tell her
and I tell her that too
and she asks why I forget
reply comes easy
it just a wayfaring, stepping stone
on the way to my
kissing your neck,
and thus overlooked,
but always the first thing I see...
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 7:58 AM UTC
upon the thick chill of modern life
she reflects, drawing over the body,
a thin blanket of cashmere,
how it miraculously
denies the chilling, its darkening physicality
I,
I listen in non-responsive, full attentiveness,
thinking perhaps a poem she is demanding,
“we all need more miracle blankets in our lives”
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 8:36 AM UTC
two suede secrets
*a blue violin plays instrumental come-ons with flamenco hints,
various pleasures merge, a three lane highway becomes a
county road with slow and steady the unposted speed limit
I am well and full accompanied and accomplished*
and I am alone
*my hands laurel my temples, my head is crowning,
laughing from the pleasure given to me to give to me,
snare drum solitary keeps my time, my two palms say psalms,
guttural and cultural, my emissions, emptying my commissions,*
and I am alone
*a-poem came with this morn to mind, and pleasure me, it did;
music and flesh, words and tissue untested but harmonizing,
hands prancing on strings of sterling silvered guitar body mine,
shouting glory glory, am risen am fallen, salved, soothed,*
I am alone, refreshingly happy, my poem **********
*and and and
both of us will die in due course, dead unread, alone together*
3/17/18 9:05 AM
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
~explaining light to the blind~
~for Suzy~
the insanity of even attempting
who among us, the sighted,
has the capability to clarify
an animate inanimate,
an untouchable invisible,
that can be folded, bent,
travel universes unseen
at its own chosen speed,
even to another sighted
and to the blind...
imagine then light
as something that
be recognized from the inside only with
in- sight
~***think of the continuum from
warmth to steel furnaced heat,
that is an element of what is light,
the sun cheek kissing, the furnace of chests
when you grasp another’s body first time
think of light as water,
the faucet spigot a measured pouring,
that can overshoot, the stream behind the house,
a toe tickling masseuse caress,
a dam’s waterfall endless crashing,
a sea, wave licking sudden raging dangerous
blend these sensations that belong to all,
and you’ll know light better than most,
indeed, light is for those who cannot vision
except from the inside with a sight that can be
touched, felt, imagined, and which the sightless
command better than us ordinary thoughtless
indeed light is as simple to understand as
abc,
which you have never seen, but creates the words
that we all
use
even share***~
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 6:34 AM UTC
!all men are fair weathermen!
if what they predict and promised
don’t happen quick, a thunderstorm of oops and aahs, follows asap.
quick move on to making more forecasts
with a higher degree of confidence that either way,
may be you need not wonder
a withering whether, or not,
if they’ll come true
always end your broadcast with the
I Love You (You Know Who)
with a wink and no names cause safe
is the fair weather
always accurate
now I know that it can rain oil from heaven,
promises that come
pre-broken;
summers predestined to end and the fall prepares us
for bittersweet cold alone and
the oil rain just smokes
but does not warm
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
welcome to me,
in advance,
I thank thee
I am an abecedarian
a newbie,
learning the letters of the alphabet;
the green shoot,
a beginner beginning,
in any field of learning,
but stepping out here
so carefully
in the minefield
of poetic works
but here I find muy self
at your disposal,
hoping that my rearrangement
of our common letters shall
make uncommon sounds,
pleasing all thy senses,
as your essays, do mine
glory and bravery are
for the battlefield
around this table,
I hope to share but
courage and compassion,
battlefield traits as well
glory, none sought,
bravery, some but,
only to be to mine own self, true,
but
courage to dispossess my inner self,
and you, with com-passion,
meeting a welcome reception
these from within,
I conjure and summon
and with these,
bid you peace
of what I shall compose,
are paths yet to be found
on no map plotted or recorded,
but this I speak with utmost surety,
of thee I will surely sing*
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
A
Baby
Cries,
Demanding,
Emphatic,
Forming,
Growing,
Having
Intelligence,
Joy,
Kindness,
Love.
Mounting
Neuroses,
Outrageous
Propaganda,
Quickly
Remove
Simple
Truth,
Unleashing
Violence-
Wanton,
Xenophobic.
Youthquake
Zeitgeist!
© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 12:03 AM UTC
Zebras have their stripes
And lions have their pride,
Bears have their strength but
Cattle wait to die.
Doesn’t anyone see it?
Every slaughter, every ****
For in that we are united.
Going round and round,
Hardly moving
In a world of mindless entertainment.
Jerking the wheel just to make that turn,
Killing fear with thrill.
Lonely days filled with strangers
Moaning in the night,
Nothing underneath the covers,
Only leaving by daylight.
Perhaps it was warranted, but
Questions go unanswered.
Revolting sights and
Sickening sounds,
Turn your stomach upside down.
Underneath it all, the
Vanity only leads to insanity.
When humans breed infection,
X-rays “cure” the problem.
Yet the cattle breed and die.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 3:50 PM UTC
he said/begged,
make love to me just like a woman!
kiss me toe to head, linger on my neck,
trace my waist, begin at my lips, pause at my hips,
quibbles intersperse, quips and licks on eyelids,
nibble me, near me, close and closer yet
unto the glorious victorious near death experience...
whisper me sweet everythings
before during after and over again,
when you must pause to exhale, blow all their warmth
upon thy fingers and bring that warmth inside
Columbus
me with tongue and eyes,
take me slow then again,
even slower, for thy pleasure,
than execute summary judgement upon me
falsely accept, then deny, deny, deny
my every appeal to
oh my god
for anyone's mercy!
adjudge me then guilty yet again,
and to the tower take me
to drown in mine own lashing lamentations,
thy incontrovertible evidence,
mine own uncensored revelations
execute me twice,
slowly, goodly with lengthy and lovely measures
*she said, and so I shall, eventually,
do what you beseech, what you most excellently seek
but you may recall, somewhat earlier, I called out
shotgun
so you must start my dear by following
all the precise driving instructions you just stated,
and bring your GPS^, and, oh yes,
I'm waiting...*
too wit and sod this!
he gruffingly huffingly, hurrumphingly, replied,
*all hell and damnation,
treat me like a woman just once pity-please!"
*can't can't can't -
she be-witchingly cackled!
then sang to me the lyrical words of a
Nobel Prize winner!*
"***You fake just like a woman
Yes you do, you make love like a woman
Yes you do, and then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little boy**"
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
ISIS Juggernaut
Another
Bombing
Crisis
Darkens
Everyone's
Fearful
Good
Home.
ISIS'
Juggernaut
Knocking
Loud,
Malignancy
Noxiously
Odious.
Plants
Quickly
Rooting
Suicidal.
Terror
Under
Vile
Wings,
Xenophobic
Yet
Zygodactylous
Logan Robertson
4/29/2019
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 6:12 PM UTC
All the times you felt invisible
because you thought nobody
cared about you.
Do you wonder if you have
ever made someone in your life
feel the same way?
Gave up asking
how they were doing,
if they were really okay,
just because you always got the same answer.
Kept silent in the face of silence.
Let them push you away.
Made little effort to
nudge the truth
out of their reticence.
Pain can make you
quite blind;
rather oblivious to the
same feelings in others.
Tunnel vision of the soul.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 11:27 AM UTC
Apples will fall from trees and land with a thud against the earth,
but she may not like the constant beat against her chest.
Can we understand
death when we can’t
even listen to the cadence of its changing melody?
Furthermore, the fire’s always burning,
granted we aren’t sure who started it.
He insists that we should listen to his judgement without
idolizing his actions, however many would start
jumping if he had asked them to take their lives.
Killing….and
lively as we are, the world is filled with anger and the apples keep falling,
many of them smashing the grass beneath them over.. And over.
Never ending.
Our chest is tired! We
plead, yet the fire has burned even brighter and
quietly we listen to the lonely sound of it’s crackle.
Recently, I have come to understand (the earth) in her
struggle living with the life that she encompasses.
Tirelessly she listens never able to guide us or help us
understand how to help her… how to help ourselves.
Vocally, we aren’t there for each other when we should be.
Why is it that we continue to fall against the earth? Although, une
xpectedly the earth continues to catch us. “Thank
you,” I say to her, “I know we continue to fall against you. I recognize your
zeal, and hope maybe one day we will figure it out ourselves.”
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
A
Big
Complication:
Dealing
Emotions
For
Great
Heaps
Inasmuch
Jealousy
Kicks
Low
Medially
Now
Over
Passion
Quickly
Running
Strands
Triggering
Unexpected
Voices
X-Ray
Yields
Zest
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC