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Clerihew Au Jus

Poetic delicacies,

Chilled haiku sake,

Sautéed clerihew au jus,

Free-range limericks

Baked to perfection,

Footle fries,

Yum!

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The above poem is known as an Epulaeryu, a poem that is entirely about food. It has seven lines with a grand total of thirty-three syllables. The meter of the poem is set so that it is, 7/5/7/5/5/3/1.

Copyright © 2018 Mark Toney | All rights reserved

Learn more | Epulaeryu

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Football

Which ball?

Your call

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The above Poem is known as a "Footle," a two-line poem that consists of 2 syllables In each line.   It is generally written to be light and witty.

Copyright © 2018 Mark Toney | All rights reserved

Learn More | Footle

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Turtle Hurdles

Baby sea turtles

Face huge hurdles

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The above poem is known as a Six-Word Couplet, consisting of 2 lines each, 3 words per line (any number of syllables) & the last word of each line must rhyme (aa).

Copyright © 2018 Mark Toney | All rights reserved

Learn More | Couplets

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hurricane-michael-track-path-category-4-satellitegif-0d0ccd4e07b9819b

Hurricane Michael

I am a monster
I have to be obeyed
beware of my wrath

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The above poem is known as a haiku, a type of poem that paints a mental image with a short amount of words & a set number of syllables per line.

Copyright © 2018 Mark Toney | All rights reserved

Learn More | haiku

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infinity

my muse and I - riding on the coattails of infinity

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The above poem is known as a "Monoku," a type of poem which is made up of a single horizontal line consisting of seventeen syllables or less. Traditionally considered as a haiku writing, Monoku appeared as an independent style of poetry in the 1970s. The first letter should not be capitalized.

Copyright © 2019 Mark Toney | All rights reserved

Learn More | Monoku

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Quotable Quotes

 

"Poetry is an act of peace" ~Pablo Neruda

“The poet is the priest of the invisible.” ~Wallace Stevens

"Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance" ~Carl Sandburg

"To be a poet is a condition, not a profession" ~ Robert Frost

“A poet can survive everything but a misprint.” ~Oscar Wilde

 “Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power." ~Paul Engle

“I would define ... the Poetry of words as The Rhythmical Creation of Beauty.” ~Edgar Allan Poe

“It is a test [that] genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.” ~T. S. Eliot

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~Top 100 Famous Poets Ever~

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Cycle of Seasons (a haiku series)
by Mark Toney

Cycle of Seasons

vernal equinox
pollen's proliferation
spring's rebirth affirmed

busy bees buzzing
beautiful birds building nests
winters gloom erased

seeds take root
blossoms bloom-birdsong elates
spring nears its end

summer solstice
verdant landscape-sandy beach
families frolic

summer showers
heat and humidity reign
sunlight lingers

temperatures lag
cheerful chirping of crickets
summer's last gasp

autumnal equinox
turning leaves-migrating birds
autumn morning chill

leaf peeping pastime
harvest cornucopia
nighttime lingers

fall's first killing frost
season of melancholy
cold of winter near

winter solstice
bare trees and hibernation
don't risk bleeding lips

gardens lie fallow
mice attempting entry
long, cold nights

snowfall melts
winter gives way to spring
first mosquito bite

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Poetry notes:
6/3/2018

Poetry form:  Haiku

Copyright © 2018 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

I decided to write a series of haiku (3 haiku per season) chronicling the "Cycle of Seasons." My intention was to simply include the 12 haiku in one poem. When it came time to post, I thought it might be too busy having all 12 in one poem, so I created 4 haiku to represent each season. Now I've included all 12 haiku in one poem, as I originally intended and now prefer. Now you know the method to my madness 🙂

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Favorite Poems & Poets | December 2019

 

December Morning in the Desert

Alberto Ríos - 1952-

The morning is clouded and the birds are hunched,
More cold than hungry, more numb than loud,

This crisp, Arizona shore, where desert meets
The coming edge of the winter world.

It is a cold news in stark announcement,
The myriad stars making bright the black,

As if the sky itself had been snowed upon.
But the stars—all those stars,

Where does the sure noise of their hard work go?
These plugs sparking the motor of an otherwise quiet sky,

Their flickering work everywhere in a white vastness:
We should hear the stars as a great roar

Gathered from the moving of their billion parts, this great
Hot rod skid of the Milky Way across the asphalt night,

The assembled, moving glints and far-floating embers
Risen from the hearth-fires of so many other worlds.

Where does the noise of it all go
If not into the ears, then hearts of the birds all around us,

Their hearts beating so fast and their equally fast
Wings and high songs,

And the bees, too, with their lumbering hum,
And the wasps and moths, the bats, and the dragonflies—

None of them sure if any of this is going to work,
This universe—we humans oblivious,

Drinking coffee, not quite awake, calm and moving
Into the slippers of our Monday mornings,

Shivering because, we think,
It’s a little cold out there.

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