I will worry through my armour.
Do I wait for these holes, or remove it piece by piece, while it still provides?
These plates and chains are heavy, cumbersome at times, but I've grown accustomed
to their cocoon.
Guards wrapped around my legs steady my stance when I sway in doubt.
Without them, will my knees bend too easily?
Shields on my arms dull my instincts to strike.
I'm able to tolerate elbows that jostle for my place on the ladder.
Without them, will I keep my grip without vengeance?
My helmet maintains my heat, echoes my thoughts and keeps me purposed.
In its absence, will the voices of others warm me or distract me with their hymns?
My greatest risk, unsealing the chest piece, exposing my heart; a heart that pumps 
blissfully in caged ignorance.
What will prevent the piercing of needles, let alone swords, bleeding away my care?
I dream of skin and bones hard enough to thrive in battle,
yet soft enough to be seduced in tenderness.
Is it better to await the inevitable, worry through my armour?


B. Toner November 2023

Convinced and undeterred, hope is genetic!
I appreciate how adversity catalyzes it,
But see how Hope outlives obstacles, outlives outcomes,
Despite its unproven origin,
In spite of remaining dorment between my needs and my next wish,
I know it rests in our DNA, woven into the helix, wrapped up
in joy, in pain, in resilience, waiting to be prompted,
Pull on the finest of its threads and still I can cling,
Cling to the legacy capable of stirring one heart at a time
until the mass is shaking with promise,
Born of bruises and battles, this influential response 
faces the anguish,
This gene of Hope triggered , trickles between heart beats

B.Toner Aug. 2023

King of the jungle
Ruler formed by reputation into definition
A biological profile recorded somewhere, everywhere
A majestic, golden coat housing the fatal pounce
Unrelenting, bone-crushing jaws
Merciless claws dominating prey to shreds
Dangerous royal blood in his natural reign

Caged out of context
His daily hunt all but disappeared
His deafening roar all but stifled
His wild mane all but braided

Powerful limbs no longer challenged
Inertia compelled his feline stance to casual
His hunger satisfied without conquest 
His stare is less strategic
He threatens, but measured against past expectations

Does he still believe he rules?
Do I still believe he doesn’t?



B. Toner   June 2023

I can’t put my finger on it

That which makes the eastern light’s grand 
entrance so grand
That temporary, slow motion explosion of colour
Eventually spilling over the entire landscape to
everyone’s benefit
Then, less striking through generosity

How waves of contentment partner with the hushed,
great outdoors
How the air can be so still, no leaves bristle,
no shadows sway
How it begs you to participate in this impalpable 
Then, dissipates until it’s triggered again without
calendar

Why my father grows larger than life in memory
Why his powerful hands, valid resolve and call
to care now seem unachievable
Why the colour of awe surrounds his loving 
relationships
Then, specifics elude me in my tributary,
in my attempts to imitate

B. Toner  May 2023

My words begin tied to the paper. Safe -Ordered-
Purposely placed. There, they enjoy time under tension;
surface tension where ink is clasping to treated wood.
Then, are filtered repeatedly by the reader.
Once read, I no longer claim them.
I’m simply an agent; volunteering them to dangle
loosely in the air around us.
Take the words. Rearrange them. Gravity is but one force 
holding them. Shuffle them into your language 
to extend their shelf life. Juggle them between friends.
They originate as one articulated moment.
Perspective to paper -Paper to voice -
Voice to interpretation.
I sacrifice them to a journey with no guarantees except risk.
Their return is unscheduled and unrecognizable.


B.Toner   April 2023

For me, regrets awaken late mornings
When I realize so many clouds have rolled past the horizon 
While I lie between covers 
Resting in the aftermath of slumber
Unprepared for the day’s charges 
I sweep them into corners 
Out of my footpath
Rare my dawns with vigorous intent

Why impose penance for my pace?
After all, birds begin with one single note 
Inviting their lot to harmonize gradually
They pose, they linger before first flight
Plants unfurl imperceptibly, leaning ever so slowly to the light
Their energy is internal, gradual, soundless
Even our sun creeps leisurely 
Infiltrating our shadows without sudden movement
Perhaps my rhythm is innate, necessary 
My body transitioning through natural states
Perhaps guilt need not be my ally for my lack of velocity
For early hours’ unaccomplished assignments
Perhaps I can take solace in nature’s pattern - 
Intent independent from speed
Perhaps I’ll remain longer between covers 
Resting in the aftermath of slumber

B. Toner April 2023

He didn’t say it bothered him. His breathing generously gave it away.
This September man, sensing shadows from October.
Lately, he settled comfortably into contradictions, sleeping through fireworks and frowning at sunshine.
Too fast! Precious moments needed simmering.
Agonizingly slow! No spare hours wasted in waiting.
At this point, he understood the human heart.
Unlike the youth, knocking into each other and
judging by the measure of a heart beat.
Now, he recognized context, loyalty, exceptions.
Now, no tolerance for the ignorant,
For those blind to the pain cracking over the faces of friends.
At last, he could bathe in the ripples of joy, confined to silos.
He was crusty.
Crusty, coated in melted butter.

B.Toner. March 2023

We do so many things to keep the business, the family, the relationship rolling. So many of them go unnoticed. Knowing that our acts contribute to the success can be enough for us to repeat them. So we continue in the role, unseen and unrecognized.

I’m not questioning the significance our small parts play. They are the cornerstone of big potential. “There are no small parts, only small actors” said Stanislavski. I can align my motivation with that philosophy most of the time. Although, I also like to shine, if only for a moment. Sometimes, knowing we donated in a small way feeds contentment. At other times, we need more than that to acknowledge these minor, but crucial pillars: a nod, a knowing wink, a thank you, a smile, a hug.

Most of us will participate without it. How much more enjoyable the experience when it’s identified?

Tent pegs bracing the big top,
Question mark’s round, bottom drop,
Bony knuckles and knobby knees,
Inferred clauses and silent “e”s

The silent rest beat before the song,
The fork’s second and third tongs,
Sturdy curtain rods and caster wheels,
Foamy shaving cream, banana peels,

Car tire treads and air nozzles,
Hardy hair in ears and schnozzles,
Shiny eye teeth and washer rings,
Secondhand marks on antique things,

While un-appreciation takes its toll,
Thankless assignments play big roles,
Invisibles attend to unavoidables,
Smile muscles help finance valuables.

B. Toner March 2023

This month, I’m going to exercise everyday. I’ve made statements like that regularly before today. It’s one of a long list of promises or commitments that I make to myself, only to fall short time and time again. I’ m going to stay away from chocolate cookies. I’m going to finish that novel. I’m going to be organized for tax season.

In fairness, sometimes I do succeed in sticking to goals: flossing, calling loved ones, eating a salad. In the spectrum of non-commitedness, (Is that even a word?) I most likely fall in the lower half.

I do admire those who can set a target and remain on course. They accomplish so much while they make it look easy.
What separates us in these areas of focus and perseverance? Habits? Misdirection? Genetics?
Admittedly, pondering doesn’t help me check things off my never-ending list. I wish there was a support group for “non-committers”. Then again, members would probably not follow-through with setting up regular meetings.

JUST SOUTH OF COMMITMENT 

When random moods melt granite resolve,
When grindstone bumps noses out of joint,
When straight lines are dotted, leading from point “A” to minor ‘a”,
I’m standing just south of commitment.

When goals over jubilate the starting line,
When time moves the end zone and puts a full Nelson on determination,
When talents for avoiding tarnish the golden destiny,
I’m standing just south of commitment.

When double vision causes indeterminate consequences,
When high energy is distracted by fingertip grips,
When the ladder’s first rung is seduced by inertia,
I’m standing just south of commitment.

B. Toner, March 2023

If you’ve read any of my previous posts, you know that I regularly write about my efforts to self-improve. Although expert opinions may vary, I’m not obsessed with it. I have my goals and insecurities, like many of us. Often, these influence the direction of my next project or reading. Among the numerous quests to refine myself is the aspect of striking a healthy balance between my perceived current state and my steps to the better me. How’s that for meta-cognition!
What always strikes me as funny is the difference between what I think I represent in the world and what I actually do. My voice, my physical presence and my philosophical stance are not manifested as I thought. (See previous entry “As the Mirror is my Witness”)

Perhaps other people’s interpretations are more accurate and less bias. Then again, maybe they’re just different interpretations. Do I aim to align myself closer to their vision or closer to the one I want to exhibit? For which one do I strive?
Either way, I’m a work in progress; a journey to authenticity.

Me, Myself or I

Moment to moment, I’m not who I thought I would be.
Only in hindsight do I recognize myself as who I was.
The inaccuracies: chuckle-worthy.
A canyon stretches between who I envision, who I enact.
Why am I not me?
Shadows of me unescorted by precision,
Vivid imaginings,
Lack of facts,
All merge delaying self-realization.

You, you can see me then and now.
You know context before I filter.
Your eyes on me, for me, mark reality,
Aligning me to myself.
The should be I,
The me I am.

B.Toner  February 2023