Do you recall that angst you had in your youth? It was driving you to leave home, or to get away from the familiar. Oh sure! There was a destination: higher education, a job waiting or the chance to share an apartment with friends. The desire had purpose. It was also natural, if not necessary.

This step required you to alter, even break the original relationships you had with people who grew up with you, who raised you. That growth caused a permanent change in the nature of those precious connections. I accept it’s a cycle of life. New ties are formed or change their grip. What would it be like if we try to go back? Is it even possible now that you are who you’ve become? They say you can’t go home again, but memories do make it enticing.

The Road Home is Uphill

The road home is uphill, no matter which path I choose. 
Still, I scout the routes hoping steps that 
led me away can smooth my return.
My stride altered over the years, but my memory points
remain steadfast.
Now I bend humbly. Anxious to rise above the arrogance of my
departure. I wasn't cruel. Wasn't heartless. I was self-serving 
and urgent; or so I thought.
I wish intentions in my youth could melt hearts, 
easing this homecoming - no matter the distance travelled 
- no matter the distance experienced.
Otherwise, why am I drawn back?
A moth lured to the original encounters, to the love.
So I set out to return to that semi-unknown.
There's a familiar sensation on this journey, 
matching those of my leaving.
Is this me running? As fast as I left?

B. Toner         April 2024 

When I put this piece together, I wasn’t trying to be serious. In fact, I tried throughout the process to keep it light. I’m not sure I succeeded. Having time to reflect on the final version, I have to believe it represents, in part, my journey; balancing the inevitable and vital parts of my journey, while keeping my outlook casual. I need to remind myself regularly to lighten up. To take myself less seriously.

If I look closely at where I am, how does it compare to what I dreamed? Am I disappointed? Satisfied? Often, it depends on my mood or what transpired the day of my reflection. Although, it seems the only time I attempt this prolonged gaze is when the surface is misty. Is that on purpose? Who knows. Best to just laugh it off and try again the next time. But am I hoping for a clear picture or another blurry image?

Staring Back

My mirror is coated in mist
I don't recognize what's reflected in the hazy surface
Something resembling a phantom

I wipe it clear
But this doesn't scare away the ghost staring back at me
Rather, I'm fearful of the one in the frame
Don't look him directly in the eye!
Those eyes that remained focused through muck and marvels

No, I'm more at ease in the fog
Where the truth is unclear
You know that place where circumstances are forgivable

Perhaps he sees me as the cast
I wonder, does he even see me clearly?
Is he surprised? Disappointed? Regretful?
I'm choosing to project hope
Hoping to be his twin in status

Maybe if I don't look away,
Eventually, we will pair
Whether the mirror be murky or clear

B. Toner    February 2024

He said a mouthful
A storm of sentences colliding into our courtesy
We tried to catch our breath, gasping for the right
response
But heavy words chased the air from the room

He said a mouthful
He didn’t chew on them nearly long enough
We hoped he’d swallow his pride like we swallowed
conflict
But diplomacy played no part in his diet

He said a mouthful
Too much for him to keep a tight seal
Spitting darts no one had time to dodge
We licked our wounds rather than wage a war
of tongues

He said a mouthful
Candidly, cuttingly, clumsily,
We were too shocked to buffer the ripples
Repercussions blunted the point of remediation

He said a mouthful


B. Toner. January 2024

Gravity isn't always enough to keep my feet on solid ground.
Stress rises like heat, warping my balance.
But dedication can guide this force to target.

Gravity isn't always enough to stock rain for the green.
Chemicals dissolve into mainstream, tinting nature off colour.
But restraint can filter this energy to cleanse.

Gravity isn't always enough to tie hearts together.
Pride drives loving presence into isolation.
But faith can assist this power to synchronized pulses.

Somewhere between my first and last mistake, I got sunburnt, snowed-in and salt-coated by the sea. I broke glass for emergencies and patched holes, hoping to keep walls from crumbling. I fought dutifully and repented in deep puddles of guilt. I came in first, last and kept the bench warm.

Somewhere between my first and last mistake, I cut trails down snow-covered slopes and through crystal clear waves. I provided blankets for comfort and drew blood with my sharp tongue. I was green, blue, yellow and red, all by instinct. I glossed over the scars of others and gave mine a brilliant shine.

Somewhere between my first and last mistake, I swam lakes and oceans and almost drowned in my unfounded fears. I was attacked and hugged within an inch of my life. From my imperfect frame, I pushed out tears of both sorrow and joy. I dressed up for bullshit and for honour.

Somewhere between my first and last mistake, I drove my friends crazy and drove over posted speed limits. I sang praises, shouted insults, whispered gratitude and proclaimed uncertainties. I imagined epic tales and lost my footing in the slow lane. I broke hearts and welded mine back together several times.

Somewhere between...

B. Toner December 2023

Ring around the rosie
Pockets full of dreams
When everything was possible
Now nothing's what it seems

Remember when we fell together
No thoughts at all about the weather
We gazed up at the clear, blue sky
Just counting the clouds rolling by

Ring around the rosie
Pockets full of promise
I want to whirl around again
Without a guilty conscious

Our make believe was so strong, so real
Scrapes, cuts, lightly kissed to heal
We could swing and ride, fly or fall
We imagined a world beyond it all

Ring around the rosie
Pockets full of time
Nostalgia paints that rosie glow
Still haunting the daily grime

It's not just youth or innocence alone
We played with intent, chasing the unknown
Emotional memories keeping spirits light
Anchored in yesterday, circling tomorrow, tonight

Ring around the rosie
Pockets full of dreams
Ring around the rosie
Pockets full of promise
Ring around the rosie
Pockets full of time

B. Toner November 2023    Music by B. Toner

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