Best Toiled Poems
Oh my dearest love, how longingly I recall
Amorous wink of joy, teasing zealous eyes
When you held my hand on journey of life
And never let go despite the arduous climb.
Happily you greeted what justly we toiled for,
In view of gratitude plentiful it always was.
Staying true to hallmark of your own resolve
You didn't falter when fate made bad calls.
Exuberantly you reveled in garden of roses
In purple orchids and fragrance of Jasmine
Beneath cosmic infinity wooing your fantasy,
As resolutely you held on to truth of reality.
We traveled far eying cultural renaissance
In Sistine Chapel and the Statue of David
As museums found you mesmerized by art
And paintings in Uffizi held you spellbound.
In your honor, I'll memorialize solemn oath
Lovingly etched in the temple of our hearts
Saying in your voice, there are no goodbyes
When love shall endure till the end of time.
December 14, 2018
Placed first in last letter to my beloved contest by Silent One
Placed 3rd: Strand choice S contest by Brian Strand
In the silent breathing of night,
treading through
the darkness and the hush
(A heavy band of slave)
like black ants snaking
through the forlorn distance.
Grieving with tears
Of yesterdays burning anguish.
They hum a languid song
On the fragrant breath of wind.
A haunt that invades my trembling eyes
With a thousand boundless tears
That quivers through the night.
The dreaded echoes came down the black pathway
Like a thousand men
Galloping through the sultry breeze
(Were the heartless whips that toiled)
With dumb hands,
Feeding paled pink flesh
With endless stings of cruel misery.
The stars curled around their naked feet
As they trampled the grass
Wet with lurid dew and the masked
Beds of fragrant hues
Prancing in the hallowed night.
I could feel the storming of their sorrows,
The rock of their heart
Drooping with defeat.
Despair a master to their fading hope
That sailed across their faces.
Oh those foul notes budding with despair
Branched within their eyes.
The lulling whispers of their shackles
United with their treading feet like hooves
Cloaked with heavy weariness
(It surrounded the dead of night)
I hung up my fears
For I was bright with their pain
Oh I died that day
Oh I died that day
While drifting to the helpless East
To that damp cold earth filled
With drowsy mournful Asters
Then the smell of dead men came alive
Black dogs clustered to the earth
Their children beside them with gripping hands!
Nature trail extends for miles
Surrounded by wetlands and lakes
Each step I take brings me closer
To an old plantation, where I climb the stiles
For it was here that slaves once toiled
To raise and harvest sugar cane
Their cries and moans can still be heard
And the Plantation’s magic is spoiled
Within this forest are the echoes
Of every gasp, every word
Slaves once uttered in their daily trials
In these deep woods, far from the meadows
Spanish settlers claimed this site
Where Natives suffered in their plight
Shadowy specters never kissed by sunlight
Reverberating sadness in a world void of light
Written February 19, 2020
N/A in Joseph May's “Lines to Awaken Your Muse” poetry contest, judged March 2, 2020.
Line Chosen: #4 by Robert Frost - “Whose woods these are, I think I know”
Plunging, lifting, plunging -as wind blew ashes all around -
the shovels' blades incised the cold and black encrusted ground.
Attached to shovel handles were the arms of skeletons - of men,
who pausing, hacked and wheezed; then bent and smote the dirt again.
With bruised decrepit bodies - and coerced - they struggled on
beneath a sky from which the sun for them had long withdrawn.
And seeping into nostrils came that too familiar stench
when shrieking had died out, and still - they toiled at the trench.
Perhaps they dreamed of tunnels; that the cracks within the earth
inflicted by their shovels formed a path to their rebirth.
What horror in the knowing there were no more tears to cry
or that their bodies - shoeless - might, in graves they’d dug, soon lie.
First posted 5/6/10
Entered in the '2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 8' Poetry Contest of Mark Toney
Entered Feb. 5, 2023
for 2022 Poetry Marathon Qualifiers' Final Placement Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Have I been one among the chain
of those who come to gawk, then strain
to point a finger, poke my nose
into places I don't own?
To claim I understand the pain
that's covered by the winds and rain?
One who awes and talks in rhymes,
without a glance between the lines
A stranger to a sacred shrine
ignoring reverence and the trace
of those who toiled, laid the stones,
to make this place a home?
Am I the one who stakes a claim
Who borrows someone's history?
Travels here in tourist clothes,
as if this spot were mine to own...?
Who stirs the dust and tramps the grounds,
hearing nothing, but the sound
of my own ego echoing...
Simply here to frame a spot, quickly take a selfie shot,
to prove to someone back at home
what matters not to them at all
Text someone far, who doesn't care,
that I've been here or there...?
Have I been one? So far, so near?
Never conscious while I'm here,
of those who struggled long before
The grief, the loss, long overgrown
where someone lived and made a home?
Who leads me to a crooked tree
once planted by a family
to mark a grave. Perhaps a child,
perhaps a spouse, and all the while
I smile, then carry on my day
Compelled to come....yet,
I did not own the years that tell
Nor did I own the tears that fell, ...
two hundred years ago?
I woke trembling on the threshold of dawn
as dappled sunlight through my window shone
Upon my primed canvas there had been drawn
a masculine image with finely chiseled cheekbones
What virile fantasy had I born while in flight
for my hand to have created such a dashing face
In stippled darkness of my dream-filled night,
a handsome fantasy did I dare fondly embrace
His eyes stared in wonder; tantamount to my own
No angle shielded me from their deep penetration
I held my breath, then released a soft guttural moan
as his strong hand guided mine without hesitation
Warm colors defined muscular features I painted
His dark eyes were flecked with dustings of gold
Flushed with desire, in a warm blush I was tainted
when he faintly whispered, "To have and to hold"
My palette was awash in shades of crimson. Soiled
with streaks of scarlet were my hands and gown
My brush strokes lingered on his full lips as I toiled
imagining passion's kiss, in whose depth I would drown
I could not bear the thought of tearing myself away
On and on I painted where his gentle hands led
until finally wearied from hunger, upon my bed I lay
Unsated was a craving within me, a desire to be fed
With eyes closed, I hoped to dream of him once more,
of this man who had completely captivated my heart
Come, handsome stranger. Find me as you did before
I cannot endure life if we must live it in dreams apart
I was there
To usher you into this world
Mine were the hands that cradled your little body
The face that beamed in your presence
My hands were ready to catch you when you took those first steps
I celebrated your first words
Your smile spread across my lips
When others put you down
I was the friend who stayed by your side
You were never alone
My ears
My heart
They were filled with compassion
I held your hand during your darkest hour
Mine were the shoulders
The ones strong enough to hold you
They lifted you above the deep waters
Helping you to see beyond your own borders
You realized
You dreamed of new possibilities
My hands painted the pictures
I sang the songs
Built the buildings
Knitted the clothing that warmed you
Toiled in the fields
I was in even the smallest detail
You are that important to me
I was the teacher
The grandparent
Mom
Sometimes dad
The friend
Your wife
The stranger who came along beside you
The applause as you walked across life's stage
I was every encouraging word
I was
I am
The light
The Love
The realization of who you are meant to be
I am your God
I chose to touch you with human hands
The wood was perfect.
Hammer in hand, he toiled.
Sweat trickled down his neck.
Her face was chiselled,
A perfect portrait:
The hawk-like nose,
The high cheekbones,
The wide brow.
But not her flaring eyes.
They defied him.
In exasperation, he threw the lamp,
His only source of light,
And watched the wood burn.
In the deserted cabin.
In a wooded glen forlorn,
When the fire subsided
They found his body
Long dead, carbonised and cold.
And a piece of chiselled wood
Charred and worthless.
originally written in 10/4/2016
The lake was still sleeping
a light mist rose above,
a weathered dock could be seen,
its aged wood; full of memories.
The air crisp, breeze light,
trees majestic; watching all.
Squirrels busy scampering,
as a flock of geese soared above.
Way over yonder
clear across the still lake,
shining brightly were yellow shutters,
on our cabin; our special place.
We had toiled the garden
planted yellow roses with great care,
we had painted the old wood shutters,
yellow paint; speckled our hair.
The roof we re-shingled,
one painstaking nail at a time,
we even counted the ouches;
when our hammers got out of line.
With nothing but smiles
on our weary, aching bodies,
we held hands, and went running,
into the still of the lake; giggling.
We swam out to the dock,
it was a race; he won,
my hand he took laughing;
as he quickly scooped me up.
Our toes dangled playfully
sending ripples in the lake,
as we gazed at our cabin;
yellow shutters; fresh with paint.
The trees swayed slightly
as if nodding with approval,
for our cabin by the lake,
was our private sacred jewel.
As we cuddled together
warmth filled our souls,
for our bright yellow shutters,
symbolized, our love's blossoming growth.
It was on this very dock,
air crisp, breeze light,
when he gave me a yellow rose;
and asked me to be his wife.
For miles silence reigns
For years solitude,
My heart is heavy
My spirit low
And I have a long way to go.
In life's eternal journey
I walk alone,
The night is dark
Somewhere yonder
lies my home
And I must traverse
many a silent shore.
I cannot laugh
Try as I may,
I cannot bring
myself to weep,
My joys and woes die
before they materialize.
From dawn till dusk
I have toiled often
gathering the remnants of
my broken dreams.
Before a hope is built
It crumbles down,
Before a wish is fulfilled
Frustration overwhelms me.
I am helpless
I drift through life,
As many a time I think to live
As many a time I die!
Contest: 'Faces of loneliness' by frank herrera
We loved the land
We tilled the earth, under sun we toiled
We pledged our souls, to nature’s whim
The King of France none to pleased
We took the sacraments
We held our faith, mournful to fates embrace
The British demanded a new oath we take
And scalped we were, both sides did partake
Our villages burned, our fields afire
Our woman and children, in hunger perished
We feared Monckton, a hunter of death
And from him, to ships hold, deported at best
We preyed to Canada, to lend us a hand
Evangeline an angel of our land
The darkened forests, to where we fled
Became bloody in battles, and turned to red
For Redcoats wandered in search of scalps
As Father Le Loutre preached unheavenly deeds
He was bloodthirsty and in skirmishes his evil flourished
His Mikmaq warriors helped rivers flow to blood
We lived along the rivers edge
We fought them all, to no one did we pledge
As serfs we served, to whom did rule
In the end, the forest sang our quiet eulogy
The vessels sailed from Halifax
With their human cargo of Partisans
Off to the West Indies, and a new land
Disease triumphed where Lord Laurence failed
And so the voyage, onward went
The traditions of Grand Pre, to Louisiana was lent
And there they settled, peace at last
As angels of their battles, in sacrifice did rest
A traveling newcomer
explorer of worlds
adventurer
across the seas
from galaxies a far
new universes
such beauty and wonder
a grand tour
earth seems like a second home
breathtaking landscapes, scenery
diversity
birds and bees
flowers everywhere
the human species there interesting
after a while they started though
to die
in the tens
then thousands
then millions
he was sad
he began so see
he was the cause
of this horrible plaque
unlike humans
he had 9 hearts and
24 souls
he toiled
day and night
being far more advanced
he provided them the cure
then he became perplexed
they seemed to wish death
like lemmings
some species
worship death
embrace it
dance to fairytales
evolution is not
for everyone
Covidiots
These hands have known the joys of a boy’s youthful play
Also known the farm work that was required each and every day
These hands pulled the weeds from the fields where we toiled
Laboring under a blazing sun; leaving these hands rough and soiled
These hands held the hand of my lady as I asked her to share my life
Held her by my side the day she became my wife
These hands reveal the ravages; of weather’s savage breathe
Held a knife in the flowing blood; in a beasts ultimate death
Hands that held many a hammer; swung too hard; swung too long
Time has taken its toll on these old hands; hands that once were so strong
These hands proudly rocked the cradle as I watched my babies sleep
Held them closely to my chest to calm some hurt causing them to weep
These hands gently pushed a child’s swing; as my children laughed aloud
Held a daughter's hand walking down the aisle, made her father proud
These hands have known the heat of a sculptor’s flaming torch
Held brush and pallet while painting out upon the porch
Cradled my pen as I spread the ink in the poetry that I write
Ink that is sometimes spread well into the night
The island birds have done their work,
Fed their young, and now take roost
In swaying palms with the setting sun.
I too have filled my sunny day
With mundane chores, I've toiled away
Until this magical twilight hour...
When I drink my tea and wander
Over reams of creative poetry.
Your romantic words have inspired me...
Let me fly freely... through the galaxy.
Though evening news causes much disdain
Your brilliant words bring delight again.
Romance blooms from pen to paper
In such vivid and fragrant floral bouquets.
So many forms and varieties I am astounded,
I can't take my weary eyes away!
The night is virginal and humid
As Jasmine releases her sultry scent...
Romance me with your tales of love
Which I respect as heaven sent.
As I read poems half through the night
They color dreams in dawn's twilight.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Daddy picked his cotton
Six scorched days a week
Sundays were sunny gleeful
Cotton candy I held in hand
He took me to the county fair
Pink and pretty as could be
Balloons hid my child's tears
for the days he toiled away
My daddy loved to toss me
high up in the air
he'd yell, I love you
My pink beautiful butterfly
Ferris wheels and chocolate pies
Sundays truly I
the pink happy butterfly
One day the balloons all popped
Daddy grasping heart
Tumbled to the ground
there are no more
Candy cotton dreams
only
Somber clown
tears