Best Toilers Poems

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 -...

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Topsy turvy lives,
we lead.
We rare ones,
a special breed,
not all can be.
Sunrise is sleep, 
mid-day slumber.
The moon, our luminary.
We awaken 
with lengthening shadows.
Hallway haunters are we....

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