Best Tolbert Poems
my eyes tried to tell you
golden and round the setting sun peeks
over sloping mountaintops
while cobalt shadows inch into the rust-brown crevices
like a silent blanket smothering the light of day
the moon will be full
or so they say on the six o’clock weather report
there is no sign of rain until the clouds reappear
and the ring around the moon squeezes harder
you wanted to see the rising moon after sunset
and i laid both at your feet
while watching your wide-eyed innocence
as if the circus tent was filled with elephants
it was the only show in town
until i hugged you just before you cried
and we talked all through the rising of the moon
about old songs and dead poets
i searched for words to comfort you
but it was darker than the moon could illumine
and my words were thin as tin foil
though my eyes tried to tell you
tolbert
swan song
.
you made my world bigger
then smaller
then so large
i did not know east from west
as i stood so alone
in the middle of desire
and that proverbial non-place…
wantonness
.
i showed you boats on the water
and vivid red roses
while you took me to the land of lincoln
and made me feel
the hope of craving
.
we touched grafted roses
with bougainvillea vines
entwined, inseparable
.
i often wonder where you are
breathing silently
some nights in pennsylvania
sitting alone in a wicker chair in spain
or typing mercurially at your
ergonomically contoured keyboard
in every province of canada
.
i know you like to dance by the water
on warm southern california nights
(you told me without meaning to)
.
yet when the doors of evening close
and lights are turned off
i can hear your breathing
musical, melodious, wonderfully
you
.
because of the desires
of your heart
your passion sounds sweeter
than the splashing cascades of
powerful water splashing, falling
in snoqualmie
.
laughter is easy with you
.
when my tongue glides
across your trembling belly
is it hopefulness, excitement, passion?
.
is it the wandering thoughts
of your mind
hoping the roadmap of your body
will lead to hills and valleys?
.
is it
where the combustion of craving
ignites into a flaming torch of admiration?
.
my wish, for you
is the rising of your
innermost desires will be
felt as comfort and consolation
.
so today may be regenerated
as a beginning
of wishes come true
.
©~tolbert~
her eyes
.
her eyes stole me away
the look
distant
engaging
darting
but always blue
.
sometimes
i wondered what they had seen
how such beauty could
see pain
suffering
shed tears
.
i looked
she looked
we saw the future
two glances dancing
a collision course across a table for two
while our eyes
made us one
tolbert
sylvia
***this concerns several books I once owned.
Some were written by Rod McKuen, others by
Richard Brautigan, others by others…***
i discovered that words are
like some decadent dessert
too small to cause harm but too big
to have a second helping
in the margins of tattered books
were scribbled lines i hoped to someday share
with someone who still had tears in her eyes
from last night’s disappointment
for years i had filled my bible margins
with illegible scribbling
some printed words i had crossed out and rewritten
but never those of rod mckuen
or the bible
today i grew older simply by watching
days roll in like a warm ocean breeze
waves taste the sand so slowly
and so it is with rod mckuen
but he was going nowhere
in his rush to cross over some
imaginary line of demarcation
i once owned many books
hundreds aligned to make room to make room
imaginary for new things to be pushed aside
i’m still yearning for a phone booth
where i can make a call for two bits
i’ll always wonder if maybe
i had called sylvia plath if she would have answered
there was no need
her answer had already preceded the question
© tolbert
artists brush
i have painted you
with the pointed brush of an artist
creating every line and detail of your body
before finishing the colors
now
I have laid aside my paint-filled brush
realizing that i could never compliment your beauty
with pastels on canvas
i filled volumes with words
intending to tell you how much you mean to me
by building paragraphs on pages
before adding any pause or punctuation
i've now laid aside my pen of passion
knowing that my words would fall like roses to your feet
and cause you to blush
to even more beautiful shades of red
i've listened to love songs in your presence
and watched in awe as you conquered days of uncertainty
followed with a joyful heart as you strolled into new territories
unafraid
i've fallen in love with you so many times before today
but today i just wanted to say again
it's easy to love you
if i seem like a child in the presence of his hero
it's because i am
it's because i love you
all over again today
© tolbert
It's been twenty (20) years going on forever since I'd been bullied around. It seemed that this devastating event would never go away; it was going to haunt me for the rest of my natural life. On that morning in September 1998 ("Raw Is War " and "WWF Break Down: In Your House") at Thomas Tolbert Elementary School, I was eating breakfast until a group of then-kids circled me and then they put me down on the ground. Those then-kids then started beating me up, making fun of me because I had autism, because I was in Special Education, and because they felt like it. They made me cry, they started mocking me, and made fun of me for their entertainment, their amusement, and for their self-gratification. I'm still thinking about what those then-kids did to me back at Thomas Tolbert Elementary School every day for the last seventeen-and-a-half (17 1/2) going on eighteen years. They'd broken me, they took every ounce of my self-respect and my dignity, and almost everything else. I'm still haunted by the beating I had endured, even to this day. Those then-kids back in the fifth grade had devastated me by beating me up for no reason, and I will not forgive them. And not only these then-kids from September 1998 ("Raw Is War" and "WWF Break Down: In Your House") hurt me, they did it publically, they did it on purpose, and they made a complete mockery out of me, and I won't forgive them for beating me up. They don't deserve my forgiveness and I hope they rot and burn in the giant pit of inferno for the rest of their so-called "fabulous"/miserable lives. I hope the same thing doesn't happen to anyone else.
Dogging the Walk
by Odin Roark
Yes
Like so many things
Humans got that wrong too
Check it out
To walk a dog
Suggests
A tether with a human first
Dog second
Like walking a kid
Or grandma
Or pouting mate
All have tethers (gender be damned)
A connection putting the walker
Up front
Leading the walked behind
Occasionally loping to the side
Depending on sobriety or age
Now as to dogs
The walker’s tether extends
Forward
Pulling
Jerking
At times
Jettisoning not the walked
But the walker
So next time
Get it right
Say it accurate
Walking the dog
Wrong
Dogging the walk
Right
Earth to Mars
This is the Tolbert Report
Signing off for today
More of earth’s backward living tomorrow…
Assuming they survive
everybody’s dying
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
in this world we call insane
and nobody knows it,
‘cause it’s part of the game
and there is no resurrection
once we fall down from that cross
and there is no institution
to redeem our final loss
and there is no cotton bandage
that can stop the bleeding wound
and no time for looking backwards
‘cause we are already doomed
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
and we’re smiling all the while
we just never realize it
we just line up single file
and the explosion of that bullet
bursts across the nighttime sky
and the mushroom cloud filters down
and the laughing people cry
and there is no restoration
once our cities tumble down
and there is no consolation
for no prizes can be found
and there is no rhyme or reason
that can color over dead
and no time for looking backwards
to the words that Jesus said
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
and some have sold their souls
and everybody knows it
after sifting through the coals
and there is no hope for another time
the stainless sword just fell
there is no care for your fellow man
as he stumbles into hell
and there is no constitution
that politicians sign
for the sign’s already written
and sealed since the start of time
and everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
though none can answer why
and there are no super patriots
who storm across the sky
and there is no firm foundation
to hold your footing down
and there is no more destitution
past the hunger sound
and there is no vegetation
to keep a man alive
he should have eaten the bread of life
if he wanted to survive
and no time for looking backwards
to the way it could have been
that time has passed and satan’s tongue
has pierced the hearts of men
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
God, take this pain from me
this sight of annihilation
this staining of the sea
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
the anguish is too real
even a blind man who has darkened eyes
no longer can conceal
that window of his inner soul
which holds the picture clear
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
my friend…
the time is here
tolbert
th’ dust never really settled
th’ dust never really settled
on those backroads of virginia
yesterday past
and though times were rough
and winter brought only snow and cold
there was still a warmth
in th’ house heated only by kerosene lamps
and patchwork quilts
swirlin’ dust
can’t be found beneath th’ packed snow
and th’ dust never really settled
chocolate mud first formed crators
then valleys
an’ th’ pourin’ rain brought only wet feet,
soaked heads, runnin’ noses
an’ wishes that a doctor cared
for those who needed
but couldn’t return the favor
with anything more than ‘thank you’
country doctors
never found their way to th’ country
thanksgiving cornbread ushered toyless christmas
th’ new year replaced th’ old
rain melted th’ snow
and thunder yelled, seemingly only at me
but th’ dust never really settled
though thick colorful quilts were removed
and with them th’ memories of numb fingers
pokin’ in bottomless pockets of kneeless trousers
with grumblin’ bellies
children went off to bed
but th’ dust never really settled
th’ difference between a tear and a laugh at bedtime
came more from th’ stomach than from th’ heart
and th’ coolness of th’ night was still
but for th’swirling dust
’cause th’ dust never really settled
on those backroads of virginia
yesterday past
© tolbert
she
she walked along the silken shore
crocheting thoughts and even more
morning could not unravel her
men’s lustful eyes freely traveled her
she cleaned the windows of my soul
laying together between satin sheets
she took my life and rhymed for me
those lines which had always dangled free
and in her hands i could be
an emperor of my destiny
hers was a life so freely lived
she had so much that she could give
a lady of the pauper’s dreams
more suited for the feast of kings
she played the game like none before
…gave her all and still had more
she walked amidst the forest light
where her creator marveled at the sight
surely pleased at what he had done
…defining beauty for everyone
while colors wept in a crimson sky
it was that time, early dawn
when sailors cast their anchors down
and the grace of morning gained control
as i watched her smile freely unfold
and purity revealed her milk-white skin
she enjoyed a life so freely lived
and had so much that she could give
a lady of the pauper’s dreams
more suited for the feast of kings
her knight bowed slowly to the floor
while the pawn crept out the waiting door
she played the game like none before
never caring about the final score
‘til at last she laid beneath the forest trees
and felt the gentle flowing breeze
her golden hair, a babbling brook
with soothing sounds at each turn it took
only rainbow-washed colors could compare
she answered to the distant sound
of a shepherd’s harp placed on the ground
and walked behind the towering clouds
waving goodbye to her admiring crowds
when nature brought her to her knees
oh, some crowds you can never please
til at last they laid her body down
and pulled away her tarnished crown
pushed a smile where there was a frown
and placed her with the famous clowns
and it rained
© tolbert
circles of tears
she sat in her closet wrapped up like a ball
wading through old letters containing darkened secrets
reading wrinkled notes and looking through faded photographs
that were left to be forgotten
she tried to forget the haunting memories
that invaded her sleep
the familiar faces buried in her mind
that never freed her from the feeling of being watched
i look for her now when darkness quiets my heart
wishing i had never come across the note
bearing her name scribbled at the bottom
beside the stain of dry circles of tears
oh, the memories we dreamed to someday have
yet she was finally overcome by the last one
and now i am left holding it
she should not have gone on that cold november day
now i clench the memories like a wilted bouquet of dried brown roses
faded like dreams often do
i could have said goodbye if only i had known she was leaving
taking with her the bundle of dreams
drowning in her circles of tears
@ tolbert
purple bowl in the window
he didn’t like city buses spouting black smoke,
park benches overtaken by pigeons,
or towns with straight, one-way streets.
he didn’t care for department stores featuring girls
with plastic smiles
or big-nosed politicians smoking short, fat cigars.
he was raised in the south
and chewed words longer than originally intended.
he didn’t like lemons
or the purple bowl in the window of the hardware store.
monday through friday was sufficient
and then the weekend came—
complete with the quiet of silence.
he could hear the void in his heart
like a glass of undisturbed water…
or the sound of the sun rising in the east.
barren and hushed—
the purple bowl in the window reminded him of his life—
yet he could not hear the melody of the carnival.
sometimes he dreamed of squeezing yellow lemons
into the purple bowl but that would be fruitless;
the bowl was hollow, the lemons bitter…just like tomorrow.
@ tolbert
march’s door
what remains when seasonal flowers wilt
and there is no chocolate left on your lips?
it seems we have only the winter sky
void of shooting stars or falling rain
and it is cold when morning crawls out
from the dark solitude of night
i remember when laughter marinated
and at days end it was rich and full
but when i wonder what is left of the day
i realize i can no longer hear the chatter of laughter
nor smell the flowers
or taste the chocolate
there was no laughter after the flowers wilted
and darkness fell like shutters on a cold window
perhaps i will choose to die alone
when march closes it’s heavy door
snow will come and go
taking the white to unknown places
perhaps there I will taste the cold water
I so long thirsted to know
@ tolbert
white punctuation
where did the minutes go?
we held hands and laughed at nothing
because nothing mattered
as we traveled into the safeguard of night
darkness was a friend
dressing us like a single wool blanket
pulling us together at the shoulders
tugging at our hearts
there…
basking in warmth
co-mingling tears defined us
we wanted to blend with the sea
but chasing foaming water
and skinny-legged sandpipers
went the way of retreating waves
and we chased the nighttime fog
until our weary bodies had fallen
overhead gulls caught swirling breezes
slicing through the darkness
like white punctuation
on a sky filled with paragraphs left for interpretation
and as quickly as they appeared they were gone
like minutes of our lives
we traveled light, allowing for an open door
and when gulls squawked as if mocking the burdens that we bore
it seemed that their freedom was a beckon call
and as you looked back over your shoulder, i waved.
perhaps we had not learned in our youth what we now know
about sandcastles and ocean waves
the darkness of drooping nighttime skies
and white punctuation separating words that really matter.
we were careful that we did not step on sand dollars
and that wave-polished driftwood
could tell a story about where it had been
your hands were warm, even on winter nights
your lips comforting and always inviting
the ebb and flow of the moment lingered
and was both changing and unchanging
sharing borrowed kisses while standing in cold ocean water
were moments
stolen and hidden away,
moments never lost and yet somewhere in time
they lost us
memories are gathered through moments,
stored in special places of the heart,
then later retrieved
memories are born
in times of white punctuation
© tolbert
march weeps for humanity
i drew a sketch of march
number three on my calendar
shaded orange and brown leaves
and freedom,
walking away like a dejected soldier
me, with a tear in my eye
i never pretended to be an artist
my art was merely seen
from my eyes
looking into others
and yet when you turned away
i could only lay my brush aside
march is a hard month to sketch
with corpulent globes
and stick-like, lifeless mannequins planted
like three crosses on golgotha
soldiers with weapons sneer at their shallow victory
sadly my palette is touched with crimson
march knows only pain
as soldiers die in faraway fields
and children depart this life
no longer hearing hunger in their swollen bellies
where did we go wrong?
march is an order given from those who
refuse to march themselves
never again on my calendar
i drew a sketch of march
black and white, with faded leaves
and faded memories of what freedom once was
@tolbert