Best Toughened Poems
RETREAT TO HEED OUR HONEST DEEDS
Two old oak trees weathered by winds and rain
with fallen leaves, branches and toughened bark
to shield a core of grandeur, and sustain
the wisdom borne to see the light from dark.
Two noble men aware of twilight time
both face evil world with courage and grace
Love and Nature gifts each, a life sublime
all standing with courage none can erase.
Each rooted within mother earth's great fold
weathering this world's darkest raging storms
images show lives lived regally and bold
tho' existing in weakened earthen forms.
With words of wisdom written in our seeds
we seek retreat to heed our honest deeds.
22nd June, 2018
T.J Grén & Robert Lindley
Feeling the desolation, of smothering air
Hemmed in by crowds; the obliqueness of fear
Throng of the city and no sight of the sun
Incessant noise and the desire to just run.
And I drive.
Arterial routes clogged by metal and wheels
Schizophrenic drivers living others ideals
Neon and lights sizzling the sides of the streets
Marketing signage, greed’s consumer receipts.
And I drive.
White picket fences, roses, and manicured lawns
Ridiculous box housing, erected for ludicrous pawns
Playgrounds, big supermarkets, cafes and parks
Sprawling suburbia with its pools built by sharks.
And I drive
Warehouses dispensing the needs of the hordes
Industrious factories like cash castles of lords.
Sawmills busily feeding more desecration of land
Refuse collection sites completely sterile and bland.
And I drive.
Ten-acre barons on frivolous bundles of dirt
Escaping urbanity in the unproductive outskirts.
Postage stamp fields supporting ponies and kids
While toffee nose parents sit in ultra posh digs.
And I drive
Paddocks of cattle dispersed through productive farmland
Shiny new tractors with men toughened and tanned
Marshmallow hay bales pimple the face of the ground
Irrigators urinate on earth until drowned.
And I drive.
Magnificent mountains covered in beckoning trees
Clear running streams and whispering breeze
Wild flowers gently waving as robins flit all around
Radiant true colours and smoothing calm sounds.
And yes I am home.
I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,
I have heard the tales of horror, from my dark skinned foes.
I have heard the tales of terror, from others who became my friends.
And I have walked with a dark skinned woman of their tribe.
We walked in the beauty of her courage, together. Tearless.
Tearless we both were as she spoke, for tears, only gods could cry for her.
I am a Red Skin dog.
And yet we walked together and we talked – together, fearless,
I and this swaying ebony sapling, sprung from the roots of my foes tribe.
We talked of the pitiless reality of that life she left behind, of that time
That she has left, far, far behind, like a useless scar
That has toughened over. And made her stronger.
I learned from this daughter of my foes
That true courage is never fearless, but always stronger. Victorious,
Stronger she was by far, to this Red Skin dog
Than the thousand sons who died, in her honor. So they say. Ridiculous,
But I have heard the balance of their sins.
And for all the tales I have heard from those angry young men, and their vengeful fathers
Her horror was a thousand times more sinister. A thousand times more callous.
Horror took up residence in her home but never in her heart.
But for others, I cannot speak.
“…splinters and bursting fragments…in my mind
Ai! Tearing! Memory of tearing flesh, swallowing tears and mucus, blood and bile
…bruising and ripping garments…off my body
…filthy, familiar hands tearing at my dress…
…my legs split and broken like a wild pig slaughter, my screams smashed from my lips,
With the butt of a rifle, just used to kill a Red Skin dog…
Aieee! Clean this floor mama, mop up this spew!
It cannot be mine!
This child is not mine!
It is not mine! It is the devils own creation born in hell fire!
Born in my death!
Aieee! I am dead, I cannot be alive.
I am dead and the Red Skin dogs have eaten my corpse.
Those spirits in their wingless chariot flew over the land and sea, to rescue me?
Rescue me from that black devil who said he was like Jesus to me.
I thought you were my uncle-brother…
Who else could have found us here?
Hidden away from the Red Skins and their Wingless Angels.
Only you my uncle-brother
Only you could have found us
Only you could have killed us.
And now the progeny of your evil deed suckles at my breasts
As I lie dead in the home of those Red Skin dogs you fought.”
I
I knew a time when my sister, tall and fair
with her sage sense of humor, dull and non-existent
Seemed positively,
metallic, blessed with flowing shackles, a gift, extended only to me.
Limiting my growth past 8 years, haunting my dreams until age 21
always advising her younger sis, to teary boredom
“Do as I say”, “whereso’er I may”
Lend me your shoe to prove my superiority.
By night or day,
I am your stone Buzzard and I will pick your bones
II
This I suffered
The rainbow might as well have been between us,
For the roses lost their petals long ago
I can no longer feel their thorns, my toughened skin
Yet lately when I turn to cry for you,
The pain is far greater than I should bear
For (you) seep, from my tear ducts, a bloodless water driblet
Injury that keeps finding its way out
Purging the likes of you
In twin tissues
III
Infuriates me.
Each night from my pillow writhed
Come darkened silhouettes of your pigtails
I inhale one, in each nostril,
just so I can blow you away
Are you a sister of another mister?
My tormenter, my thumb umbrella
Cleanse me from your sticky sight
Allow my legs to find that gentle breeze called freedom
Before the very bone that we share dies
Making us look upon our mirrors
To find the frozen cordial face
As we pretend to plant, a history, of fond remembrance
When we are but plowing, our indignations in the ground
IV
Unbeknownst
I knew a time when my sister, tall and fair,
Sat braiding her curly brown hair
Finding me sleeping, without nary a sound
Wrapped her tight braid, around and around
Laughing as my life was slipped from sight
Dragging me constantly, round that night
So what if I, but a babe in skin
Was found by Dad, in the playpen
Hence, since, even now, my skin, crawls
Afraid of the hair in red overalls
Voices bottled up, far away…out of reach
I still hear them, echoing in my brain
I try not to believe the fear—the disdain
So long I have avoided their gaze,
But here they are again, at a distance—
All ablaze!
I toughened my shell that night,
From the amplified words drenched in my hands
I cried so many tears for no words came
Unionized by grief and frustration,
How could I ever embrace such abandon?
I thought I could recognize by the fruits
As they were right before my eyes
But within their very cores,
Tears blur the rotten cries
The very words and deeds unspoken—untold
The very truth you tamper and mold
As fists clench—as confused youth look on!
He fashioned you with gold!
I hear gleeful harsh warnings—poetry—of the collateral damage of my brothers
Running up and down the streets—rampant to get at others
I try to see the beauty in every single shade
But now, all I can do is pray
Voices bottled up, far away…out of reach
I still hear them, echoing in my brain
I try not to believe the fear—the distain
So long I have avoided their gaze,
But here they are again, at a distance—
All ablaze!
All I can do I can do is pray
All I must do is pray
As the fumes of the anger light up today
Destroying all trapped inside
Splitting the atoms of our faith
I promise you will fall!!!
How gleeful you all are!
I promise the unity is all a dream
Nothing’s like it seems
Inside, I feel blood boiling, but I cringe
Refusing to add to the chaos
My voice box bludgeoned by their fears
Replaced with stranger’s tears
Too long have I avoided my gaze
In the mirror showing nothing but the hardened
Unable to recognize the rot within
I stay…I pray
Until true words heal and answers free
And the rest I leave in the hands that see
Here they are again
Within me, around me
Surrounding me
Frozen—cold… unfeeling, BOLD.
He fashioned us with gold
He fashioned us with gold
Quite Fragile
Quite fragile is the trusting breast
that gives completely all its faith
with belief in human goodness
that offers rather than it takes.
Easily it can be shattered
like crystal on a concrete floor
precious blood tie that is splattered
destroyed innocence at the core.
Quite fragile is the trusting smile
that goes behind the stormy clouds
at sight of evil deeds so vile
or angry words from angry mouths.
Fragile things need special caring.
Some with the soul are only felt.
Love, faith, loyalty and sharing,
cause even toughened hearts to melt.
10/16/17
Only three of us now who knew
both sets of our grandparents.
The three of us, 96, 94 and 88,
how much time have we left?
There are sepia photos from the
old, first Brownie cameras, a few
portraits of some from a bit later,
all still, silent, as they were not in life.
Being the oldest, I recall two great-
grandmothers, albeit vaguely,
one only in a darkened bedroom,
the other short, chubby, with the
horn she put to her ear to listen.
My mother’s father, Grandpa Jones,
studied his Bible lessons every day, but
he died when Dan and I were little.
Who but we three now remember the
stern but kindly mother of my dad?
Grandma Pope had endless patience
teaching my small hands to make jam,
can tomatoes, make pie crust and bread.
She had an infectious laugh which sent
tears rolling down her cheeks.
She let me go alone to
the bakery to buy penny rolls.
Grandpa Pope first showed me a keyboard
and named the keys. An accomplished
pianist and organist, who had worked
for Chickering Pianos, he didn’t play
often any more, as he had toughened his hands
in the factory where he worked during
the Depression, but when he played
everyone was completely entranced.
My mother’s mother, Grandma Jones,
was Boston proper, a wonderful seamstress
and seemingly stern, but very loving.
I often would crawl into her bed at night.
When I had mumps she made me hot chocolate.
She would be sure I had hat and gloves
and take me to lunch at Jordan Marsh.
We did endless puzzles in her sitting room.
So much more to these people than
ever can be seen in a photograph.
Even this poem only scratches the surface.
The love, quirks, personalities are missing.
I suppose, some day, my descendants
will look at pictures of Doug and me
and wonder what kind of people WE were
and what WE really were like.
Week after week I can hear the laughter
echoing throughout the old tilled field
I can feel the patter of feet along with the dust
rubbing upon my toughened orange skin
The rains have come and my bed has become muddy
the laughs are getting softer as each day passes
I can see others carried away
but why not me
I may not be as big as my brothers or sisters
but I am perfect
not a blemish upon me
but here I sit
almost all alone left to rot.
Off in the distance I hear a little voice
"Mommy all these pumpkins are too heavy "
"No mommy that one is ugly"
I hear her getting closer
pick me. please please pick me
Then I see her....the most beautiful sight I have ever seen
Her big caramel eyes, staring right at me.
She swoops down and cradles me in her arms.
"Look mommy I found one"
"no it's not too small"
" It is just right"
My heart smiles as I sit overlooking her.
Here on this fairy princess night stand.
Ashes waft over the meadow
a jet stream of sorrow,
beckoning the widow to the
edge, down to the river.
Contented epoch, at the
creek where the wolves run,
he lived and laughed.
We watched the bright blue
stars foxtrot across the milky
way, a midnight indigo quilt
shivering with light.
Mountain men whose
toughened hands cradle their
violin and mouth harp. Music
soared amidst craggy
chiseled countenance.
We listened to the chaste
screech of a hawk, the forlorn
cry of a mountain cat,
soft snuffling of a bear,
watery splash of a fish.
You and I waltzed in the
meadow; no music needed
other than the love song that
pulsed in our hearts.
Can I have this dance for
the rest of my life?
Together it seemed so…
right,
wrong,
simple,
eternal,
joyful,
lonely,
sad…
...happily ever after?
No.
Time enough for us to love,
laugh, share, be silly, fight,
forgive, and cry?
To seethe and despair?
Yes.
Trisha Sugarek from
Butterflies and Bullets
My heart is old in love years
the flesh not as supple
There has been a hardening
brought on by years of toil
years of care
a heartache or two
or maybe more than a few
have made it quite callous...
My heart is old in love years
and yet...
there is a soft spot in my heart
a tender place
where the flesh is young and strong
beating along
swathed in oxygenated flow
not toughened by age
or hardened by rage...
It is soft
It is warm
It is moist
and fresh
virbrant and alive
full of love...
Yes, there is a soft spot in my heart
for.....you
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Analysis read—and wronged—and pulled
Lulled into our idealistic mess
Words no longer ours but hung distress
Farced in carnality—they are ruled
Soundness remains what we will believe
And all else is but tethered nonsense
Clinched tightly in unfriendly absence
Overcome in overwrought relief
The judges judge on behalf of tongue
When ears and eyes close achingly tight
And perhaps in woe we find them right
For witches sought and bound must be hung!
Lower than the softened dirt that cures
Where worms in halves blindly come to eat
The higher crush with tormented feat
And the suns scorch what is left of hers
Answers never tried—and cured to hide
They look to superior sources
The rotten are the strongest forces
Ripened and toughened with bequeathed pride
-Iambic Tetrameter
Contest: Metrical verse
Sponsor: Giorgio Veneto
Laura Breidenthal
"Le vent se leve, il faut tenter de vivre."
"The wind is rising! We must try to live."
-Paul Valery
Feel the gust that flows unnoticed!
Hear the subdued growths of air
That grow like a nearing beast
Ferocious, with a wild glare
For the wind is rising.
The glorious power of nature
That can awe yet make fear -
A spectacle of eternal dreams
With pace, approaching near
The wind is rising.
Lo! It comes with a sudden flow
That takes with it whatever resists,
Through the oak, over the hills
Beyond the boundary of all limits;
The wind rises.
Behold its might! Over dark meadows
It flows, causing the grass to dance
Now here, now there, uncontrollable
It vanishes in the moment of a glance;
The wind has risen.
None can match its glorious pride
Even the mighty trees bow before it;
The wondrous monster sweeps past all
Its toughened arms pick dust and grit;
The wind is flowing.
It rushes past the valleys deep
Triggers rocks down mountain slopes
Its speed and power, none can stop -
A free horse, it breaks all ropes;
The wind is rushing.
Invincible, it marches on
Like an emperor feared by all,
A dictator, with power not measured
Rise of a legend, never to fall;
The wind turns violent.
The silence breaks, the barriers too
The wind zigzags amidst mountain peaks,
It bellows in the forests dark
The young, fatigued willows creak.
The wind is at its pinnacle.
Then the drizzle comes, then the thunderstorm
And oh! The fierce, mighty beast
Declines as raindrops fall
Dies down forming mist;
The wind fades away...
Yet its marks are vivid on the landscape
A spectacle of its enormous strength
It will revive, as a vicious beast
It would return again at length.
Free yet fierce, elegant yet wild
The angel who visits the human world
And all is lighted by his trail
And the might of nature is unfurled.
The wind had risen
It will rise,
As a voracious beast
To have all that suffice.
No one can imagine the horrors you've seen
The terrible events that must appear in your dreams
You can rarely share the evil you've seen
It must encroach your soul, your entire being
Defending a tourtured evil soul
Takes courage, knowledge, devotion, a goal
Trying to fight for a murderer's life
Because your love of the law, gives you your might
It's strengthened you, toughened you, wore down your heart
Putting others before you, you'll go down with a fight
Never judging the crime, the person, the soul
Fair treatment to all is your only goal.
Following statutes,motions and cases before
Devoting your all, deserving much more
It takes courage, thick skin, and love of mankind
To sit across many of the evilest minds
Doing the best job defending their crimes
Takes a person that understands what's inside their mind
Putting yourself in a mind such as theirs
Must have its consequences over the years
Yet you plug on defending these people for years
No one allowed to see your real tears
Your compassion for victims, children's lost lives
Must be buried inside, fighting for the other's lives
Your rarely given praise by society it seems
Even though what you do must affect all your dreams
I'm proud to say that my brother will fight
Even for those that don't respect life.
It takes a special person that chooses this life that you live
For the freedom of unjustly accused all your time you will give
Even if you save a few that weren't bad
The emotional toll on your life makes me quite sad.
For in the end whether or not you have won
Your caseload continues it does not sound fun.
It takes character,finesse intelligence too
To continue defending is what you must do.
She was lean, she was mean, a fighting machine.
Sixteen brothers had toughened her up.
She was secret woman, our little Arlene.
Raised on cold kerosene from a cup.
Our mother had passed when Arlene came into the world,
On a horribly stormy and mean October Saturday night.
We all crowded around, as the drama unfurled,
Sixteen brothers, and a dad, oh, so tight.
We dressed her in our best hand-me-downs, the best fellows all around.
And took turns with her feedings, up until a quarter ‘til three.
Dressed in blue overalls, and short-named Arley, she loved to run around.
Like a wild thing, thinking she was a boy, the best she could be.
When she started to school, the teachers wanted her to change F to M,
Thinking she was a boy, a fellow, one of the guys, which she thought she was.
Until one accidentally discovered she was girl, but knew nothing of fem.
Then them teachers started horning in teaching her to cook and sew and stuff.
Pa and us stood helplessly by, as they tried to change Little Arley into a girl.
It was great when she could make delicious chili soup and cheese cake surprise
But we were all irritated at sixteen when she started wearing girl clothes,
And got her eyes on some idiotic seventeen-year-old not-so-great guys.
She went to the prom, and we all followed along in our pick-up trucks and RVs.
She was our baby, and we were not about to let anything change our family’s way.
Five years later we followed her and her new husband to Texas, so he could see.
She was our baby, and we were not going to let her move so far away.
The marriage did not last, and we have lots of reasons and thinking about the why.
But she is home with pa now, safely tucked away, with her wedding dress on the closet door.
Making chili and pastries, and other good stuff like molasses cookies and pumpkin pie.
Home where she belongs, wild and crazy as ever, Little Arlene, we always knew before.
Little Arlene, the best auntie around,
Little Arlene, the one our children adore.
Little Arlene, the best sister we have found,
Little Arlene, home for ever more.
Little Arlene, Little Arlene, Little Arlene!
From a window I stood, arm leant against the pane, fingers hunched and bitter cold,
Toughened glass, tinted, you can see the light, but only through the grain,
The rays kiss the ground, the clouds cushion the sky, the colours are dull,
The open land is vast, with bellowing winds, if you listen carefully you’ll here them cry.
Weakened pavements that lead to nowhere, gutters from where life is drained,
Curbs that stand tall to those that lay, to those that cant stand its to hard to bare
Soil that we seed, water to drown our sorrow, trees that hang lifeless,
They’re lifted with light, but its not because they can see, its shelter we borrow.
Time stands beside me, no emotion on her face, her hands are there but she has no grip,
She gives herself for us to waste, to only wish we could stop her, or change her pace
TBC....