Long Tolbert Poems
Long Tolbert Poems. Below are the most popular long Tolbert by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tolbert poems by poem length and keyword.
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
straight talkin’ whiskered man
one stop 33
i walked into the bar room
just to hear the sound
pulled way back on the wooden stool
and set my body down
spilled vodka in my orange juice
‘twas flavor for my soul
an’ a stranger sat down next to me
an’ said, “man, your troubles show.”
he was a straight talkin’ whiskered man
never said his name
but he set me up with another round
of liquid lovin’ sane
he pulled a guitar from the side of him
and laid his troubles down
as he sang old songs
of love gone wrong
on th’ streets of every town
we took the rails through chicago
and on up to smokey mount
from the eastern coast
to the western shore
was more stops than i could count
and then at last he looked at me
and said, “friend, where have you been?”
i looked at him
through a wasted mind
and wanted to ask him ‘when’?
but i knew it didn’t matter
‘cause my days were all the same
countin’ th’ thick glass bottles
of my liquid lovin’ sane
he sang a song i’d never known
but now i know it well
‘cause it was my path to the outer rim
of my liquid lovin’ hell
he said, “don’t you count on nobody
‘cause nobody knows your name
an’ if you smile and walk away from these bar room doors
that’s how it will remain
always remember who you are
and never forget where you’ve been
so when the mirror takes a close up shot
it will reflect to you a friend”
well, i smiled at him as he walked away
leaving black coffee in front of me
and tears that ran across my mind
made it so easy for me to see
i’d met a man who had an outstretched hand
like the man from galilee
who walked from shore to distant shore
jus’ settin’ broken people free
he was a straight talkin’ whiskered man
who never said his name
but he set me up with another round
that put me right back in th’ game…
so i sang. "jesus, you walked on th' water
an' lord, you healed th' blind
an' now i will never walk alone,
thanks for bein' a friend of mine."
© tolbert
song of the mattress
she slept, wrinkled and small
on satin sheets, a band-aide covering her mattress,
knees tucked tightly beneath her chin
and legs pressed against her breasts
as if waiting for a gigantic splash when she hit the water
motionless, she dreamed of burgundy and peaches from georgia
and hoped to drive to smyrna on sunday
two hundred and thirteen miles, south and mostly straight
funny how juice spilled from a peach onto burgundy satin
looks like blood
it was raining when it happened but that isn’t important
she would have loved the rain on any other day
and recorded it on her already overcrowded ‘to do’ list
but today, peaches and burgundy satin sheets
embezzled her sleeping mind
and kept the rain out
when she rolled over, the creaking sound from overworked coils
reminded her of that regretful night in april
when hidden within the box spring,
tornadoes of metal circles pushed hard
against white pine
collapsing under the weight of two dissimilar bodies
before exploding again before collapsing
again before exploding again
in unison,
complaining springs beneath her body screamed for silence
while she battled fiercely to hold on to consciousness
as the bulldozer push of his weight drove her deeper into oblivion
dazed, her dream made a wide right turn at the intersection
where she thought of headlights and honking horns
spinning clockwise like a fleeting second hand
with no intention to stop until the minutes all ran dry
plums, swollen and tender—
purple patches that promised to never heal—
caused her to tighten the grip on her own body
as she trembled and began to sob loudly
drowning out the erratic song of the mattress
he would not stop until she made him stop…abruptly
the noise was loud but for only a second
funny how blood mixed with peach juice on burgundy sheets
still looks like blood
the song of the mattress was silenced
tolbert
encounter on pier 39
she sat inaudibly alone on pier thirty-nine
watching colorful sail boats go lazily by
i didn’t know her name but she was a friend of mine
and it hurt so badly to see her cry
with my guitar in my left hand and wishes in my right
i approached her quietly, careful not to intrude
the waters were darker than the moonless night
and i spoke softly to avoid being abruptly rude
“may I play a simple song for you?”
i asked, carefully watching her beautiful blue eyes
“i haven’t written it yet so we’ll see how i do.”
and with that she started to softly cry.
“i wanted to jump into the water tonight.”
she confessed when i started to strum
i said, “i could tell your darkness had swallowed the light
i suppose your desperation told me to come.”
i laid my pride down and strummed out a song
a simple story just to say i understood
and that however she felt things had gone so wrong
somehow she could still find some good
my soul has throbbed like fire in the dark of night
crunched and crushed like flattened trash in the street
like a thin shelter from wind, covering my fright
while tearing up pieces to cover my feet
so i know your broken heart, my friend
i’ve seen you through the eyes of a broken old man
so please walk away ‘cause I know you can.”
and with those words i took her outstretched hand.
i never saw her again after that memorable night
but the song was etched forever in my heart
and somehow it seemed we soared to new heights
and with the freedom of our song found a new start
i still avoid the choppy waters of pier thirty-nine
and find I must avoid the beautiful golden gate
yet i wonder what became of this lonely friend
who sat alone one night quietly tempting fate
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
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
we know more now than we knew then
.
we were younger
smiles came easy
and memories were made
like spun cotton candy
and one pony carousels
.
there were fewer reasons to cry
more seasons to fly
and the red in red roses
seemed never to fade away
.
it was easy to laugh and run into the forest
golden with morning
to lay for hours watching clouds
and read poetry, never turning the page
because the words we swallowed were our own
.
your lips were soft and mine memorized them
and sometimes it seemed that we knew more
…and how i wish we had
because then we would have made love
in forbidden places
and left the taste of chocolate on our lips
.
now we are older
and memories are fading faster than the lifting fog
we cry easier and more often for no reason
and smiles only crawl across our faces
because the carousel stopped long ago
.
will you remember me when i walk slowly?
will you be there to remind me who i am?
i will stand beside you always
though i may forget your eye color
and why you look at me with tear-filled eyes
.
the sky will always be ours to share…
trees will cause us to stop
and try to remember
when we walked onto the moss-covered floor
hugging trees and one another
.
and the star-filled sky
laying like a blanket over sausalito
will cause our hearts to stir
and remember the color of desire
when we laughed and kissed
with lips softened by passion
when memories melted,
flowing like a meandering stream
to places of our hearts
reserved for one day, one day
when these celebrations are all we have
even memories are stonewashed
until gone completely
and I search to know your name
as I once searched to know your body.
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.
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~
hannah’s song
with cotton clouds above her
and yellow daisies at her feet
she danced to a quiet sonnet
of freedom
hands outstretched
and palms towards the heavens
her blonde hair flowed
like summer showers
as she watched waving daisies
swaying, dancing
to the refrain of daybreak
only moments before
morning had nudged us
more gently
than a marshmallow circle
on her hungry lips
pulling the bed sheets away
smiling on her nakedness
i kissed her shoulders
and brushed my fingers
through her hair
the moaning sound of music
caressed the room
much like the linens
that entangled us
laying ghostly between our bodies
two pillows indented
yet the smudge of lipstick
and mascara on only one
her sleep deceived me
when she whispered
that she was not going away
cascading memories
from burnt orange mountains
onto sopping marshes soft and slovenly
like overboiled asparagus
clinging to slippery rocks
words of praise filled her heart
in her own presence she moved
seductively
a liquefied dancer in the field of daisies
singing
‘you have turned my mourning into dancing
you have shown me the beauty of ashes…’
she stood,
tears welling in her eyes
in a field of daisies, her blanket of comfort
she whispered,
in the midst of daisies
i held sunflowers in my heart
with outstretched hands
weeping for joy
she presented pomegranates and strawberries
then with a measured smile
offered an apple
taking a bite
i wondered
where i had read this story before
~ tolbert ~