Unholy Hell
There is an incredible emptiness
that will not settle,
a holy loneliness blocking my way.
They tell me not to think so much,
not to worry,
but the heavy quiet of failure drowns out that vow.
Inside these walls, there is no sovereignty.
Just hands, reaching—
everyone wanting a piece of me.
Only music remains a cure,
a quiet place to go to ease the road,
to carry this bitter load.
I was a proud soul once.
Now, I am stripped to the nerve.
Left entirely alone to survive their quiet contempt.
I dream at night, and the nightmares come to call,
and I wake up to the morning sun
already shattered before the day even begins.
More work is what I get.
No time away to sift through the wreckage,
to find what is left of me.
Just the endless expectation of another’s payday.
Deep in my soul,
my mind cries out for reprieve
that my battered, bloody body will never get.
The void is deep.
The pain is real.
The days gone by are misery.
Tough as nails they reference me.
Deep inside only history.
WNBA’s on track to lose $50 million this year
mostly because its veteran players feared
Kaitlin Clark, a white rookie’s who’s cisgender
They treated her rough, thought she was tender
but tough as nails, she’s showed them all
White girls with boyfriends know how to play ball
While in an antique shop, I came across a wood stove
The cast iron, covered in rust, had seen better times
I admired it as it stood within this vast treasure trove
There's no doubt the antique worked well in its prime
You rose early in the morning before the rooster crowed
Gathering what you needed, like dried kindling or sticks
Once the kettle got to boil, creating steam on the window
Patience in preparing a meal because it took a while to fix
It was a mainstay, a necessity you couldn't live without
Belching on a belly of splintered wood, hot to the touch
You dumped the ashes regularly. There wasn't any doubt
Claiming victims who inhaled its carbon fumes too much
Standing on its bowlegs, taking up valuable floor space
If a fire died on cold days, not stoking it was unwise
A potential death trap, a coal burner smoked up a place
An unattended wood stove would often cause one's demise
We gathered around the piece of iron to listen to ghost tales
A cozy, toasty altar when the old decrepit house would creak
Its consistent use has proven, over time, to be tough as nails
Stoking the flames warmed your frame any day of the week
While in an antique shop, I came across a wood stove
The cast iron, covered in rust, had seen better times
I admired it as it stood within this vast treasure trove
There's no doubt the antique worked well in its prime
You rose early in the morning before the rooster crowed
Gathering what you needed, like dried kindling or sticks
Once the kettle got to boil, creating steam on the window
Patience in preparing a meal because it took a while to fix
Belching on a belly of splintered wood, hot to the touch
Before the EPA, a coal-burning stove smoked up a place
Claiming victims who inhaled its carbon fumes too much
Standing on its bowlegs, taking up valuable floor space
A wood stove was a mainstay, one you couldn't live without
If a fire died on cold days, you might end up in poor health
You dumped the ashes regularly. There wasn't any doubt
A poor-working wood stove would often cause one's death
We gathered around the piece of iron to listen to ghost tales
A cozy, toasty altar when the old decrepit house would creak
Its consistent use has proven, over time, to be tough as nails
Stoking the flames warmed your frame any day of the week
My Aunty Stacey,
She's not very lacey,
She doesn't wear dresses,
Or have curly tresses,
She is never a sook,
But a really good cook,
Tough as nails,
Never fails,
I think you will find,
That she is very kind,
She had a ferret for a pet,
And three dogs are set,
Very happy in her house,
But sadly, no mouse,
She likes to walk the dogs,
Even in the fogs,
Her husband Rio is full of muscle,
And with us he likes to tussle,
Her friend Alisha is amazing,
We play until where hot and blazing,
Aunty Stacey there is nothing you lack,
I love you to the moon and back.
Now Gone, I So Wish I Could Sing A Song
Why did he smile only by few inches
His face contorted and it was askew
By the garden was a flock of finches
Old age, do we forget what we once knew
His arms were skinny, not near as mighty
His head kinda bald and his beard bright white
He said his first wife was mad, too flighty
When loving her body was quite a sight
But he was my beloved dad and proud
Often complained of failing eyesight
And when he did that it was very loud
Told me when you do something do it right.
My dad, so tough, honest as day is long.
Now gone, I so wish I could sing a song!
Robert J. Lindley, 6-23-2023
Sonnet,
My father was the most honest man I've ever known.
And tough as nails too.
In Beamish Street, collecting the rent,
Was how my Tuesday mornings were spent.
An arduous task at the best of times.
Nell McFee, hubby in jail for various crimes.
Sobbing to me as she had no rent to pay,
Offering to make it up to me in some other way.
With Billy Jones, I knew I would be in for a fight.
Swore he paid twice last week and taught his dog to bite.
Seventy-eight houses in Beamish Street, every one rented.
I heard every excuse not to pay that had ever been invented.
The Browns, a dear old couple. He was ill, medicine’s dear.
Always on time, they couldn’t pay. She greeted me with a tear.
I have become tough as nails, oblivious to renter’s pleads,
But just this once to be the helping hand someone needs,
I ticked my list ‘Browns FULLY PAID’ and stayed a while.
Shoved my own money in the bag, continued with a smile.
Anti-Poem— “Going To See Honey Sanchez”
gloria and me we take a yellow taxi from canoga park
we go to see honey sanchez at the olympic on grand
she be the dragon lady on skates she and terri lynch
both of them girls be tough as nails in their ripe beauty
both wearing thunderbird white riding fire and blood
lighting up the banked track against the texas outlaws
gloria keep telling shirley hardman she be dead wrong
stop your mean ways shirley girl stop beating on honey
baby she say to me could I get her a soda and peanuts
the crowd be all noisy tonight and I can smell hot dogs
the people here they be rowdy and angry they scream
cuss words eating greasy onion rings and drinking beer
my gloria she be saying only one skater be her top hero
I says who and she smiles and say it be honey sanchez—
skater dragon lady at 18th and grand in her ripe beauty
The story of every woman,
They are not all the same,
They vary as their faces are,
No one author can have all written down,
Given his length of days,
Hidden in their chambers are untold stories,
Stories to be told may be in the afterlife,
Womanhood is a journey none has foreknown,
A triathlon of vicissitudes,
Womanhood is a walk
saddled with daring responsibilities,
The mind of a woman is as tough as nails,
A shape in the words they
utter is a bulldozer pulling down obstructions,
Platitude for the day is the
saying, “Women are weaker vessels”,
They are weaker vessels that sculpt stronger vessels.
August 13, 2022.
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 12 Poetry Contest,
Mark Toney.
An ode
to the Black Widow,
Oh mercy to your soul.
Walls heightened from reach,
I judge you not for your choice.
Your strength is commendable,
fear rests upon your enemies.
Like thunder you strike,
never the same place, twice.
She is tough as nails,
her heart as cold as stone,
doubtful to companionship
Love is the most unknown.
Lord grant her peace
for she lives off pain.
Rest her mind to the least,
before she becomes prey.
Ukraine's army is battle-ready, battle-tested
The rest of Europe's forces, merely rested
None have fought in many a year
Them fighting Russia moves one to tears
Defending Ukraine is NATO's best bet
with its tough-as-nails army
and the fierce will of its people to survive ~
thinking Poland or France can lick Russia is blarmy
Zelensky's warned you as much, Western leaders
but you've all chosen to be cheerleaders
The blood's on your hands for taking a dive
if nobody in Europe is left alive
You may talk of submarines
And of other war machines
As you sip your beer and talk of yesteryear.
You may even look with awe
At the ships that roll and yaw,
And the carriers as steady as a rock.
And what’s prettier to see
Than a ‘can’ while out at sea
With her bow that’s dancing through the brine.
A destroyer, tough as nails
Boarding seas bury her rails
Staying vertical is truly an ordeal.
To the frigates plaudits go
They put on a graceful show
As they sleekly speed along at sea.
But there is a far-famed ship
And to her our caps we tip
To the Sweeper who was where we’re heading now.
See their sweeps when they outreach
Clearing paths from deep to beach
For landing craft to bring the soldiers through.
Knowing mines unswept ahead,
Resolutely then they thread
And their sweep gear clears a channel for the fleet.
So we give them our salute
Every mine-sweeping galoot.
And raise a toast to them when they’re ashore.
I remember as a kid this one little guy
tough as nails and quick with a lie
he showed up with a shiner
but he wasn't a whiner
said he, I hit his fist with my eye
OLD SOLDIER
When I was seventeen I was free and wild as hell
By the time I was eighteen strong and tough as nails
Decided on my birthday I’d say hello to Uncle Sam
My friends thought I was crazy,but I didn’t give a damn
Walking through the mountains made me think of home
Like when I was younger through the woods I’d roam
But then the day happened I had to kill a man
Then I became a soldier stuck in a foreign land
Back in those days I didn’t care if I lived or died
But many times since then I’ve broken down and cried
Still hear those sounds that haunt me through the night
Open my eyes and pray,let me live through this fight
Marty West
TEACHERS'S UNION
Lori Lightfoot's no better than the rest
Crafty wiles and forced smiles don't pass our test
She promised the moon
She crooned a sweet tune
Then she zinged us with zealotry and zest
LORI LIGHTFOOT
I may be short, but I'm as tough as nails
No one can deny me my 'Holy Grail'
I ignore shenanigans
I fear not Union 'big guns'
I will not let our kids -- or city -- fail!
AVERAGE CHICAGOANS
We think that both parties have some good points
Though we're not eager to either anoint
Lightfoot gives away the moon
The Union acts like big goons
~ The school kids and parents left out of joint
Day # 10 of the Chicago Teacher's Strike
October 30, 2019
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