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Best Poems Written by Toby Adams

Below are the all-time best Toby Adams poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Your True Gardener

My lotus flower, adrift on the water bed,
Your petals top the pond,
Lilies, Irises, Hyacinths.
The sun reminisces,
And the moon grieves,
For in the dark of night,
It hides your leaves.

I weed your sodden garden,
Cattail, Waterthymes, Reeds.
My lotus you're safe,
I know your needs.

The scabs from the tear,
Haunts your fragile stem,
Faint, pink lines like those of your petals,
Shine like a gem.

My lotus I trace along those lines, 
And your hesitance remains,
My lotus, I say,
"I know not the hurricane,
That caused your injury,
Nor the pain of how it felt,
But I know the misery,
And the doubt."

My lotus, I hold your leaves,
"Your weeds grow back,
But I will still stay,
Your stem dries,
And I will water you everyday,"

My lotus, I caress your greenery,
"Your flowers have bloomed,
In the harshest of weather,
But now you know sunlight,
And I'll make sure it's forever."

Details | Toby Adams Poem

The Life Of A Stained Glass Window

The life of a stained glass window,
Is a life boring and dull,
You take in rays of sunlight,
And breathe out the colours that swell.

The life of a stained glass window,
Oh so boring, oh so dull,
You give light to others,
And shoo away your own,
While they see the world in colours,
Your sight you loaned.

Colourblind by choice,
You live in a monochromatic world,
Your wants and needs,
Have all been sold.

Discount, free sale?
Anything for you!
For how a stained glass window feels,
Is anything but true.

I paint and handcraft rainbows,
To shine along churches and stores,
But if my hand grows tired?
Who cares if they're sore!

The life of a stained glass window,
Is a life boring and dull,
This stained glass window,
Hates to endow!

Curse the rainbows they'll miss so well,
Now that their world is dim and dull,
This stained glass window thinks they should go to hell!
The pretty colours adorning a pedestal,
The shards that make streets glow,
I should all let it go!

This stained glass window,
Paints the world in black and white,
And this stained glass window,
Is no longer right.

The life of a stained glass window,
Oh so boring, oh so dull,
Who wants a stained glass window,
With no pretty colours? Well...

No one.

Details | Toby Adams Poem

What Am I?

I'm the glitter that rains on birthdays,
And the bright rainbow in the sky!
I'm as high as the moon, 
And when I come down I fly!

I'M A TICKING TIMEBOMB,
AND THE WORDS THAT SLIP OFF THE TONGUE,
I'M THE SPARK LEADING TO DYNAMITE, 
AND COMBUST LOUD AS A DRUM.

i'm boots in mud puddles,
on sodden dreary days,
when the clouds glide along, 
and the sun hides away.

I'm millions of eyes staring,
Towards podiums, microphones and bright-lit stages?
I'm a horror story you read at night,
That you tear out the pages?

im as hollow as a void
and rooted like a weed
i stay where im needed 
and dont try to plead

I'm an organism,
Filled with water and love,
I eat, I drink,
All of the above.

I feel fear, 
I feel joy,
I get sad,
And annoyed.

I breathe in air,
And feel my lungs loosen,
What am I?

I'm human.

Details | Toby Adams Poem

I Am An Ant

I am an ant,
I am the gentle pitter-patter on the Earth,
The black dots that trail on your floor,
And that little heartbeat.

I am a cargo ship on the rough shore,
Following the stencil of,
The deft path before.

As the day passes I scurry home,
With that gentle pitter-patter,
And little, little heartbeat.

I am an ant,
I am the gentle tip-taps on the Earth,
That passes by plants or mushrooms or spores,
Skittering in your homes across the hearth.

I follow the trail of smells,
Day by day,
But my legs weaken,
And those tip-taps falter.

I travel with crumbs on my back,
Unlike the leaves I used to,
And I trek back home,
Tip-tap, tip-tap.

I am an ant,
I am the gentle stomp-stomp on the Earth,
That follows the same route,
Every day, every day.

I am an ant,
I crave a change,
I climb higher and higher.

I am an ant?
Though I crave light,
And flutter to them as a moth would.

I am an ant,
My legs are weak,
And my head feels full,
If I had wings to fly,
I'd use those too.

I am a tree,
I no longer pitter-patter or tip-tap,
My legs are still as a branch,
And my stem grows from my head.

I reach higher and greater lengths, 
I'm like a great oak-
A grapevine-
How could I have been an ant?

My head bursts open like a hazel tree seed.

My job is done,
My head is clear,
My life's been run,
I can't feel fear.

Details | Toby Adams Poem

To Rose: From A Wallflower

The day greets me with water,
On my dainty leaves,
A gift that flowers much shorter,
Don't get flaunted on their sleeves.

A sunny daisy patch,
A dime a dozen of clovers,
Dandelions grown beside to match,
A garden with a single rose.

Rose petals grace my retina,
Breaking the sea of yellows, whites, et cetera,
Her thorns, they glimmer, 
In the sunlight, they shimmer.

Her coy laughter can be heard,
But it's music to my ears,
As it walks my head peered,
Her voice is all I hear.

A siren sounds- 
A rainy day- 
And the Rose I found, 
Is swept away.

A book in hand,
A locker shut,
A girl in a hallway stands,
Her sight is cut,
Her hands hold tight,
And then relax,
her foot steps,
Gently against the racks.

Details | Toby Adams Poem

Birdwatching

Everyday I go birdwatching,
I see them-
Seagulls, Geese, Humming birds-
Flutter and puff out their wings,
To soar the tinted sky-
Dancing along the clouds like small jets,
Or the carefree glide of paper aeroplanes.

I watch as their wings carry them-
Steer up and down-
Allowing Petrels to dive and splatter-
Into the water.

An apprehensive dove's feet teeter-totter at the edge,
Perhaps it had not yet learnt to fly?
Though does not every bird with wings learn to decorate the sky as I would learn to a bike?
Does it matter whether the fowl was pushed off a branch,
Or learnt to swim against the tide of the sky with a leap?

The bird stretches it's wings, 
Feathers caressed by the wind as a mother would her child.
It lingers, 
And leaves,
As I do myself.

Everyday I go birdwatching,
I see them-
Pigeons, ducks, swans,
They greet my feet with pecks or kisses,
As if I were their own.

My gaze drifts upwards-
As it always does-
The same dove sits,
Very still,
As if the bird was capable of fear,
Does it question if it will survive the jump?
Or if it'll soar the skies like those before?
Is it weary of the impact?
Or dream of life as a Phoenix?

The bird flutters and puffs out it's wings,
Watching those already playing on the clouds,
It's feet- paws- claws,
Scratch against concrete,
It sighs,
I giggle,
And stretch my wings out for the last time.

Details | Toby Adams Poem

That's Why I Gave Up On Writing

When my pen brushes the page,
My fingers seem to tense
And when the words try to form,
They don't seem to make sense.

I can't get it right,
Haiku, free verse,
With each line,
It only gets worse.

I try and fail,
Who cares?
When the pen presses,
And the page tears?

Metaphors and analogies,
Away they flew,
And all I get out is,
'Two' rhymes with 'blue.'

When the poem loses structure,
And the scaffolding tumbles down,
Whose there to catch it?
To rebuild the pieces?
To uncrease the creases?

When the ink makes an enemy of the tree,
And the pen tries to flee,
And I struggle to find the need,
To continue my writing stead.

Leaving me pinned to that self made deadline,
Promises id made in mind,
"If you don't finish you're worthless"
And my value drops as I work less.

I find that my pen can't form the rhymes,
That I've done before a million times,
And I find that rain,
has rusted the gears of my brain.

Rhymes are forced in one,
Scratch,
These words lack freewill and fun,
Patch,
The metaphors shine like the sun,
And each word ends up as Icarus,
Finding it too late to run.

I gave up on writing,
But my hands still cling to the book,
Draft one,
Draft two,
Draft red,
Draft blue.

My ocean of motivation is drained,
And the droplets form without flow,
So,
So that's why,
So that's why.
So that's why I...

Details | Toby Adams Poem

And I Exhaled

I was so close to the sun,
Tantalizing; ethereal-
Warm rays rolling over my skin before-
Sinking deep,
A parasite rooting itself into my neck,
Gentle caresses-
Strangling-
Choking-.

Churning-,
Inching closer-
And it stopped.
I felt air again,
But my lungs had grown so used to the feeling-
I gasped and grasped for air to receive so little in return;
A fated reminder.

My neck; freed,
Yet I strained for air-,
I learnt.
To wrap my hands around my neck-
To twist it (Just how he did)-
To breathe in,
And out,
And in,
And out.

And when I walked,
I stumbled; so far from the chain-
The leash,
I stumbled.

I saw it everywhere.

I saw it in how the leaves that were hoisted up by the wind (Which I craved dearly)-
Flew,
Being carried away by the gust-
Just how those warm rays had,
Rolled, rolled down my skin-,
But the leaves drifted without worry; careless.

I saw it in people holding hands-
Hands that would surely grip, claw and seize-
To sink deep- deep- and deeper still into that dripping, tensed palm-,
Fingers that would tighten around; 
Nails to rip and to tear;
A forefinger and thumb,
To lift you so high;
Only to fall-
Fall-
Fall.

But soon my hands grew tired of grasping my neck,
And my legs grew bruised from crawling.

I no longer felt the air-,
Climbing through a crushed windpipe,
But instead a,
Whirlwind.

In and out-
I breathed in and out-.

In that crowded mall-,
People walked past; oblivious-
To the clean air-,

In and out-,
I breathed in and out in that crowded mall.

I stood, staring into my palms-
No longer stained with my sweat-

And I breathed.

Details | Toby Adams Poem

Lovebird

Oh my pretty bird,
Your distance disheartens me.
When I would hold you in my arms,
And you'd sing me goodnight.

My gentle angel,
My ears caved in.
Your tweets were no longer bright and soothing,
But low and melancholy.

My sweet dove,
I miss your voice and your joy.
Your fear and pain permeates my vision,
Yet I lack the tools to ease you.

The hearing aids you gifted,
Now lie smashed on the floor.
The words I yelled,
promises I'd swore,
Hands I'd once held...

My unbound prisoner,
My flightless flock,
My grounded bird...
I miss you.

But, oh, my sweet dove.
Your songs wreck my skull and your warmth marks my fingertips.

My pretty bird,
Could you forgive the me that's grown so distant?
Could you let your voice out once more?

Details | Toby Adams Poem

Cerise

Oh my dear Cerise,
Though your tear ducts stain blue,
With the petals you pluck,
Singing faint words of 'He loves me not',
As the flower wilts in your hands.

Dear Cerise don't cry,
As they crumble and dust in your hands,
You spread that pollen in your step,
And behind you blooms the very same flowers.

But my dear Cerise I know you are tired of walking,
You long to see a garden you haven't grown,
And you long to hold different flora.

My dear Cerise don't cry as you grow your garden,
And paint the grass in bright vivid pinks.

Cerise, don't falter as you hold your flowers and hand them to another,
The flowers may find themselves placed in a pot,
Or vase,
And linger for a day or two.

But with the warm floral scent,
And it's pretty colours,
Come that precious need of water and love.

My dear Cerise don't cry as your flowers die,
When those flowers lack that water and love,
When your garden becomes a graveyard.

My dear Cerise don't cry,
As you feel their stems break,
For with each flower you give,
A smile breaks on their face.

Cerise,
One day someone will care for that flower the same way you would.

Cerise,
Don't worry about the future, 
And the tenderness that comes,
For your flowers bring the love you crave,
And your garden says you are loved because you are love.