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Best Poems Written by Wayne Tolbert

Below are the all-time best Wayne Tolbert poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Wayne Tolbert Poem

my eyes tried to tell you

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

Details | Wayne Tolbert Poem

swan song

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~

Details | Wayne Tolbert Poem

sylvia

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

Details | Wayne Tolbert Poem

her eyes

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

Details | Wayne Tolbert Poem

artist's brush

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

Details | Wayne Tolbert Poem

everybody's dying

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

Details | Wayne Tolbert Poem

th' dust never really settled

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

Details | Wayne Tolbert Poem

she

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

Details | Wayne Tolbert Poem

circles of tears

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

Details | Wayne Tolbert Poem

purple bowl in the window

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