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Best Poems Written by Sam Toil

Below are the all-time best Sam Toil poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Sam Toil Poem

The Fraud

a hallway.  offices.  tinted sunlight.  
people who have forgotten my name.  
but i am here.  
and then a room.  and a meeting.  
and i am unprepared.  
“you’re up”  says the leader.  
and my lungs fill with heaviness as they all turn towards me.  
my mind screams.  
my throat locks.  

and then a word fights through the scream.  
and i breathe.  and find a voice.  
and then another word.  
and a thought.  
then relevance.  
i am moving.  
and eyes do not wander.  
but the scream fights on:  
they will find out.  

i was connected at one time.  
so the scream would fade.   
but not now.  
these many years later.  
“we could use you again,”  
he had said.  
and i had relented.  
but why?  boredom?  faith?  
the scream of fear vs. the scream of isolation?  
or a familiar voice dragging me back from madness.  
“what have you been up to?”  
he had asked.  
and i had lied.  
and now my mind all scrambled between work and stupor.   

“what on EARTH are you talking about?!” 
demands the one who should have taken over for me.  
and the throat locks again.  
and the scream rises up.  
and he knows it.  
but sympathy has no place here.  
so i struggle with the scream. 
and find the words to hide the Fraud  
as he shakes his head in disgust.   

and i remember why i left.  
so i wade in the scream until i am done and take my seat.  
and the scream that never dies whispers, “what else is there?”

Details | Sam Toil Poem

A Time Between Gods

all Is
in the autumn sky:
red and orange
dark blue and black
and a cool wind 
kissing the sun goodnight.

all Is
in this musty den:
blue and flickering
images and shadows 
dancing 
in the minds of tired women and stooped men.

all Is calm
but for the patter of children
wandering alone
through horrors and tangled brush.

Details | Sam Toil Poem

The Pick Up

i never knew her name.
she was not very good at it, it seemed to me.
her flirtations, too obvious.
a desperation for union i could not understand.
i love your eyes, she said with a come-hither smile.
she leaned in close and brushed her hand against mine
as though throwing a switch.

yet i was drawn.
by animal-emotional curiosity
or by a lust to be exploited by her for her selfish pleasure
i don’t know.
we picked a nearby motel.
i watched as she slowly undressed in the harsh light.
in the dimly lit bar, i had craved seeing her body in its fullness, 
and now, with her delicate lines exposed in the florescent light -- 
it hardened me for her need.
i itched to be her instrument
to use without remorse as she saw fit.
now, she asserted after preparation, i am ready.

Details | Sam Toil Poem

The Time of Autumn

I lay nude at sunset on a cliff above the sea.
Heaven and Earth erupt in red and orange brilliance.
A cool wind wafts over me smells of salt spray.
In this time of Autumn.

And at my side, a woman I still barely know
Caresses my quivering skin --
Filling me hard with her anticipation;
Her gleaming blond hair flowing over me.

I suspend a precious moment of eternity -- full that I am --
Immersing my senses in her womanhood:
	Her comforting smile and inviting eyes,
	Her clean unperfumed scent,
	I gently cup her tender small breast.
So I watch, I smell, and I touch.
I want this immersion to last.
For truly this is a celebration of life!
We share here in our time of Autumn.

Details | Sam Toil Poem

For Debbie

It has been a good day, a fine day.
We splashed in the surf.
We talked about things.
We smiled at a child building walls against the tide.
But years have passed
And we have become friends.

Now, I crave shy beginnings:
	A fluttering heart,
	An unfamiliar scent,
	The feel of unknown skin.
I am so young to be so old.

And now that another beckons,
Dare I deceive
And break your heart
To be young again
For a little while?

Details | Sam Toil Poem

Conformity

it is complete -- 
protestations of the existentialists notwithstanding --
the end of history.
Science is here. 
slammed over me.

and everywhere
the necessity of Standardization.
in my labor 
and in my thought
Capitalism dictates.

efficiency is the new God,
except for the God-people themselves of course
who experience choice
and embrace the Absurd
as i spectate.

now, hidden by a lifetime of fantasy
or tortured by enlightenment
either way, bound by survival to succumb:
i release my mind to the Average.
where is Meaning?

Details | Sam Toil Poem

A Jading

the smell wafted like a dream.
charred wood and red smoke. 
“benjie!” she yelled
as i ran away down the hall 
raising my arm against the flickering heat.
“benjie, come back!” she pleaded. “leave him alone!”
i stopped 
and coughed.
hot air rushed across my face.
hearing nothing but the roaring smoke 
i froze-up --
torn for the first time
between Comfort and Knowledge.

then slowly 
out of the choking haze
came a whimper 
and a scrape.
and a punch shook the wall.
i peeked inside the sizzling arch.
hot pitch oozed 
from an overhead beam
caught fire 
and dripped tiny flamelets 
onto the hardwood floor.
he was there alright. 
shaking  
and sitting on the floor in the corner.
i whispered:
“what’s the matter daddy?”
he looked up 
through crazed eyes of fire and hate.
“go away boy”.
then he cried
and hugged his knees.

Details | Sam Toil Poem

A City Night-View

out the window a choking night-wind blows through the city.   
rancid and steamy.   
it wraps itself up my building and into my apartment,  
running over the floor,  
and bringing with it the smell of rot and piss-soaked concrete.  
i push the ragged curtains back and gag.
a distant siren wails.

dots of light 
everywhere
and a million people stacked in boxes.
with pipes running like veins
to carry away their filth
to some unspeakable place.

and dreams.
i can never forget the dreams.
of better times
more space
and clean air.
fueled by a machine of unfathomable import.
wiring me together with them all
into a single consciousness:
the camera swivels here and we all laugh,
it swivels there and we all cry.
always, the camera’s titillations run over me. 
my mind twitches to keep up.
and what of the awareness of this mass-consciousness?
suppressed in drink, dope,  and false faith.

two neighbors i do not know 
erupt in passionate-rhythmic moans just behind the wall.
i lay down in my bed and settle in to its years-old imprint of me 
and wait for exhausted sleep
as i fight back the madness of Truth for yet another night.

Details | Sam Toil Poem

A Place For a Pigeon

A place for a pigeon is so convenient a thing.
Its so easy for the world to make sense to me.
With but rocking and watching political TV
And reading the world's most partisan magazines.
I know so many people and so many things.
For people far wiser than I ever shall be
Have captured and caged and classified thee:

	Him? He’s a jew, a stingy tycoon.
	Him? He’s a hick, an ignorant buffoon.
	Him? He’s a black, and on welfare too.
	And so forth and so on,  there are so many rules.

All of them wrapped up so neatly for me
By the man speaking to me from behind the blue screen.
How glorious a moment in man's history,
To know so many people so easily.
A place for a pigeon is so convenient a thing!

Details | Sam Toil Poem

Exile

i am lost
in the conflagration of spirit
where no philosophy abounds.
yet i love.

where are the people i crave?
am i a monster?
crafted and bolted
for purposes i can not accept?

there is yet much of God’s beauty left our great country
even in the midst of ever advancing devastation.
and there are so many who see this beauty at all costs.
but i have known so many who have felt the indifferent stare.
for them beauty is stale food
escape from the roaming gangs
a simple drip from the ceiling that stays within its catch-pan
and the eager smile of their precious infant who does not starve today.

God is dead, they say.
but the Invisible Hand thrives.
even in despair
It picks what It needs
toward Grand Assimilation,
to which i will never submit.

yes, i write today.
at least
one more day.
but i join in nothing.
yet i love.