"toilsome" poems
*eking out the ultimate gasp in my last breath of impulsion
i collapse without a touch of grace at race's end
how i made it i will never know
dazed and in bewilderment
i reminisce upon my journey
an aggregation of barricades assailed me
with iniquitous decadent delight
seeming to writhe in triumph at my possible demise
capitulating as it devoured and spewed me out the other side
i humbly reassembled fragments of my near annihilation
temporarily rehabilitated
i recommenced the toilsome climb
to the treasured peak atop the mount
when in would come the tempest with its furor
and render me asunder
mere exhaustion is not the word
for death experienced recurrently
ground to mulch and back again
screaming, pleading, surrendering
proved futile as i newly met the same demise
near incapacitation i miraculously emerged
and scraping pulled myself with broken heart and bones
scratching my way through the darkness
toppling at the pinnacle
to victory's end
with exhilaration it dawns on me
the long dark night is over
i passed the test to realize
it is not the finish line
but only the beginning
©2016janetaylor
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
Let's play hide and seek.
I’ll pretend as if I am not
Into that kind of ****
As if I am really not
Into relationships,
As if I am as hard as stone,
As if I am far to reach.
Please seek me though.
I’m not as tough as I seem.
It’s actually so toilsome
Pretending I'm a real stone,
I am so much more like ice.
I seem extremely cold
And hard to break.
But really you can smash me
Without trying much,
And you'll feel me melting,
At very slightest touch.
But I’ll pretend I'm not about it,
Stones don't have feelings.
I am here to protect myself
From melting down completely,
I've got to keep pretending
To be a real hard stone,
I don’t belong to people.
Stones don't.
But really all I am thinking:
"Please, seek me, though!"
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 7:40 AM UTC
Sound the deep waters:--
Who shall sound that deep?--
Too short the plummet,
And the watchmen sleep.
Some dream of effort
Up a toilsome steep;
Some dream of pasture grounds
For harmless sheep.
White shapes flit to and fro
From mast to mast;
They feel the distant tempest
That nears them fast:
Great rocks are straight ahead,
Great shoals not past;
They shout to one another
Upon the blast.
O, soft the streams drop music
Between the hills,
And musical the birds' nests
Beside those rills:
The nests are types of home
Love-hidden from ills,
The nests are types of spirits
Love-music fills.
So dream the sleepers,
Each man in his place;
The lightning shows the smile
Upon each face:
The ship is driving, driving,
It drives apace:
And sleepers smile, and spirits
Bewail their case.
The lightning glares and reddens
Across the skies;
It seems but sunset
To those sleeping eyes.
When did the sun go down
On such a wise?
From such a sunset
When shall day arise?
"Wake," call the spirits:
But to heedless ears;
They have forgotten sorrows
And hopes and fears;
They have forgotten perils
And smiles and tears;
Their dream has held them long,
Long years and years.
"Wake," call the spirits again:
But it would take
A louder summons
To bid them awake.
Some dream of pleasure
For another's sake;
Some dream, forgetful
Of a lifelong ache.
One by one slowly,
Ah, how sad and slow!
Wailing and praying
The spirits rise and go:
Clear stainless spirits,
White,--as white as snow;
Pale spirits, wailing
For an overthrow.
One by one flitting,
Like a mournful bird
Whose song is tired at last
For no mate heard.
The loving voice is silent,
The useless word;
One by one flitting,
Sick with hope deferred.
Driving and driving,
The ship drives amain:
While swift from mast to mast
Shapes flit again,
Flit silent as the silence
Where men lie slain;
Their shadow cast upon the sails
Is like a stain.
No voice to call the sleepers,
No hand to raise:
They sleep to death in dreaming
Of length of days.
Vanity of vanities,
The Preacher says:
Vanity is the end
Of all their ways.
2.3k
Living on the toilsome trail
A mere speck
Without flight
Or even the aid
From a friendly leaf blower
I make my way
Upon my belly
Born to struggle
But shaped to endure
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 10:59 AM UTC
I wish you were a pleasant wren,
And I your small accepted mate;
How we'd look down on toilsome men!
We'd rise and go to bed at eight
Or it may be not quite so late.
Then you should see the nest I'd build,
The wondrous nest for you and me;
The outside rough, perhaps, but filled
With wool and down: ah, you should see
The cosey nest that it would be.
We'd have our change of hope and fear,
Small quarrels, reconcilements sweet:
I'd perch by you to chirp and cheer,
Or hop about on active feet
And fetch you dainty bits to eat.
We'd be so happy by the day,
So safe and happy through the night,
We both should feel, and I should say,
It's all one season of delight,
And we'll make merry whilst we may.
Perhaps some day there'd be an egg
When spring had blossomed from the snow:
I'd stand triumphant on one leg;
Like chanticleer I'd almost crow
To let our little neighbors know.
Next you should sit and I would sing
Through lengthening days of sunny spring:
Till, if you wearied of the task,
I'd sit; and you should spread your wing
From bough to bough; I'd sit and bask.
Fancy the breaking of the shell,
The chirp, the chickens wet and bare,
The untried proud paternal swell;
And you with housewife-matron air
Enacting choicer bills of fare.
Fancy the embryo coats of down,
The gradual feathers soft and sleek;
Till clothed and strong from tail to crown,
With ****** warblings in their beak,
They too go forth to soar and seek.
So would it last an April through
And early summer fresh with dew:
Then should we part and live as twain,
Love-time would bring me back to you
And build our happy nest again.
1.9k
How do I unfurl a truth with the lights out?
You confessed the bean spillage
This tale is arduous when you are as blind as a bat.
It maybe toilsome but I know it is crucial,
for your maladroit ways have brought me here.
I feel like a duck egg because you have been a **** head
Your declaring a newborn heart in past tense
This doesn't cure this quandary of trust
I don't want to adopt eagle eyes!!
I am not a lover of Pandora's box nor any hornets nest
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 4:04 PM UTC
Pulsating honor doth corroded hearts impound
A blustery breeze echoes cries from each, preceding battleground
A recurring, eager parade of reporters, gawkers freely roam distant mound
Below, fatigued, tidy mass of steeled infantry; to death's throes bound
Neighing horses conditioned to mayhem the pageantry doth confound
On opposite ridges, mounted turrets prepared hell's fury to expound
On signal, a synchronized, concussive chorus doth its dark melody propound
Scraps of metal shards initiate; commencing another, toilsome round
After lengthy barrage, wits collected a more lethal volley to stound
Familiar, urgent order to charge christens hallowed ground
With youthful ardor a wide-eyed bugler doth the bridled expanse unbound
Shrieking rancor from recoiling rifles; a familiar anthem doth resound
Recurring cacophonous medley, weathered nerves drowned
Once more, a mass of flesh surges into the abyss with mortal hopes crowned
Anon, shattered limbs; gory wounds misery's cache compound
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 9:59 AM UTC
I am mad that work is toilsome.
I am mad that I do stupid things.
I am mad at ignorance.
I am mad that my back hurts.
I am mad at money.
I am mad at anxiety.
I am mad that rest is exhausting.
I am mad that I can't sleep through the night.
I am mad at my clouded mind.
I am mad that breathing and touching are dangerous.
I am mad at being told where and when I can go.
I am mad that people are sick.
I am mad that so much bad has happened.
I am mad because I am lonely.
I am mad at pride.
I am mad that social media gets me bent out of shape.
I am mad that we don't agree.
I am mad at fear.
I am mad that we hurt each other so much.
I am mad that I cry.
I am mad that I get so sad.
I am mad that depression captures me.
I am mad that I fail.
I am mad that I care what people think.
I am so mad about so much
but Jesus is still patient with me.
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 3:35 PM UTC
The Saviour hides His face;
My spirit thirsts to prove
Renew'd supplies of pardoning grace,
And never-fading love.
The favor'd souls who know
What glories shine in Him,
Pant for His presence as the roe
Pants for the living stream.
What trifles tease me now!
They swarm like summer flies!
They cleave to everything I do,
And swim before my eyes.
How dull the Sabbath day,
Without the Sabbath's Lord!
How toilsome then to sing and pray,
And wait upon the Word!
Of all the truths I hear,
How few delight my taste!
I glean a berry here and there,
But mourn the vintage past.
Yet let me (as I ought)
Still hope to be supplied;
No pleasure else is worth a thought,
Nor shall I be denied.
Though I am but a worm,
Unworthy of His care,
The Lord will my desire perform,
And grant me all my prayer.
1.3k
Lord, if I love Thee and Thou lovest me,
Why need I any more these toilsome days;
Why should I not run singing up Thy ways
Straight into heaven, to rest myself with Thee?
What need remains of death-pang yet to be,
If all my soul is quickened in Thy praise;
If all my heart loves Thee, what need the amaze,
Struggle and dimness of an agony?--
Bride whom I love, if thou too lovest Me,
Thou needs must choose My Likeness for thy dower:
So wilt thou toil in patience, and abide
Hungering and thirsting for that blessed hour
When I My Likeness shall behold in thee,
And thou therein shalt waken satisfied.
1.3k
You say I'm what you need
Using visuals of what we used to be "Us", trying to cement me to the ground.
right now I know your not what I want
So open your cage , and I'll be taking what's left of my heart with all the little pieces that were left on the floor
I know you said you hate me just to cope , I can't say I didn't care because those words added mist to the once smooth oceans that we now sail opposite
The wars we had were laborious but
leaving you was even more toilsome
At times my soul whispers your name , digesting why I love this silly story of us
I slumber knowing that , that love you had for me turned swiftly to the darkest shade simply 'coz your like a little boy having his terrible two's
You couldn't have your way
Like you said with your pompous inflated head.. 'Your show must go on' , even though you act like you don't get high to fill your empty.
Just when I thought you couldn't reach an all time low
I heard you wrote a song saying:
"RIP , your just a ***** I used to know"
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
The week's been long and draggin' on.
Our labour's been labourious.
Toilsome tasks have tarried on -
and their ceasing inglorious.
But surely as our souls are spent,
and stamina a-sundered.
the whittled work has come and went,
and out we've come from undered!
And thus, my friend, the week has past.
So here's a rousing raised-glass cheer -
that dreamt-of day descends at last:
Friday Friday, Friday's here!
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
Wide eyes wandering,
To settle upon such an empty space,
Yet willingly, they must trace,
That vast collage,
The most toilsome jigsaw,
How loving that imagery,
Our hearts pieced together,
To accept you,
As my beloved forever,
Though,
A puzzle untimely broken,
Lost to a box,
Eternally unspoken,
The flicker of afterimages,
The best pieces of you,
Inhabiting such bare space,
This forsaken heart,
An utter disgrace.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC
What would it be like to be in your arms?
How would I feel protected by your
Amazonian charms, for now only a time
Filled with worry, my darkest day,
I the song bird, long hair, big doe eyes,
Would you with your short dark raven red hair
Be able to hold me as close and not become
Lost along the way, become 'trapped' in the love
Or take off when we 'can't get any space'
Any other way? You always do remind me
Of a twin 'sister,' I your 'brother,' lost in each others
Complex similarities. You see the pieces are alike,
But when you think about the pieces,
The truth is there's no telling if I'll ever be
Close enough to explore these arms,
Your pizazz, your wild charms, so boyish, yet light.
I'll be waiting for you on the other side,
Where the colorful green grass meets what's
Now become of this endless wait,
This extremely dangerous, toilsome life.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 2:20 AM UTC
We must march, my darling
over there beyond the seas
up the mountains steep,
the world we seize.
So impatient, so young
fresh and strong,
full of pride.
We take up the task eternal,
All the past we leave behind;
not for us the tame enjoyment,
piercing deep primal need.
Till the sound of
far, far off
the day-break call.
Yet a passing hour I yield to you, as we go
Oh resistless, restless
Oh beloved
Oh my breast aches with tender love
I am rapt! with love
Delicate mistress,
starry mistress,
fanged and warlike mistress,
we must never yield or falter,
on and on,
moving yet and never stopping
All the pulses of the world
Falling in, they beat for us,
steady moving
Never must you be divided
Holding together, move united
Sweet silent lovers, you may sleep.
My soul and body,
curious with dreams,
wandering amid the shadows with the apparitions
All the dazzling days
all the mystic nights
Has the night descended? Do the sleepers sleep, the blanket on the ground?
have they locked and bolted the doors?
Was the road of late so toilsome?
Jan 19, 2010
Jan 19, 2010 at 5:59 PM UTC
Is it conceivable to forget how to feel?
To lose the joy of a fresh rain-
An evenings full moon
To forget what it is to capture a fall breeze-
Inhaling it into your skin with a ballet of leaves which prance along the tree trunks-
Simplistic beauty nurturing your sight
To hear a laughter so bright-
So spirited
That a child's sound would be toilsome to hold a candle to
To be subdued enough-
Lucid enough
That it is even a wonder where
misery has left to
(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
my soughing mind
turns life toilsome
summer's charms become an endurance
Jun 24, 2024
Jun 24, 2024 at 9:59 AM UTC
I wish to be the gentle breeze
Sweeping tearful eyes
Of the weary midday flower.
Or to be the horrid shadow
Casting fearful darkness
For a passer-by to rest.
A rippling river of white
I wish to be the one
Drenching thirst of arid earth.
Or to be a dancing wave
Of the mighty sea
Playing with a child.
A guild of fleeting clouds
Hiding splendid sun
For a homeless soul
Or the canopy of green
Thwarting rain for a home
I wish to be the one.
I wish to be a cresset
Guiding glimpse of hope
In the prosaic paths of pangs
Or to be a firefly
In the dim toilsome journey
Of a soul to his divine home.
Jul 8, 2020
Jul 8, 2020 at 1:32 AM UTC
Nationwide Insurance twas on my side yay
cuz, earlier this July forth
two thousand eighteen ja way
windows closed, doors locked, and
car keys visibly splayed
on driver seat oye vay
feel free to call me a horse's *** today
utter anxiety compounded,
plus unable to locate master key,
thence fodder for poem and more to say
rifling thru boxes without success,
an impulse arose to call road
upon learning policy
doth include locksmith service,
ah felt less doggone snappish,
and uttered hoo ray
though modest aye,
congratulated awesome,
fulsome, and handsome
self on quick thinking,
and automatically became less tiresome
pondering for no particular rhyme nor reason
(as a getaway) Panama or Paraguay
then immediate decided,
sans ditto explanation,
but no how and nay
yet honest to dog suddenly felt
like a young lovestruck lad
during month of May
and without further delay
a compulsion arose
to putter along, though
momentarily gazing heavenward
and counting (just beak caws)
glistening black crows
plus painfully aware
a spike in recurrent
"senior" moment of forgetfulness grows,
thus starkly aware significant rustiness
increasingly, frightfully,
and chokingly coats
lix spit tillage harrows
resuming schlepping dishabille
crotchety bedeviled aching
body electric irksome
with fringe benefit (such as
momentary lapse of reason)
quite aware mettlesome
ness of youth nonrefundable,
non-reliable, and non-retrievable,
and guaranteed continued
pricking, viz nettlesome
degenerating aging telomeres,
sensate perspicuity, and oxysomes
leaving a once robust person some
what discombobulated
and easily toilsome.
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
St. Mark II. 5.
Away! away! We have work to do---
See ye these palsied limbs, this ghastly face ?
Open, dull crowd, and let a sick man through----
Pity our friend, the last of his race.
What? no man yield an inch ?
Quick ! up the stairs
That climb upon the housetop !
He is there----
God is not deaf to any loving prayers,
Away, thou busy devil, with despair.
Leapt the four friends along the roof,
And tore rafter and tile away with Trembling hands----
Sinks down the sick man's couch
Upon the floor, where in an upper
room the Saviour stands.
He looked upon the torture of those eyes,
He read the silent anguish of that heart---
Be of good good cheer.'
His spirit in him dies
Forgiven are Thy sins.'
'My Lord, depart.'
Fell down the weeping four, and kissed His feet---
' Ah ! never did we know a Lord like Thee---
Hide thou our friend in some serene retreat,
Where he may fling my sin's in memory'---
' Nay, back again at home,' the Master said---
' Take up thy bed, memorial of thy sin,
Among thy loved ones, who had dreamt thee dead,
New work for Me, in faith and love,
begin.'
And art Thou still the same, Lord ? May we feel that Thou wilt hear us for each stricken friend
When from the crowd by secret stairs we steal,
O ! wilt Thou meet us at the toilsome end ?
Lost friends, so far away on land or sea,
Wanderers o'er topic plain, or desert snow,
Our love shall rest on God's eternity,
And follow those we love where'er they go.
Each soldier, shielded by a mother's prayer,
Shall face the column's walk of series steel,
Each ****** swaying 'mid the murky air,
A father's blessing shall around him feel.
Christ ! be as kind to us, whose prayers arise,
By day and night for friends on land or sea----
We bring them to Thy feet----
Do not despise
A guilty sinner's loving agony !
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
I saw you smile that day,
Love soon overcame me.
Obtusely, I ignored this feeling;
Viewed it as nothing but wrongs.
Endlessly, I pondered your presence,
Your name, your voice, your everything.
Oaths are not one of my afflictions, yet
Under you, I'd swear upon my life.
A marvel, you truly are. However,
Lost is me between my thoughts;
Jousting is my pride, and my heart,
Overwhelming are one another.
Nights and days,
I am waked to the thought of you.
Am I to be like this, eternally?
Leaving my young heart insane?
Why? Why do I feel this way?
Adages are not enough for my toilsome affection;
Yes, I am afflicted by my affections,
Sounds contradictory, but true.
Wailing is my heart, truly,
I am desperate for you.
Lest would you privilege me of reading this ode,
Lest you privilege my aching heart.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:03 AM UTC
Formless, hidden flagrance
Bastardizations
Subconscious invasions
Derealization
Murderous mindless mental gobbledygook
Aloof, to bide inside and take a look
Spurious flourish in acrid abhorrence
Tis the demon
Which lies within
That tells me lies
And promotes sin
Trials of toilsome interims
Stagnate and rot, in mine, chagrin
Ineffectual ****** aggravations
Sordid, torrid want, ablation
Putrescence of evanescence
Sorrowful warbles in gargling marbles
Choking on hope,
extinguishing flames of my name and making
Prodding the prongs of the timeless song
Rending and rendering nought to which I belong
Seeing sights, in blindness bind,
simulations of kindness, in emptiest minds
I've seen it screaming, deadened in the dark
It doth implore me, say'n only "Hark!"
Tell me truly, what unruly things of which you speak
Portent futures ever looming, bleak
Unspeakable things
I cannot be
I will not be but me
I am not apostate
To lunacy
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 7:05 PM UTC
By: Brendan Cadman
A beam of royal gold breaks through,
the misty and hazy gates of grey.
Clearing to majestic blue skies,
a house basks in the warming ray.
Perched high above the quiet town,
atop a rolling hill of emerald green.
The looming structure casts a welcoming presence,
of dedicated craftsmanship so impeccably pristine.
Through lusting eyes the natives gaze,
and marvel in the homes' aesthetic glow.
Still for years a vacant slumber took,
place of the final dwelling long ago.
Myth and tale engulf the town with,
power equal to a fire captive in the wind.
None would dare to dance with fate,
or brave what presence might lurk within.
Floorboards creak under a phantom's footstep pace,
as silence fills the void of a dark and empty hall.
Cobwebs line the ceiling attractively impure,
as shadows roam the chambers quietly as pictures on the wall.
Continually as the current of a river flows,
so does the quest for a tenant our house will seek.
Toilsome the foreign inly journey can become,
how lucrative is the lenity of inner peace.
Like star-crossed voyagers lost out at sea,
with no course but to betoken of their plight.
Few are destined to a sempiternal fate,
kindred to a haunted house in the daylight.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 12:58 PM UTC
Climbing up and down
Do you count your steps,
Li'l squirrel?
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 10:30 PM UTC