"barefeet" poems
It only takes one step to walk over the edge
And if your heart is as cracked as the canyon under your feet,
I suggest you back away from it
Because the split rocks scattered around you
Are not good indicators of
The split seconds it would take
For your hands to reach the heavens and
Your face to connect with the ground beneath
And although your only thought is
Whether you would finally be able to fly
And reach the other side
You are only a human
Standing with your barefeet pressed into sand
And your toes kissing a ledge
And although you can't fly right now
That doesn't mean you never will
But it only takes one step to walk over the edge.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
I remember from my first memories with all senses humming waking up on Sunday mornings to the squealing seagulls. The smell of briney sea air was sharper
On most sunny sunday
mornings I would awken and lay in bed wake..dreaming for what seemed like hours.
The smells of grandma's rose and flower garden mingled with the smell of sunny Sundays.
The BBC wafted in through kitchen and bedroom windows.Mozart and Sinatra tag teamed against The Ink Spots and, Stan Getz. The Swallows flew back to Capistrano on yearning wings.
Then up and out on walk and sprint to the Caribbean sea, a gem coated shimmering twinkling dancing blanket of rising sun meets amniotic blue churning as froth and mist drifted in a sunday sermon from the water's deep and shallow.
A bubbling embrace as sprint turns to
Swan dive into the Sunday morning sea.
Seven day ritual baptism in the Sunday morning sea...at one with and free.
Now.
A sprint to the bobbing fishing boats that never drew fish from their restfull retreats of the morning Sea.
Breakfast
The sounds of tinkling teacups another ritual as granny stirred brown sugar and condensed milk into a carmel swirling with Johnny Cakes and coconut oil fried eggs waiting and wafting out
To the Sunday morning sea.
My Puppy and me then down through the flower garden.
Of we scampered with cares falling away and secrets to share while throwing stones into
The Sunday morning sea
My puppy named Ranger,barefeet and knee pants the hot sting on my ankle from a chastising fire ant rudly stabs at my reverie
As far as the horizon will let.
My imagination flees and unfetters to shores unknown that kiss and caresses my Sunday morning sea.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
i felt your flourescent heartbeat
on a ***** southern sidewalk
i was staring at my own barefeet
and i saw your eyes from a hole in the ground
you spoke like wind through the air
your words whirled above the garbage
i found a corpse under the floor last year
i keep my pages padlocked in the basement
my stomach is a pit of decaying pipes and retching waterbongs
you are a monster squid walking silent and sunk in thought
i have your eyeballs in my sheets
i have your memory in my bathroom mirror
i have your legs wrapped around my blue veins
i keep my secrets in a lump of tin
and we will scatter these ashes at dawn
we will fly forward on the western wind together
i am the mouth of the void
i can spurt unimaginable wit directly out of my skull
i contain jars full of indecipherable arrangements
you asked me where the rain came from
and i told you we'd be frozen this way
you left a message beside my pillow
i heard the music of your mind
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 10:16 PM UTC
LOVE
resonates
perpetuates
proliferates
aura embodies
reign cloud shines
I'll offer you my hand
A humbling breeze
Earthquakes shake the land
expand beneath the sand
waves rolling, sunshine
raw pure and unclear
dissolving fear
pouring light
fruiting delight
tears of nectar
sweet perfection
ormus affection
candlelight reflection sprouting seeds of our intention
laughter infection- spreading heading towards my heart
tickles as it parts ----- fleeting dogma counterparts
I believe in the moment. what it shows to me
mama earth writing poems to me, streams trees thrones to me
barefeet crush dry leaves, as fear flees these trees
teach so lovingly----- so humbling
Love Vibrations
love lifts altruist
light guides
inspired minds
so shine
restruct time
align oscillating vibes
fractal benign
loveshine
/
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
you're the same as I remembered you:
eyes like daggers
swim towards my barefeet
it's almost summer again: it's too hot to hold you, or
anyone.
sighs about tomorrow: "you're just going to fall asleep again."
I avoid the mess and go straight for the spill: lips. eyes. brain.
you're the lipstick on my coffee cup, the smell of smoke after a house burns down.
she screams about the horses, the costumes, the memories:
I tell her to be quiet.
"just shut your mouth! just shut your god ****** mouth!" and again,
"you're hideous" in a different way.
the anger moistened breath (shouting)
released her from the frenzy of being herself.
standing in front of you, arms shaved and knees lotioned:
"thank you", from the voice of insanity,
signed on the back of a handmade book
with your name on it. exit: left ear right ear left ear right ear left here.
Words like ghosts they go straight through her.
lack of empathy lack of mourning lack of desire lack of satisfaction
it all goes down the drain: in this house
(clogged with hair [it doesn't matter who's, so don't ask]).
the boredom cries out (again) with freedom
and instead we call it "relaxation".
(things we think
but we never think)
to say: I lost the meaning of vacation counting license plates on the way to Texas.
(would bring back more than just the dead)
it would bring us back to dead,
and death would say
(something ringing in our ears) that we understand.
that we understand the things we want to,
whatever they may be,
and then maybe: in death
we can find peace.
May 22, 2011
May 22, 2011 at 1:24 PM UTC
My lungs are full of seaweed
Back upon the beach
Waves still reach up to lick
To my feet
Sunset spirals
Seashell seas
Salt crusted fingers
Crack in the heat
Lips bleeding thirst
A touch or kiss
Window latcher
Lightbulb catcher
Lover in a dream
Barefeet on hardwood floor
A warm bed
And
Above my head
Spiders build a thousand webs
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 1:31 AM UTC
there's a secret place i found to keep my fear
to hide my tenderness & be vulnerable --
it's next to the smallest bones in your inner ear
the fluid skin blanket of your swooping neckline
lily-soft & somehow stiff enough to break
open my seed-pod heart
the one i thought no one could pry apart
but with rosebud ******* -- lips --
the figure of biblical magdala takes me
away from a lone satsuma tree raising its
shriveled offering from the crippled earth
on sunday strolls through duckpond parks
kicking cobbled streets of augusta block
or scooping water at me smiling in cutoffs
on a hot hometown riverbank
you came to me on barefeet out of the smoke
& rain silence where i was invisibly sobbing
where heat-lightning waltzed
sneaky-pete over the prairie
& what are you if not a rain -- a zephyr
flowing through stone temple
just as the dry-mouth dog days of summer
brought hell's fire across the southern field
so i've abandoned the hermetic existence
& buried my old dead shell with a
harp song hail glory to the contortionist god
vaulting off the balance beam in the
back of my mind beneath the
rain soaked topsoil of dawn
among the mound palaces
of ants & mourning mud hornets
while the gray shadows of the magpie
dance & writhe on the mosaic faces of
the trespassed lupine forest
& the sun still comes up on time big
gold fluttering like a delusional cicada
over the empty pink street
i'm still fidgeting because
clouds with tails like jellyfish sting
with rooted memories of azaleas but
you kiss away my all my latent
restless gypsy fears & keep the harsh
light dimmed or wrapped in heat-foil
in your front dress pocket & you only
give it back to me in brief drips --
pinches -- wet tongue kisses --
we talk with our eyes as only animals
can our butts in the damp sand
beside the breathless sea where streaked
clouds seem free to finger the horizon
but are cut by the city skyline --
a switchblade
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
jerry's voice weaves a net
to catch my drunken skin,
sagging and dancing against
his cherry pie voice
warm and sweet in the dark of
the 7:17 dawn,
sun still sleeping behind a tall mountain range.
it makes me ache for open hearted
companions
barefeet wet from dew and black from distance
fearless,
unapologetic as they scream their throats out
raw splattering on the gasping earth from
the heaven high rooftops.
flowers poked through the pores
of ocean flavored skin,
peeling from laying too long
in the morning-faced
sun.
i wonder why people feel
so ancient, when their skin is still so young.
we've built this generation in the
imprisonment of fear,
the shrill avoidance of beauty,
we've forgotten what it feels to be living
free and loving
true,
and that's why you see so many young bones
crumble when their lives have just
begun.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:19 AM UTC
The smoke covering your face
i feel like i've been back from outer space
and i don't even know the last numbers of your credit card
Feel the thrill of the chase
unpredictable like a horse race
i'm wearing your favorite shirt, barefeet in your yard
I didn't tell anyone that it spreads like cancer
and through the neon lights, i'm your favorite dancer
wild and beautiful like a black panther
Take me to hell baby
anywhere, amaze me
Vines growing inside my veins like a poison ivy
when you're around the taste in my tongue is spicy
and after some chapters i realize that i'm so tiny
compared to the strings that you use
to make me move against my own rules
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
I want to see where nice words are used on young ladies.
Damned Rome of rude-bred heights from the balcony of the city of dynamite. The villagers sacrifice their seven pounds of worry, and sleep like children in caves of textile reactors. Souls packed in coins and gasoline sin are sold hot at the bazaar on a University campus in America. What the **** do these lambs do in societal gardens? What the hell do pets know watching letters drizzle from the clouds? Parcel dreams scattered on foster children--I want to know where all our words for niceties went when we paid the women to be young.
Devils make knees slick
barbwire anacondas bless our country
write a laugh--write a song--and we will all work it out
We--used as a rapier to categorize the salt in vigorous blood flow--the bells, the bells of centuries worth of midnights. I--the edited cobble in roads that precipitation breaks in stride. Hearing the rambles of lucky men in the next room, but I know young ladies don't kiss and tell to friends they find effeminate, they rupture and explode. And laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And laugh with squeaky voices as true as poetry. Now they mumble till they are paid.
But you--are no ********** just an empty glass with chunks of broken accents skipping deadlines in life, for new deadlines in life. Abstract puzzle pieces resemble therapy that burns the interrupted wick in--you.
But as for--them--they--or others--delirium commercializes whispers aching the back of their tonsils till there is no relief, but coin to pay for more coin that will pay for more coin. Relief is in another language they refuse to learn because they are arrogant.
Cats scowl at one in the morning for attention, nails anchored in carpet, the rest of us are tired by the week of spending. They want more, more, more--till the gates in your eyes open.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
*Hush...
Be still...
Try to remain silent.
Listen very closely...
Her pleading may be heard
As it is carried through the wind.
Her emotional appeal
Sounds desperate -
It is unbearable to an epath.
Her pleads are ever so faint
And gentle, they are far from violent.
Hush...
Be still...
It is her soul's agony
Which is vibrating
A disturbing frequency,
At such a rate that it constitutes
A wave.
Cries, which nature, alone,
Can hear and feel...
Cries, which shake the leaves free
From the branches of all the
Majestic trees; neither her soul
Nor the trees, can you save.
Hush...
Be still...
Can you feel the faint tremble
Under your barefeet?
Hush...
Be still...
Rest your cheek upon the earth,
Feel her spirit, which is trapped
Deep down inside.
Inhale her essence- it is buried below,
In the fragrant moist soil...
Taste the droplets, she is in the dew;
Even in pain she is a soul
So gently sweet...
~ She is tinged with sadness--
Bittersweet.
By Lady R.F (C)2017* ⚘
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 3:05 AM UTC
I tried running.
Pressed my feet against those hopes I’ve always wanted.
But slipped right onto the crackled pavement
I used to call my dreams.
One day, I bought some Nikes.
The store told me that their shoes could
grip onto you tighter. That I could sprint across
your tired body and not forget to clean you
with my footsteps. I adored you.
The funny thing I soon found out was
buy and try all I want -
there is no such rise and recovery
from blindly face-planting on your familiar path
splattering your body
like sunday morning jelly on toast.
All I wanted was to hold you. Follow your road
that refused to latch onto me like a dead leach.
Feed off of you like an infant on a mother’s breast.
Bloom like daffodils in your needed sunlight.
But there was no traction. My Nikes broke their promises
so I tore them off and tried walking
barefeet.
I stumbled.
Laid there.
Curling my fingers onto your fractured chest, I tried
holding on.
Sliding under my very fingertips, you refused me.
Or I refused you. Whatever it was
It doesn’t matter now.
There is just no traction.
So I let go. Maybe swimming is a safer bet.
No point in holding on anymore.
Thursday January 23, 2014 3:46 AM
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
i.
Seraphim, betimes we shalt crack this inter-web bourn, awaiteth I, tis with tear's from these eye's, though the waiting wilt purify, ourn ventricles to an unfamiliar door.
ii.
None reason for Affright, mine soul doth leadeth the way, O' amour' Jane, thine hari's here to stay. Afresh to the new day, ourn canorous spirit's pave the serenade; something lost to olden flutes.
iii.
Barefeet- None sandals, the luggage we carrieth wilt be of God, almighty; supernatural. Powerful crystalline stone- lucid, god-hand castles.
iv.
It's not against flesh and blood love, that we do wrestle, but against spiritual wickedness in high and low places, we conquer demonic armies, and nephilim faces. An ambassage we sendeth to the human races, that they mayest love another, and forgive, and to forget their past disgraces. As tis Queen Jane; alms wilt be seen on the wall's, encased with ourn names. As I wilt catcheth thee, when through the cloud's thou doth fall...
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedicated
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
I have this feeling in my tummy,
Reminds me of those summers,
When the heat of the sun lured me into a game of happiness,
Spending my time with my toes in the sand,
Looking up at the cloudless blue skies,
And feeling invincible,
The hot sun melting away all the worries,
Walking barefeet on the pavement,
Arching my feet,
Protecting my soles from the heat,
The scent of newly cut grass making making me feel at home and welcome,
Late nights with the windows letting in a slight breeze,
Watching an endless stream of movies,
And I have this feeling in my tummy,
Reminding me of those summers,
When I was happy.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
you know what i'm thinking about, now.
it was too hot outside to do much of anything,
and my car was on low fuel anyway.
[but i bet you didn't know that.]
and i hadn't slept the night before,
and i was ready to tell you that i...
i simply couldn't do this anymore.
but i knew how you felt about running away.
so i stayed, ********* i stayed.
and we ate ice cream with our fingertips,
and never spoke aloud what we felt as we did it.
has silence ever spoken so loud, bbluv?
and in fragments i remember our movie,
and the whole time i wanted to be closer.
so i sat on the floor, and you in your chair,
and wondered if you even noticed me there.
and then i remember hours and hours of night,
being irresponsible and [occasionally] flirty.
but we had to get up in the morning,
so we tried to stop our endless flow of words.
and i remember calling you after i wrecked my world,
and i paced around the house in my barefeet,
and whispered what happened, what i was afraid of.
i remember you mentioning my drunk texts, too.
and yes, i remember slurpees and wasting time inside.
not because it was hot ouside,
but because i just didn't want to leave.
i didn't get anything else done that day.
and i remember the feel of your bed, your pillow,
so different from the couch i had been sleeping on.
and i remember this look in your eyes, and i...
didn't know what it meant, at the time.
and, you know, i wish you weren't sorry.
for driving me away, i mean. that's okay.
but the way you did it tore me apart.
i'll be way too honest here and say it changed me.
i kept waiting for it to hit me,
day after day after ************* day.
you weren't coming back, not ever.
but still i waited, and still i wait.
and then, at the show, there was nothing.
i don't even know if you noticed me.
and that hurt me more than anything.
but i know i liked that your shirt was different.
and i also know i could understand.
because you said that last time,
and i got it, didn't i? i got it.
so don't tell me i won't. just don't.
tell me you miss our slurpees,
and you miss sweating by your pool,
just to delay my leaving a little bit.
even if it meant our legs got soaked.
and then you have to tell me this:
you don't want anything back, and
you don't want anymore late nights,
and you don't want anymore desperate phone calls.
and then i'll let it alone, and be okay.
and i can say this honestly.
because i know you, and i know...
it simply won't happen that way.
"but we both know this won't happen.
because i don't know goodbyes,
and i don't know severed ties."
i know you don't, so stop pretending you do.
you know, you're wrong about something.
you're excellent at leaving. you just **** at staying away.
but is that because, maybe,
you don't want to stay away from me?
so embrace october,
november, and december.
we'll exchange pumpkin pictures,
and costumes too.
we'll send pictures of thanksgiving,
and complain later we ate too much.
and we'll send anonymous presents,
and detail our new year's eve.
and then, what do you know?
we'll have come full circle.
and maybe, just maybe,
this will be yet another year of snow.
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 7:21 AM UTC
I love it when you walk barefooted
its not the fairness of your skin
or the scarlet of your nails
I touch the ground you grace
I feel the flames on my face
Sometimes I think you are the devil
and how easy you tempt me like sin
And if you are the devil
your words are ideal persuasion
your kiss is addictive as ******
a snake slithering under my sheets
So I shall let nothing extinguish this heat
for its the love I have for your barefeet
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
Sienna water falling down mountain peaks of gold
The crescent moon and the sun I am told
Have moments in the sky where they like to scold
The stars for being so far away and so old
When the unicorn meets a mind that is logical
The trees whisper in their ears until their eyes become mystical
These legends will expand by being whimsical
Translated into words not fit for the analytical
I can't express just how much I love the mythical
Through forests painted in endless emerald shades
I run swiftly in barefeet as the grass cascades
Down into a rolling meadow where there is an everglade
I stop and stare, completely amazed how this resonates
This is where I was meant to be, this is how I was made
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
We hit the prairie
with the windows rolled down.
As the sun started to set,
you took off your shoes-
your barefeet on the dash.
You lit a cigarette
and the glow as you inhaled
revealed marks of a very great adventure.
We let our hair grow long together
because it looked cool
when the wind
ruffled it a bit.
"I wish we could drive forever", you said.
I agreed:
We could have chased the sun for the rest of our numbered days,
because we knew it would be the only thing
we could hold on to.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 7:42 PM UTC
Ochre scrubbed ebony skin
Wooden jewelery here and there
Picture perfect beauty in simplicity
She walked in moral fortification -
fashioned in decency
Hardwork and wisdom was her charm
Barefeet and weighted with firewood on her head
Pots and baskets she juggled in hands
and through scorching heat she focussed ahead
the dessert sand burning her feet
Not once did she say it was a plight
She was proud to be a woman
The keeper of men and children
Through rain through sunshine
cooperating with her man's other woman
She worked for survival of all
Getting up in the first light of day
Submitting and respecting
Raising her children in acceptable ways
She was the unglorified worrior
A war hero could not fit her shoe
But she didnt have that shoe
So she smiled and made her man happy,
and her children
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 7:28 AM UTC
Even a master welder
could not feat these bars
that wind and twirl
encasing, interlacing
your thoughts with the world
for all may be what never was so
where a smile once beamed
a soft glow, now resides
torn from the out, inside
feeling weakened and tried
because you tried and you tried
but your fire was put out
by eager firemen
with hoses that spewed
and skewed, the world you once knew
for things you could not understand
but you learned to understand
grew up and found you can
live without starting a fire
and live to aspire
to be
important
but when the town falls asleep
my thoughts slowly creep
back into my conscience
ready or not Im
ready
and something so small as
barefeet or chopsticks
become the most important things
at all
red lipstick and straw hats
a smile and a wave at
someone Ive never met
how good it can get
when i havent heard yet
what I need to know
the need to go
and learn on my own
miles of road
on an endless mind
that only interprets
what goes unfiltered
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
This rolled growth of sweet Mother Earth,
now between my fingers I hold
her breath, bated, much like my worth.
Barefeet and barebones, renewed dearth
of repose, sanity consoled
by role - growths of sweet Mother Earth.
I’ve worked sweat from my brow, my girth
diminished. Love sits in green bold -
her breath, baited, much like my worth.
We consume each other. Rebirth
my sunken pulse from mellowgold,
this growth of mother. Rolled sweet earth,
up in smoke around Cheshire mirth.
With numbed senses, today I’ve sold
my bated breath, much like her worth.
And so we journal language, like Firth,
while The Sativa Saint extols
this rolled growth of sweet mother earth,
her breath, bated, much like my worth.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 2:45 PM UTC
Trees loom in the shadows.
Forbidding and threatening.
It reeks of 3am.
The animals hush their cooing.
The cars drive a little slower.
The rain is a bit colder.
It pierces the skin.
Each drop an ice dagger.
The sounds all around.
Enormous in weight.
The silent screams out.
The shadows come out to play.
Monsters and demons
make homes in the hearts
of the lonely still awake.
Of the poet
who feels 3am
as a kindred spirit.
Who knows lonliness in the pits
of his stomach.
He swallows sadness
and mashes his pillow
fighting the urge
to just cradle it to his chest.
It reminds him of
the eternal her
The girl who loved nighttime
who craved the cool dew
of the sleeping grass
under her barefeet
as she waltzed under the moonlight
with owls hooting
their sweet lullaby.
She swayed and danced
light as feathers
and she always danced
in his mind.
And she always danced
in his mind.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
I was enchanted by the
Stars, burning so bright,
that I forgot the Earth beneath me,
the grass that cushions,
the roots that dig deep;
You are the touch of cool sand on barefeet.
A breeze blows softly on the coast
as I look up to the clouds my love
For the sky
Has not faded.
I look down to my feet
As waves wash up underneath,
And my love for the Earth that cradles me
Grows.
These two loves I hold simultaneously.
So deep, so separate,
But co-existing in Harmony.
I let the Earth carry me gently
The sky is for another lifetime.
This ground that holds me
Is home.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 10:33 AM UTC
shattering glass in the midnight bonfires
flaring purple with the fumes of tin cans and bottle caps.
and with barefeet we were called to run
naked underneath the moon
and howl at the trees;
to walk in packs of hallucinating lunatics
and to reach peaks of mountains where my brothers and sisters
claimed to have found God.
we're the ones that swagger on the sidepath,
sleep in gutters with notebooks and easels
and charcoal. water colours. badly tuned guitars,
rusted tambourines and guttural voices charred by
a thousand cigarette butts,
loosely rolled joints
and handfuls of various powders;
some luxurious and some downright filthy.
we sleep in forests or on drug dealers floors,
we love like feral animals,
and we dream like cats,
drink like fish,
fly like moths
and drown, drown, drown like sand.
but we refuse to wear a life-vest.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
I felt the soft earth beneath my barefeet,
And overwhelmed I fell to my knees.
I clenched my fists
Digging my fingers deep into the ground.
Suddenly I began to weep profusely
For it had been an eternity since I had felt so happy
And longer still since I had felt so alive.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC