"cobbler" poems
Ye who enter here, beware
Of wolves and mine shaft pits, take care
Or ye shall taste the bitter death
That comes upon the creeper's breath
Thy survival, on the good
Of other players rests
Upon thy house a naming sign
Each person must *****
And when night falls, take care that ye
Who stalk the halls at dark
Set up a light for ev'ry turn
A stick lit with a spark
A bone to catch a wolfie with
Some cookies fresh to eat
And in a furnace, toasty warm,
We have to roast our meat
To mine the caves and tunnels deep
To delve into the mountains
And when the water gushes forth
We then create the fountains
Sell your wares, o Cobbler man
I've melons many to spare;
An axe, a sword, a shovel stone
Oh? You like my hair?
Here we go, see yon moon rise
The world in the starry twilight
I have not seen the whole world yet
Would you take me there by starlight?
Unspoken fear; the creeper hiss
Blew up my trusty door
And now all manner of verminous things
Have crawled across the floor
If only I had a wolf to my name
Three bones to win his love;
Then he could save me from--I shudder--
The Enderman above.
No armor have I, nor sword of iron
Stone and wood are mine
The wooden stairs that lead up high
Tell me, who had all this time?
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
there was a little octopus the poor chap had the blues
he found it very hard when he was buying shoes
with so many legs shopping was a curse
and no shoes to buy this it made him worse
with four legs of left and four legs right
no one had the shoes the poor lite mite
so he had some made at the local cobbler store
making shoes for eight feet he had never done before
he made the shoes to fit made them very neat
made them made to measure for fit his little feet
octopus was happy now he had his shoes
he began to smile again and took away the blues
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
Samantha Fox
Was a panther
In a previous life
As well as an ox.
Not to mention
The wife of a
17th century cobbler
On the outskirts
Of Gillingham.
Which is unusual
As those who remember
Past incarnations
Are usually the wives
Of Heads of Nations
Or helped build pyramids.
Actually said Samantha
I forgot to mention
I was also the transistor
In Euclid's protractor.
Can you get anachronisticer?
Oh reincarnation
The rebirthing
Mother of invention.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
• grape gatorade
• baby powder engraved earrings
• glow sticks
• the smell of old holy pages
• peach cobbler
• complement circles
• heterochromia
• crazy hair
• wet clothes
• dr pepper
• cold rain against the humid air
• glances people steal
(j.a.r.)
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
Her shoes
Small and pretty ones .
She said u had no clue what my blue shoes are going through .
She had a shoe bite ,
She was uncomfortable .
The shoe soul weak holded just came out .
What the hell !!
She looked down at her feet with black eyes
She was worried .
Her innocence and beautiful face lost the charm
She cursed herself for the shoe she wore .
Brought a day just before from a big shoe store .
She loved her little tiny ones and the branded trust
A mere 2 days and the pair went bust !!
I had no clue what to do ?
As it was raining outside
Seeing her misery , i didn't feel cool and I was worried about her humble feet .
Going barefooted along the road could not be fun .
Cellotape all over shoes was only idea left and looking for cobbler the another one .
Walking down the street with broken shoe
I felt for her ,but nothing i could do .
With her walked in the shoe shop , she was blessed .
New pair and the smile on her face .
I said just chill and be happy , u got to share this moment with me bcz we haven't talked in a while .
She reminds we have to go home soon .
We rushed for the train .
She was happy though , no crowd , she could seat and reach home . Waved my hand and I could only give her good wish .
All along the way I was thinking about her , had a laugh too but what if I would have gone through !!
She thanked me and was happy with her new shoes .
Indeed me too .
A day to be remembered .
- Suhas Ghoke
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
I am The Shoes of Shoes,
which are Solomon’s. Let him polish
me with the oil from his brow, for his gloss
is better than sunshine.
Because of the fragrance of thy ointment buffed
upon me, thy name
is Scent Shine, therefore do the ****** shoes
love thy feet. Stretch me,
with your Shoe-Tree, and I will run
& rejoice with thy feet through
gardens & woods, and across mountains alike.
I am leather, but comely, O ye Daughters
of Shoeshopingham, as The Pile Beneath
the Prophesised Viaduct, and as in the abundant
bottom of The Wardrobe of Solomon.
Look not upon me, because I am leather,
but put me upon thy feet for I
am thy soles.
I am the Rose of Shoe, and the Lilly of The Laces.
As the strong shoes among thorns, so
is my love among The Shod.
As the tongue that tightens to the fruit of the foot, so is
my beloved among The Shod.
His left foot is in my left purse, and his right
foot is my right, tight.
The Polish of My Beloved, behold, cometh
glinting off llyns, he cometh leaping upon
the mountains, with both of me tight on his feet.
Looketh fourth through The Round Window
of Wisdom, through The Lattice see
him shoeing himself with my flesh.
Take us the socked foxes, the little foxes that chew & spoil,
for our shodding is tender.
My Loved Shod’s feet are mine and my leather is his.
Until the day break, and the unshod shadows flee, turn
my Loved Shod, and be thou like the shoe young on the mountains.
Behold, thou art fair, my shoes, behold thou art shoes as fast
as a flock of goats over the Mountain of Shoedon.
Thy laces are like soft strands of moss, which have been spun
& woven in the Workshops of Acorns by The Grubs of Oak.
Thy eyelets are like the sweet slots in which nestle
the seeds of the pomegranate.
Thy tongues are like scarlet leaves fallen from speaking
trees, and thy squeak as I walk in thee is comely.
Thy heal is like the shield that should’ve been
fashioned for Achilles.
Thy two toe caps are as sleek & pert as the twin otters
that fish among the lilies.
How beautiful are thee, shoes for feet, O Goddess’s daughters,
the joints of thy soft foot-slot smooth as the gleam
of jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning cobbler.
O Solomon set me twin shoes as seals
upon thy feet, for Love is as strong
as The Road to Dead we must follow. O
my Loved Shod! for every one
of thy steps you make
in me is my bliss.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 8:25 AM UTC
earth boy.
air conditioned and living.
/or
following the light of something far from home.
begin:
old town and lovely she.
loved she.
love she like there is no other she.
the one and only she.
she dumps him.
finds a new he.
has *** with the new he in a far corner apartment complex peak
beyond the tracks. train.
troubles;
like screeching howls of love spit and **** city
at midnight.
he buries his hopes and face in pie
at the café
volta.
new her,
wiping the counter calm yet tired yet cute and soon to close shop.
she tells him -
about the keys of lost lovers.
the doors to remain open for the sake of dreams and all possibility.
she tells him -
of the pies at the end of the night.
the cheesecake and the apple pie
/entirely gone.
the peach cobbler and the chocolate mousse
/almost gone.
but the blueberry pie, always
/untouched.
he’ll have that.
some sort of broken in the heart have that/love that/eat that/pie.
they talk for hours.
he rests his head on the counter and sleeps
icecream on his lips.
she almost kisses him right there.
and she remembers him.
attempts to call him while he’s in memphis
/or
some other southern city.
he's on somekind of journey.
he works kitchens for more money to motion further west.
westward sweat and burgers. see/saw.
little money, little love, little city
and onto the next.
she remembers him.
attempts to call him while he’s deeper into the glowing desert dome
/or vegas.
/or, you see the stars above?
she writes him letters.
and he writes her back, and in return, they fall
toward a thought, a light, a lit-up little idea of life full
on good something.
return.
to new york and old scents. old town.
corner apartment complex peak window and memories of a once-was
girl.
beyond the tracks. train.
troubles no more.
return/
to pie.
to café and concept
of sweet-tooth, sweet real something, sweet blueberry nights
and icecream.
and there she is.
with warmer winter/spring smiles than even dreamt.
and her words for hours.
she almost kisses him, but kisses him.
something perpetual
is love.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
Vanilla frozen cream
over slices of pink-orange inner flesh,
steam as something cold
is lain upon something hot.
The fluffy-whiteness spreads
the soft-firm peachiness apart, leaks
into the space between, gathers
in a small puddle of thick milkiness,
almost pearlescent.
Rolling-back eyes,
scent of precious fruit,
burning cold bowl
in hand, contents slide down the throat
all at once, swallow.
May 14, 2011
May 14, 2011 at 5:58 AM UTC
When I hear a concealed clock ticking,
I think it's some shouldered past jello grenade
ready to chastise my fletched thumbs.
Like the last time Sandman drew supper with his knees,
and decided to fling cherry cobbler at my nose,
I realized this homeless perfume actually belonged to Mother.
Her pearls redeem her complexion,
milk marrow of silk against her nose--
three strikes dawdling their tongues
from underneath tin necks.
Steady, rinse, exfoliate:
but those are difficult to do
when your rib cage cracks
like the last octave
of a reddening audience.
Brother thinks the tree skirt is soft,
coddling his pats and rabbits
below a ranch full o' pine scented apples.
Sister wonders if she should bring new girl home,
(met at 1:33 AM on 23rd Street.
Apartment documented to smell like baby powder)
but friends are friends are friends are friends,
just friends as furrowed Daddy repeats to himself.
Even "Hallowed be thy name..." confuses the CCD out of him.
"Cancel Alabama's trip this year;
the bees will be humming in their own candle wax.
Besides, who wants to hug Nana
when her breath doubles over in grilled salmon?"
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 8:22 PM UTC
You brought home peaches today,
in a small woven basket that smelt like sunshine.
I told you I'd make peach cobbler with them.
And when I went to get the pie pan out but there was already cobbler there.
I turned to you confused and you
Smiled a sad smile
Took my hand in yours and lead me to my rocking chair.
Told me that I looked beautiful today-
that you loved me.
I laughed a little laugh,
I'm sorry sir, you are kind, but we just met!
Again you smiled your sad smile,
took my left hand in yours,
We've been married for 46 years
You brought home peaches today,
in a small woven basket that smelt like sunshine.
I told you I'd make peach cobbler with them.
And when I went to get the pie pan out but there was already cobbler there.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
Coffee
Heath
Bar
Crunch
Will sabotage those taste buds,
Like Dublin and its Mudslides.
So blast off with that,
Fossil Fuel,
And don’t let me
Catch you.
‘Cause I’ll keep you,
My Maple Blondie.
I’ll capture you,
And hold onto,
Those Cinnamon Buns.
You’re the Crème Brulee,
Of Chocolate Macadamia,
And the Cherry Garcia,
In my every breath.
You’re the Chunky Monkey,
To this Chubby Hubby;
The Dulce Delish,
for this Americone Dream.
Can’t you see I’ve just got,
A sweet tooth for you,
And your Phish Food?
Your Chocolate hair,
Key Lime Pie eyes,
Strawberry Cheesecake lips,
And your skin is a delight,
Much like Vanilla Caramel Fudge.
Did Ben and Jerry create you?
Please tell me they did!
So I can eat you,
With my cup of Boston Cream Pie,
And I’d eat you all up, Well,
Everything but the…
Half Baked, Karmel Sutra,
Which I’d lick,
Like a cone of Cake Batter,
And then dip into,
Like Cookies and Milk.
Imagine Whirled Peace,
On top of this Mudpie,
And then Split,
Like a Banana.
That’s the kind of Brownie Batter,
I’d stir with you,
And then add a scoop,
Or two,
Of Turtle Soup.
And you would yell,
PISTACHIO PISTACHIO!
Where for art thou pistachio?
And with a bowl of Peach Cobbler,
And a spoon of Vanilla,
I’d look at you,
wink,
and offer you a pint,
of my Mint Chocolate Chunk.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
My Grandma had a purse shaped like a cobbler.
It was Blackberry and soap with a good dose of thyme.
She kept it close to her side, but behind her
so as not to impede her graceful march.
At some point the original strap had been lost
and replaced with a cherry red confection
that swirled around her arm and latched
onto the top crust that is always the most crunchy.
A few buttons were picked up along the way
and dotted the top layer like ladybugs dancing.
The zipper was never fully shut and there was often
a receipt sticking out, or perhaps her pink comb
that waggled in the air like a tongue in delight.
It wasn’t a big purse; just enough to satisfy
a healthy craving but big enough to care
were you not to see it present at dinner.
I have almost forgotten the healthy craving,
the smell of Blackberries, and why the ladybugs
should ever want to dance.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
Jeweled.. map... talk
Wipe her... teardrops...
He summoned her
Braveheart
"The Hipster" starry eye
Commando Chief
Trampled the hot item
help!!
* * * *
Rubies in the Paradox
Pep-talk thief Fox
* * * * *
Red Rhapsody
Hey, Buster, on the
Tip of the "Ice Queen"
"King Speech"
Her lips
Practice what your eyes
Preach whats inside his lips
Lip marooned force
Afterfight doomed
"Divorce"
He tapped took a bite
So vamp lit her lip
Apple stumbles
Mr. Cobbler
Lips got caught to be
crumbled
Clicks movie flicks
* * * *
Physiological College of chicks
On her Demon laptop lovesick
Sisters of the Sentinel
Fingers clicking like quicksand
Ancient lips touch the shadow
Of his smile
Does anyone have a
soft spot for Angels
The psychotic broken wing on the verge
The lip pledge Demon
Give him a shot lip
bullet glass
"Red Electricity" he smiled
Certain lip she deserved
The floppy disk
Sweet breath
His baking whisker's
Those baby boomers
Top of the lip rumors
the right kiss
"Emmy" Jet set trips
Their chattering lips
Niagara falls duty calls
"Lip Shoutbox"
Her lips touched on
A nerve
schemingly
He blew up like the
Cherry bomb we will
succumb dreamily
Could blow his
lips down
How she wore the
red velvet bustier
A+ lip magnet
He's the connoisseur
La Luna melancholy
"The World Is Dying"
No apology
The symphony in line
With the lip up
His chin down is lying
But when your smiling
A poem knows what your
lips are saying
Are you in way too deep
Lips like cold cuts the
paparazzi mob sheep
The movie cut Deli line
Race her the Italian
Mazzaratti be mine
Demon jungle no plain
Jane's lips
Hurry up your highness
lost his taste for goodness
Do angels die her lips went___?
Angel confession another
revelation
One lie please "I am the Angel"
we never live to die
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 8:05 AM UTC
I personally
Love food comas;
And cookie periods,
And gumbo
Exclamation marks!
The're the best!
And semicolon pies,
Oh man...
And peach cobbler
Parenthesis,
They're perfect
With scoops
Of delicious vanilla
Question marks
With a drizzle
Of caramel
Quotation marks,
Oh no!
I'm going
Into an
Anaphylactic shock
From the forward slash
And back slash
Layered lasagna,
I'm going comatose!
Quick! make me some alphabet soup!
© okpoet
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
Halloween oh Halloween
Dashing through the streets
On the last day of October yeah
Are all the kiddies playing trick or treat and the rougher kids eggs an old battalax's house
And then when this old geezer comes out, the rough kids are as quite as a mouse
Halloween yeah Halloween
It's a great day yeseree
You see people dress up as vampires and witch's and ghosts
And for blood they use cherry cheer
Halloween yeah Halloween
It's a great day to scare everyone
You see you can pretend you head is cut off
The old fogies are going for a walk
And some trick or treaters are coming down dressed up as 1 ghost
2 witch's and a very ****** clown oh yeah and as they passed the olds
They said how's it going cobbler
And then the ****** clown said
I will tease ya if ya don't give me a dollar
Halloween yeah Halloween
These scary kids are having so much fun yeah it.'a fun scaring old fogies yeah for money oh yeah it's fun
Halloween yeah Halloween
Celebrate it now
Celebrate the day that likes the idea
Of dressing up as scary monsters yeah Halloween is cool
Halloween yeah Halloween
It's on for young and old
You see dressing up as ghosts and witch.'a really makes us glad
Halloween yeah Halloween
Come on everyone
We give each kid a wonderful treat
To share and share a like
Happy Halloween dudes
Sent from my iPhone
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 3:03 AM UTC
#Why I walk the street in a cobbler’s shoe?
What’s new, you may ask, that we all do!
But nay, this one, I had to borrow from him
Still one furlong my shoes ran out of steam!
The cobbler was visibly aghast
Doubtful looks on me he cast
Then he said in a garbled groan
I sell shoes not give on loan!
I cursed myself and the shoes I wore
Brought months back from a big shoe store
Price was high for the branded trust
A mere few months and the pair went bust!
So here I’m at the cobbler’s door
Walk I must a furlong more
Begging for an old worn shoe
My humble feet with that can do!
The guy though felt ill at ease
Seeing the misery bowed to my wish
Brought out for me a dirt stained one
Going barefoot could not be fun!
I tell you friends a story that’s true
The cobbler loaned me a pair of shoe
I could only give him good wish
Before I hurried on my way to office!
*If you ever beg love of her
This small story you must remember
She hasn’t a way but make you her own
Can either sale love or give it on loan!*#
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 4:15 AM UTC
peach cobbler, that's what you remind of
the sweet, southern staple that everyone loves
but when the pom-poms fell from your hands
you told the girls in the van on the way to fun mountain
"I can't do those stunts anymore."
I still laugh at myself for my inappropriate and abrupt,
"WHAT!?!?"
but your collected calmness collected me
until i saw in the back of your eyes the collected fear
and realized the daunting fact,
that even though you were nearly 9 months my younger
in 9 months
you were going to have to be years older than me
we were raised to plan
but planning doesn't determine how life occurs
cause you never really plan to fall down
i know there were those who showed you love
but i'm sure being named "pastor's daughter" and labeled "cliche"
didn't do you any favors in the judgement days
and i'm sorry i only made you a dress to hide the bump
when you deserved a cape
to soar over that injustice
that no one has the right to serve
what its like to inhabit a body that is growing beauty
i don't know, but watching you
i have seen it can be ... a change
which, i'm sure, that doesn't even remotely explain ... does it?
no it's ... a Life Alteration of Volcanic Proportions
cause I'm sure, at times, you feel as if standing in the wake of an explosion
and sometimes the earth spews fiery filth at you
but i believe mothers are fire proof
cause they know they have beauty that grew inside
and when you look at that doe eyed, preschooler son
remember that love strengthens you
heaven is powerful
and you are both beautiful
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 2:59 PM UTC
The word I don’t like is "independent"
In this vast universe everything is " interdependent"
There is no scope for vanity
Even for the richest man in the Vatican city
For our shirt we need a button
And a sick man may need mutton
To get our shoes mended, we need a cobbler
If we go to hotel, we want a server
The church needs a preacher
A mosque needs a prayer
The temple needs a priest
And the depressed soul Jesus Christ
For our travel we need a bus
And for our livelihood a money purse
A scientist needs laboratory
A politician wants idolatry
The list is endless
Nothing is useless
The tiniest thing like a pin has its utility
None should over estimate their priority
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 4:53 AM UTC
I didn’t cry when you left
Neither did I say anything to anyone
I just kept quiet for a few days
But, I've observed everything
And suffered even more
That blue shirt,
Which you often used to wear
Is ironed and arranged
in the wooden closet
Your specs are still kept
on the television..
And the umbrella ..
waiting for the rainy season..
In The last rains
We were soaked and drenched
I did not touch your umbrella ..
I know,
That you do not like
If your things are misplaced
I’ve told the cobbler
To mend your old shoe
Your watch is repaired
With a battery brand new
Taylor has stitched your pants
With a lining inside
And
Your bed is done
And mom waiting by its side.
Dad ....
I know
You will be tired by the journey
But this time,
Please stand still
And Rest for some time
I will take off your shoes
And massage your legs
To make you de-stress
Whatever you’ll say
I'll do it all
Just stand still
And be there
You know what dad ...
The last time you left ..
You left us shocked...
Ananya
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
Autumn was an old Viennese street held up in sacrifice to the sky,
With burnt-song offerings that still see through the clouds, as they see through you.
His was cobbler craft of reed-winded flame for the foot in tune,
Amid the outsnuffed shopkeepers’ lights and the candlesmoke of midnight hours,
Pulsing above the inner heart of the Ringstrasse
Of brass signs and paving stones, misted and mute.
His was the candelabra of wick-notes
Wanded through the windowed rooms of forested night.
His were those woods filled with doorways, bookcases, and stairs
And everything dim and warm with people, no longer there.
*********
The winter sunlight played across the keyboard of crypted windows,
And in the muted under-roofs of ice and snow,
On one window, like a hand in whole rest,
The caramelized glass swallowed the flame-image of the stray redbird
And the black carriage wheels that passed.
In the long hallway of the Viennese flat,
One candle remained lit in the mouth of song.
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 6:43 PM UTC
Child in bubble
In the delineated rubble
A bone to be scavenged.
Cobbler tying butterflies
The polish left dry
A bone to be scavenged.
Tailors stitching suit
Tape measured six foot
A bone to be scavenged.
Bullet tattoos is to bliss
Is this the balance?
A bone to be scavenged
A hunger to be avenged.
The inner vulture.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 3:33 AM UTC
"The tallest poplar I'll grow to be,"
said the young tree.
"Standing above the rest,
I'll be crowned the best.
Fortified and grown,
the forest will be mine to rule alone."
Ripped from the roots,
and cut down by a man in boots,
the dreams quickly faded.
"There's not much to make of me now"
Thought the tree,
whose complexion quickly changed
from wide-eyed to jaded.
Hauled onto a truck
Off he went.
To the lumberyard,
the young tree was sent.
Chopped to pieces,
stripped of his bark.
Our young poplar was afraid his life,
would never leave a mark.
"Some wooden crates they'll make of me"
"The peaks of the other trees I'll never see"
"I'm useless, I'm broken"
"In the forest my name will never be spoken"
The story doesn't end though,
it's only just begun.
For the life of this tree,
is one that's not yet done.
The lumber was chopped, cut, and carried.
To a town of a man named Jack,
who was poor but newly married.
"I've got little money, but I make good shoes"
"I've got to take care of my wife, I've nothing left to lose"
"I'll open a store, and become a cobbler"
"And with the money I make, I'll buy my family something proper."
So Jack took his life savings.
And off he went, to open a store,
To make enough money to pay the rent.
Our poplar was still together,
chopped into many pieces.
Next to some hardware supplies,
and a vendor selling fleeces.
"I'll take that lumber, it'll do the job."
"Just take my money, and I'll be along"
Years passed by as Jack labored hard.
A few kids came along, a house, and a fenced in yard.
One day a special man came to town.
Not the type of man that you see every day,
for this man wore a royal crown.
"Wooden clogs I need for my feet"
"To keep them dry as I walk along the damp street"
A chance to make shoes for a king,
this was enough to make Jack sing.
He looked through his supplies,
they weren't enough.
To build shoes fit for a king,
would be quite tough.
"I have just the wood, "
he thought to himself.
"From when I first built my shop,
there is some left on the top shelf.
So he took the remaining scraps,
and he made new shoes.
Shoes for royalty,
clogs fit for a man more special than me.
And now our poplar finally got his chance.
To join in the royal dance.
And on the king's feet he stays.
Helping him rule the land for the rest of his days.
So, if you find yourself cut down before you grow.
Just remember, and make sure you know.
Your chance will come, sooner or later.
To become a part of something greater.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 7:49 PM UTC
She's absolutely delicious,
sweet like a nectarine,
light fuzz covers her
in all the right places.
I love the way she gushes,
so juicy like a ripe peach,
flowing in abundance,
heavenly-stickiness,
her face looking stellar.
She's very kind
& super fine,
teaches me
how to love her,
tasty like a cobbler,
I gobble her up
every chance I get,
it drives me
out of my mind.
She's definitly not a pet, but
rather a bowl of succulent fruit,
******* the size of peaches
with stout lovely-nipples,
as hard as the pits.
I can't wait
to jam it with her,
I want to make some
marmalade
of my own.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
noble as noble as the fine gold gilded on any cross
as noble as words sent into time immemoriable
finely threaded as any silk, cobbled as leather
time worn strong as strong as any spider weaves
as strong as any shoe as any cobbler would
as any woven dress, as the most finer caress
as strong as the rumored kiss that virgins sent
red cheeked to any amorous brave warrior
fighting for her honor her tenderness;
as fine the robes as shiny the armor,
as gloried as any woven story,
as any vigil spent with years claiming glory
of vigilence, I spoke , I sent an arrow
across the bow of diligence, of romance
only, only to the center of your , your heart,
my deepest love, if but my aim were it true might find
ten seconds in your smile
and destiny in your glimpse
and glory in your touch!
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 3:57 AM UTC
A shoemaker toiled each day to provide for himself
From dusk until dawn, leather was washed and cut, laced and stained
The living room was stacked with books, found, bought, or stolen
The kitchen supplied with only some fruit, vegetables, and a few loaves of bread
The town was healthy, and run well
The neighborhoods were peaceful, but not without trouble
A widow and son were watched over and provided for
But the loyal cobbler received not even a wave
In desperation, the shoemaker returned to his work
For that is all a man can do
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 3:15 AM UTC