"footsie" poems
It’s interesting how the
Shyer crowds manage
To communicate with each other
A silent eye conversation
Of pure flirtation
All the extroverts oblivious
A trail of fingers across warm skin
The teacher snaps at a popular pair playing footsie
And the two continue their game
The sneaky ********
Were never suspected, until!
One turned up with a love bruise
Gasp!
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 9:42 PM UTC
To my socks,
We play footsie every day,
I can't go anywhere without you.
To my socks,
You are like a ******
when my feet are without you,
They are susceptible to great danger.
With you,
Less so.
When in shoes,
Without you, is like a sweaty, fiery hell,
No relief.
With you,
Soft, comfy, footy majestic ness.
Walking on cold floors,
You are still there for me.
Even for that poor boy Richard, he uses socks now and then,
For his silly foot,
Poor boy.
I admire you dear socks,
They're is nothing else I would rather have on my feet.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 7:50 AM UTC
Tonight,
I watched you quietly again
But all these future memories
Kept projecting in my brain
We'd go to baseball games
And play footsie on top of the littered popcorn
Comfort would take over
Mending a wound we used to mourn
We'd eat breakfast in bed
And tumble on top of each other
Laughter would pierce through
Filling a void left by another
We'd see concerts at dusk
And dance under the twilight sky
Lightness would bloom
Where sorrow used to be disguised
We'd make love in the afternoon
And feel the weight of us two
Desire would burst through
Finally finding something that's true
We'd stay out late in the city
And kiss in the light pollution haze
Love would wash over us
Sticking where it never used to stay
But tonight,
You didn't even know my name
So I settled for a shy smile
From across the room as you looked my way.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
Him:
Do you want to share my ice cream
play footsie?
Inch by inch
I’ll climb up
You eat
Her:
I want to go horseback riding
By candlelight
With a bottle of wine
squeezing with my thighs
I want a stallion
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
pansy's screws weren't loose,
they were missing,
all of them,
leaving gaping holes
of unpredictable insanity
in her manic life
only 22,
and built like haya,
the mistress of desire
and lust,
every male nurse and
a certain shrink at the nut house
couldn't wait to ******
a missing ***** or two
into her
~ psychotherapy with a turgid twist ~
so mum the matron gave her
a protective room at our crib
only 13,
and built like *** wee
the hermit of lore,
I sat at the dinner table
opposite *****
she played footsie
with my naked toes
then gave me the crazy eye
as her lazy tongue
slid in...and out...
of her crazy mouth
~ she needed some pee-wee therapy ~
seed planted,
*** wee fed the fantasy
until it bore fruit:
a succulent apple
in his prurient mind
~ ready to be ...reaped ~
*** wee knocked on the door
~ silence ~
knock.....knock....
~ silence ~
*** wee turned the ****
and there she was...
~ en el desnudo ~
curves, ***** legs
open and inviting,
vacuous eyes staring at me,
daring me...
then she started screaming....
~ P (Pablo)
(7/28/2013)
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 8:58 AM UTC
if my pen were a surgeon's blade,
cutting edge,
razor-made
to excise secrets suppressed
in closets of guilt
or shame;
like the married bishop
with the mega-church and
tera-ego,
trading ****** fluids
with choir boys
in the 9th grade
on wednesdays,
after bible study...
like the senator
with two right feet
preaching chastity
while playing footsie
with perfect strangers
on public seat # 2...
like the donald's high-ranking apprentice
who pulled the plug on mc
as he slept
then wept like boehner
all the way
to morgan stanley and
dean witter,
allegedly...
like the mayor out west
with pinocchio's nose
and jefferson's zest
for extra-marital ***
lies
and belligerence...
like the late king
of pop
who so hated
his beautiful black skin,
he beached it white
then paid m. lester
of similar hue
a loot times two
to weave a blanket,
conceive a prince
and deliver a french city,
allegedly;
I would be a lyrical surgeon
with a passion
for incisive prose,
spilling truths hidden,
whole and half
with the cutting edge
of a poet's pen
~ P (#Pablo#ls)
(8/14/2013)
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
Oh Donald Trump may be an angry, narcissistic fool;
A racist, a misogynist and all-round half-baked tool.
Upon his nation and the world, he represents a curse,
but all of that's okay, you see, for Hillary was worse!
Oh Hillary, she had mad cow and syphilis and rabies.
She drank the blood of virgins and she lived to dine on babies,
and from her eyes shot laser beams while on a broom she flew.
In every way she's crooked, for The Donald says it's true!
She once was witnessed soaking in a lava-filled hot tub,
where she was playing footsie with her pal, Beelzebub!
To the Gulf and Caribbean she released the hurricane.
She brings the earthquake, fire, plague, and drought and flooding rain!
Although she now is history, with influence no more,
we must all hate her while The Donald's failings we ignore.
So while Trump spews his hate and puts all progress in reverse,
we must embrace his evil ways... For Hillary was worse!
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 6:15 PM UTC
the first verse has some sort of divinity in it
innit?
followed by blah
induced by education
influenced by footsie
******* by governments
you never get the bike you want
spider-man is a man in a costume
your best mate takes your girlfriend to the prom
you blink
you water the roses
your parents and your wife
hate you
you have been adopted and divorced
without having a say
you loose your keys
the global warming ain't warm enough
to keep the numbness away
feed the meter
feed the children
feed the pigeons in Trafalgar square
you have a common face
and love is a hypothesis
never proven
yawn
fret
shuffle
your keys are missing again
your looks, brains and mojo forever
stuck in a queue for uniqueness
everyone else on Earth is already unique!
laugh like a clicked emoticon
when society flips you:
head - hope
tail - desperation
nada in between
watch out!
the last verse is coming
[look busy]
Jun 27, 2012
Jun 27, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC
tonight you told me
to remember this, in
your own way -- levity
leading the forefront;
"that(this) one night
when you stayed up
late, sewing and [stap]
[-ling] and otherwise
binding these little sheaves
of poetry for gifts to be
distributed the next day."
we relax and shrug off
the somewhat gruesome
dealings of the early evening,
speaking of perception and
human interfacing[projection].
a discussion of some deeper
thoughts followed, however
the part of me that still
wears footsie pajamas wouldn't
stop pulling on my arm.
as the clock hit 11:40, i went
to bed, turning briefly at the
stairs to say:
"merry christmas."
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 3:28 AM UTC
I have a white tank, see through,
and I like to wear leopard print bras with it.
(neon ones, pink ones, ones that scream
looklooklookatmemememe)
Je veux faire du pied a toi
‘I want to play footsie with you’
it smells like you, after fifteen washes.
‘I want to make out with you’
it is wrung from where you gripped and spread
‘I want to **** you’
it used to fit so well,
but it hangs like a torn shower curtain.
it is hard to breathe with it on,
because I cannot think of anything else except you
fuckingmeinit.
the words are frayed,
an ashy blue with speckles of snow white.
such a cool shirt, I used to think.
but you bit through it, with wolf fangs,
bit through until you punctured my skin,
drained me until I was nothing but a sac of helpless
skin.
It has French on it,
(so ******* witty)
I
want
to
forgetyou.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
"- Cheers Bob -"
The can't ****
squirrel arsed
paymefuckall's
say -
"Hey, we're on
the up lads
and the Footsie's
buoyant too !
Wall street's
through the ceiling
shit's beginning to accrue.
So we saw no need
for apprehension
we've done the deed
and spent yer pension" !!!
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
I dreamed about you for what
May have been the first time.
You were explaining something
To me, preparing to leave.
I held you close against me,
And we played footsie.
I wrote a song and a poem.
I told my brother Jordan
That it was unlike
Anything I've ever written.
How proud of it I was.
You hoped for a new life
Outside of Florida.
Now you have it.
I never wanted
You to leave.
I couldn't do anything
To stop you, or
Persuade you to stay.
You said we should
Stay in touch
Through letters.
The birthday card
You sent me last year
Is in my drawer, still.
I was a companion,
And a lousy mate,
Not a boyfriend.
I could have been.
I could have
Taken that title.
We could have
Played the dating
Game together.
We could have
Risked losing.
I chose to wait for a
More ideal candidate.
She never arrived,
As far as I know.
We had a few
Heated arguments.
The last stemmed
From my ignorance
In an area I believed
I should have been
Knowledgeable in.
I have a tendency
To be an ignorant
Know it all,
To have difficulty
With simple things.
You wanted to
Meet my grandma,
and I was afraid that
It would not go well,
Mainly due to the
Color of your skin.
Your mother encouraged
Me to talk to her about it,
To divulge to her what
Your friendship meant to me.
I decided against it.
At least you briefly
Met my mother who
You thought was nice.
I was angry when
You broke undesirable
News to me, in spite of it,
I would have never
Abandoned our friendship.
Nearly two years later,
And I still have
To be informed,
It's been long overdue.
I know I've already
Said this before,
But I will be soon.
I don't know if you'll ever read this,
And I don't know if I'll ever see
Or hear from you again.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
I have a confession.
I don't know very much about trains. Actually, very little at all.
I know that they have a beginning and an end, and a whole lot of middle.
Kind of like life.
Trains can take you places,
From here to there
From old to new
From start to finish
But cars can do that. Planes can too.
So why do we take trains? They take so much longer.
Except, maybe that is the whole point; the real reason.
Time is never in abundance, and we are always rushing from one chore or job to the next with no time to take a break or rest or reflect or breathe.
Sitting on a train, with nowhere to go and no control over what time you arrive at your destination, you are forced to be calm.
To just sit, and perhaps even enjoy the moment.
In reality, this is what our goal in life should be: to take pleasure in the journey.
I have another confession.
I really want to ask you to take this train with me.
I want to enjoy this journey with you, ignoring the start and forgetting how soon or abrupt the ending could be.
I want to look at the scenery and talk about pretty things and drink yummy coffee and play footsie under the table.
For the first time in my life I want to be uncertain. I don't want to know when or where or how this will end.
I think there is a part of me that already knows where our next stop is, but I can't get the image of laughing with you out of my head.
Baby, let's just see where this thing takes us.
All I know is that you get my wheels turning and my heart racing.
All I know is our beginning and our end.
But darling, won't you fill me in on that whole lot of middle?
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 3:31 AM UTC
the morning after
the sun sneaking through the blinds
naked and hungover
but not caring
because you were naked too
I know this because
while you were sleeping
I took a cheeky peek under the covers
I sleep with a body pillow
but waking up,
my arm around the real thing,
kicks the hell out of any pillow
and your hair was messy
i liked that, but knew you wouldn't
so I tucked it behind your ear
you letting out a breathy sigh
and I could tell you were smiling
by how your cheek bones raised
you playing footsie with me
and smiling
and ******* on my thumb
was an ego boost
because sober you
wasn't freaking the hell out
trying to find a way out of that stranger's attic bedroom
and we kissed
made out
and other stuff
which gentlemen don't talk about
and you got up to get dressed
standing naked trying to find your *******
me in bed saying
"stay in bed for a while longer
that plane to California
ain't going nowhere"
and you said
"yes it it,
it's going to California"
I knew that
but your *** looked great
pulling on those cut off denim shorts
but you had to go
and so did I
and I know *** is supposed to be for the mature
but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't
singing that entire ride home
"I GOT LAID LAST NIGHT!"
like a kid hyped up and hopped up on Halloween candy
It's nice being called "Good Morning"
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 10:25 AM UTC
It's a lonely ol' night
I feel so tired but I can't sleep
all I can do is just think
how sweet it would really be
to have somebody cuddlin' up next me
watching a movie, playing footsie
underneath the sheets
transpiring into some heated body language
with a whole lot of touching
kissin' and huggin'
making love all night til the sun comes up
then we just both fall asleep in each others arms
oh yeah...all I can do is just think
It's a lonely ol' night
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
We keep an empty chair
Between us so our consciences stay
Clean, but your legs are crossed,
Your shoe points in my direction.
Our feet like to lead us
Where our hearts have already wandered.
I like to think about you
Getting dressed in the morning,
pulling on your shoes.
I wonder if it crossed your mind
That later your shoe and my boot
Would touch under that empty chair.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
Beauty is no disguise
Seen with our eyes
Felt with our heart
True beauty is art
There are no words to break it apart
It holds you tight from the start
Letting go only when you let it so
Know my heart grows
Every time we touch our nose
When we play footsie with our toes
And when I give you a tea rose
Even in the lows
Know I'm here to compose
A way to your heart
To make you glow
Like I did from the start
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
My body was trembling
When I felt him near
His feet
Playing footsie
With me
And my foot
Under the table
(As I ate a foot long
Sandwish
And had onion breath)
He liked my breath
I thought then
Because I felt his lips
Getting closer to me.
I felt it
and my breath stopped
My whole breathing stopped
Making my chest
pounding so hard.
It was my heart.
I turned my head sideways
Avoiding the inevitable.
He reached for a napking
He tried to touch my fingers
Grab my hand.
Yes grab my hand!
But no. He can't
So I took them away
I moved my foot away
And my hungry mouth away,
Away from him.
His body screamed at me.
His eyes asked why?
Hurt was shooting through his eyes.
Nothing new to me
Since I saw the same
in my mirror each day
When a thought of his lips
crossed my mind.
The mouth I want to be forever mine....
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
The song
playing in this cafe
is an indie movie cliche
and it makes nothing else matter
besides the empty seat in front of me
and how I wish
there a was a man in it
I could smile at
and maybe
play a little footsie
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
Does she know I love her?
pain-stricken lover
Every hardened letter
draws us in together.
I crave her beauty
and want her near me
She paints in circles;
I draw her clearly.
Soft passion blooms here,
friendship first it looms here.
Does she know her power?
Like a witch she towers
over me, gently,
She plants a seat right near me.
Lovingly, I
wish to vine my arms around her
Hip bones like the ocean I so desperately need.
Can it be: velveteen connection?
Can it be: that I see her, that she sees me?
Dear one,
how I wanted you
the moment that I saw you,
out there playing footsie with the flowers.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
Now I know that “eventually”
will turn to “Now”
and the way we can be-
hand in hand through town, or playing footsie
under the table
Strong hands, soft lips,
feminine and able-
Smiling with teeth and teasing
incessantly-
Hands on waists and watching her, existing,
being her whole self
And so lovely.
Oct 4, 2020
Oct 4, 2020 at 6:09 PM UTC
Remember that time we talked all night?
Remember that time you told me stories for hours on end?
Remember that time we walked together?
Remember that time we played footsie at McDonald's?
Remember that time we walked alone in the dark?
Remember that time we went hiking?
Remember that time you would catch me when I fell?
Remember that time you pretended to push me in the lake?
Remember that time I held you tight?
Remember that time outside the house?
Remember that time you held my hand so I didn't fall?
Remember that time you gave me mittens?
Remember that time you yelled at your friend for scaring me?
Remember that time you bought me dinner?
Remember that time we spoke?
Cause from the things you've been saying
I'm starting to think you don't
And maybe I shouldn't remember those times either
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC