"shoeless" poems
It was the time of my Auntie Bee summers
I was small then
She had a parakeet that landed on my head
and a bathtub too
with water so deep!
and legs and claws!
**** thing nearly chased me down the stairs!
She lived in slumbery Windsor Locks
where bugs hung-out in the haze
of teenage August
I played in the tall weeds
with a shoeless Italian boy
who ate tomatoes like apples
and cucumbers right off the vine!
He was ***** free and foreign!
We played— reckless, abandoned
behind the gas pump, under the tractor, in the barn
and through the endless fields
I didn’t know....
His name was Tony
I ate pizza with him—the first time
At Auntie Bee’s I had to go to bed at eight
but I could watch night flowers
bloom on wallpaper
She came in to say good night
slippered, shadowy, night dress slightly open
and I peeped her *******
like Tony’s cucumbers!
I had never seen my mother’s wonders....
Night spread its wings from the old fan—
a bird of tireless exhaustion
whipped, whipped, whipped to death in its cage
tireless exhaustion
tic-tocking in time to a wind-up clock
stretched out on the whine
of the overland trucks
Route Five through the night of an open window
In the grape arbor below—
tremulous incessant
crickets crickets crickets
tremulous incessant—insides of a child
a summer child
not yet ready for the fall of answers
Auntie Bee had a daughter—Maureen
I followed her everywhere I could
I was small then--
do anything for a stick of Juicy Fruit
I followed Maureen through my dreams
of being sixteen
and woke to Peggy’s “Fever”
while she tied her sneakers
against the mattress by my head
I followed Maureen (in my mind)
tanned and bandanned
to work in the fields of shade tobacco
with all those Puerto Rican boys!
She knew where she was going!
I was small then
...do anything for a stick of gum
“Mauney! Mauney! Mauney!”
...through the goldenrod of roadside
through the smell of oil that damped the dust
I followed Maureen’s white shorts
and chestnut hair...to the corner store
I followed the way the boys smiled
the way the screen door slammed
on her bright behind
the way her lips taunted and took
the coke-bottle’s green
I followed Maureen
I swear, I tried for hours to get that right!
Must have been Peggy Lee’s “Fever”
Maureen ties her sneakers in my face
Flaunts her years above my head
She has that look—
“We kids don’t know nothin”
(Little turds” that we be)
…followin’ Maureen
through the goldenrod of roadside
tic-tockin’, beboppin’
“Fever— in the morning
Fever all through the night….”
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
Summer scents and summer heat
Teenagers' laughter and water flying
Dripping heads and shoeless feet
Trees wear flowers and the sun is shining
To him the day's grey and there's too much noise
Smothered in his black shirt he's ignored by other boys
Saved by the bell, he joins the row some teacher leads
While a group of pupils talks, two girls argue and one reads
At his usual seat he takes his usual things
Acting like he's writing while he's finishing some drawings
Yet his mind slips away to something near
Someone's stare makes his concentration disappear
Frustrated his eyes find her silent stare
When the teacher turns his back, she leaves her desk in one, two, three
Unbalanced he acts like he doesn't care
He could just pretend like he didn't see
Next to him she takes place
The seat astonished by the company
Her hands slowly reach his face
And before he knows his vision gets blurry
Still wondering what's going on, the poor boy has no clue
Until she whispers- with his glasses on:
Now I see the world like you.
Y.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
Sometimes is seems as though it's easy for us to just walk by
Nonexistent are the pictures of them
Moving, living, breathing
Them, societies refuse
Thrown away and discarded by life
We are no longer our brother’s keeper
Human beings rendered worthless; useless
We move amongst them as a breeze blowing by
Uncaring for all in its path
Rushing to its destination
Our selfish needs to hold on to the little we have
And keep it from those who have none
Not even our "little"
Quickly it has become forgotten
At any moment any of us can be overtaken by hunger
Sweeping over us as garbage in the street
Leaving us bare, empty, hungry
We too can be eluded by shelter
With no one to care
No hands reaching out to help
We too can become a fracture in humanity
I see them peering at me from behind broken spectacles
Shoeless feet in the winter
Suffering in the bitter cold, nowhere to go
Sound the alarm
Our fellow humans are dying!
Not perishing to wounds in battle
Senseless crimes, illness & disease
They're dying of hunger
Exposure to extreme weather
Tantrums of Mother Nature
Sometimes we're afraid
Afraid of the side effects of being homeless
Some become as a Gemini having dual personalities
The person they once were
And the person being homeless
Fighting for every breath of air has made them
The side effect, the other twin
The homeless twin with nowhere to sleep
Our underrated simplicity of going to bed
Let us keep our brothers
In keeping our brothers, it is ourselves that we keep
Safe, fed, protected, secured, sheltered
The right of every human being
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 12:41 PM UTC
There are two types of people in the world.
People who don’t have enough shoes
and people who…
There is one type of people in the world.
People who don’t have enough shoes.
The poorest people dream
of one pair of shoes-
a right and a left,
a pride to possess.
The not-so-poor-people dream
of two pair of shoes –
one pair for casual,
one pair for dress.
The not-so-poor-
but-not-so-rich people dream
of four pair of shoes-
one black and one brown,
one to walk and one for play.
The not-rich-but-better-off-
than-the-not-poor people dream
of multiple matching shoes-
one for each outfit,
a new pair each day.
The richest people dream
of endless lots of shoes-
two for every outfit
winter, spring, summer and fall,
some that match their pets
and some match nothing at all.
Yes, there is one kind of people in the world.
The kind who love shoes,
and that makes us the same
black, white, yellow or blue.
So, let’s love all people,
people with shoes.
And give shoes to the shoeless
so they can be loved, too.
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC
Light spreads darkly downwards from the high
Clusters of lights over empty chairs
That face each other, coloured differently.
Through open doors, the dining-room declares
A larger loneliness of knives and glass
And silence laid like carpet. A porter reads
An unsold evening paper. Hours pass,
And all the salesmen have gone back to Leeds,
Leaving full ashtrays in the Conference Room.
In shoeless corridors, the lights burn. How
Isolated, like a fort, it is -
The headed paper, made for writing home
(If home existed) letters of exile: Now
Night comes on. Waves fold behind villages.
3.8k
the tired beer talks
the tired black nights
the faces of people
of family or friends
the **** behind the car
the fires where all you
can see is eyes
the empty cans
the shoeless feet
the people talking to
people
the relationships and
the alliances
on concrete patios
in the woods
near lakes
or out in the deserts
we are there
listening to grasshoppers
play their sad songs
who sometimes get
so loud that we yell at each other
and laugh at the top
of our lungs
trying to fill up
the black night
and remind those
bugs we’re not dead
yet
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 11:42 AM UTC
Honey meets tongue,
Leaves taste buds stung and mouth melting
violently versing vows, Spilling out
fermented
Thoughts caught aloud
Dribbling down toward where they ought not
Time stopped us In a clockmaker shop
Cooking empty pots of dead doves in forgot sauce
Some day in december's When
Plans were dismembered
For the scent of Butter bubbling curiosity
Found horse hungry, So, suddenly he broke free
Trampling Predictable logic.
chasing her tail to town
When, I, sir pain, thought id taught again, then again
the art of invading castles,
Without being found.
Trolling, rolling through The inner out of bounds
A shoeless, shoreless yet Very sure way To get around
None catching on of course Till swordsman number four
Split with silver This world on wheels we made
With a crash
left some
Birthday suit vision
Standing
stunned
stupid
Abashed with a gun to the mirror
Which crying, stammered:
If you let them dear,
Just let them,
They will Listen,
To your chime, chiming Bells inside,
Rhyming you dread hearing songs from"
Said defense:
"Who wants to play each blow to the heart
With lawless abandon to The head?"
"letting harsh light burn holes and leave marks wherever they feel"
Don't think so Solomon!"
Vision laughs,
reflection kneels,
Hands praying
And In the periphery, as a way to break scene here
we see the mailman Crying tears on a map
Who once watched little Ms steel-sturdy
put on her full act.
Wood chips flew thenmsky went black
Pupils dilate to her shell-shocked state Of Before,
before hell bent on Withholding,
before Taking hostage of clowns who are all tied up with
Lilith, the queen
The state that led our wayward siren to begin driving round
in Some man-made beast
She calls Ed.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 7:22 AM UTC
*I dreamed an ocean one day,
Soft like silk, pouring through your fingers.
Satin, woven from the promised land.
In the thread, joyful echos, stained.
I dreamed of days under the topaz sunset.
I chirped to a toucan.
A beautifully colored bird.
Smart. Mute.
She chirped back.
I was in the Neverlands.
I dreamed of royal parades.
A mirage of Chiefs & they're daughters.
Horses for manpower.
Monthly packages of flour & sugar.
Life was equally labored.
I dreamed of being an Author of Poetry.
Sitting in some tower.
Seeing the world beneath my shoeless feet.
Writing,
A future.*
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:11 PM UTC
Dark branches dance against an aluminium sky
as dusk taints the edges with blue.
The last crow warns of death as it passes,
it's cry echoing along the shoeless streets
and down to the brook where once laughter played.
Storm clouds gather in furious array
shaking thunderous fists at the earth below,
their forked tongues tearing the atmosphere
as the first droplets spew forth from their ragged mouths.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
**Here you are, all dressed up
To take me out to dinner, our very first date
Even more handsome than in your corporate office
So dapper, dignified, distinguished,
so impeccably dressed and groomed
In your Armani pinstriped business suit
Silk tie, starched white shirt, cufflinks
Polished black leather Italian shoes
Your BMW waits outside
Well, I have news for you....
I changed my mind
Yes - changed my mind
We will stay home tonight
You will cook dinner for me right here
You are stunned
"ME?
I have a reservation at the finest restaurant
I know everyone there
And I don't know how to cook!
I know you're joking..
You must be."
No. No joke.
Give me those keys to your BMW.
Yes – the car keys
Take off your Rolex wristwatch
No need to look at the time.
Time to get cooking.
No, don't complain
You’re not in your office now
And one more thing.....
Take off those expensive shoes and socks
I want to see the cuffs of your
hand tailored navy blue pinstripes
brushing your
naked toes....
You are irritated, annoyed, frustrated
As you obey, resisting all the way
You give up your keys with the BMW symbol,
Your heavy masculine watch,
gleaming polished shoes,
still warm from your feet
thin black dress socks
I know it is frightening for a man
like you to surrender his shoes
and by the way
I do LOVE the shoes...
They just don't belong on your
feet right now
You call the restaurant and cancel
Shoeless and carless
Suddenly a servant
I’ll read the recipe.
While you peel the potatoes.....
I want you barefoot in my kitchen**
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
She noticed the basking shark was wounded,
weeping vaginal blood.
The tall man in a fedora whispered as he passed.
Whipped by exploratory waves, she blushed.
The horizon was a hazy green line dipped in red.
She had been there since morning
searching for love,
and found it
from a six-pack merman offering solace
as he rode on the silvery
back of a ray.
As he approached, the sun at his back,
she moaned and threw out her arms
like a supplicant.
Complete at last, the sand grasping at
her shoeless feet, she sank
towards the earth’s distant core
using her arms as uncertain ballast.
She awoke with a shiver
brushed away the sand
and headed back home.
The shark had turned belly-up,
scavenged by seagulls.
Another day-dream enjoyed in the
empty hours between lunch and dinner
between her third cup of tea
and fourth cigarette,
her children snoozing in
the back bedroom. Half-slumbering
in a town barked at by bothersome seagulls
where an unencumbered sun
set on a postcard shoreline.
Planning the rows of petunias to be
planted by the hedge,
making shopping lists,
writing novels, never to be published,
staring out of her windows at the sea
she waited for her husband’s return,
tedious evenings of T.V.
and coition under the brightly coloured duvet.
The waves that overwhelmed her, flooding her senses,
were her own. The man
in the fedora had made her smile.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
The vibration of the anticipation
of seeing you tonight.
I think I might
put on skirt
not to flirt but to impress
[Oh God]
I must love you,
I’m wearing a dress.
On the sand we’re shoeless
and it’s now I must confess
everything.
I met you three days ago and I love you.
We chase ***** and
Blickah Blickah dance
everything here is all just chance
we walk for miles on the beach
and if we keep going we can reach the pier
the ultimate destination, but
we keep getting caught
in our own procrastination.
We climb on a trampoline
of a de-rigged sailboat
and hope
that we find contentment.
Turns out
we probably could have prevented
all the ******** introductions
and started the production
of us from the start instead
of the part
we’re supposed to play.
A meteor shower,
[How so romantic comedy]
but we’ve created a melody
that’s in harmony with our souls.
We give each other biographies as we
stare to sea
as barriers fade away.
There is just so much to say
but not enough time to say it
don’t deny it
just try to find it
the words to tell me I’m right
or did this night
mean nothing to you?
Can you hear that?
A heart pumping, no thumping,
thump, thump, thumping for you
but you can’t see through
the lines and the walls
you just don’t have the *****
[I’m too good for you.]
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:44 AM UTC
*** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum
/\ /\ /\
[snap] [snap] [snap]
*** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum
/\ /\ /\
[snap] [snap] [snap]
Sitting at the window staring at sliding rain
I mentally slip on the proverbial banana peel
*** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum
/\ /\ /\
[snap] [snap] [snap]
Floating deeper into consciousness’s backwater
I ponder the reflection of a mirror in the lake
*** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum
/\ /\ /\
[snap] [snap] [snap]
Looking down at shoeless feet fraught with fear
I turn to run, only to find cell bars, box cars, sticky jars, and the planet Mars
*** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum
/\ /\ /\
[snap] [snap] [snap]
Momentarily, my movement meanders making me
a microcosm of mankind’s malady…another Monday morning
*** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum
/\ /\ /\
[snap] [snap] [snap]
*** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum
/\ /\ /\
[snap] [snap] [snap]
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
Je t' aime kamma
I long for thine sutra,
throbbing Hilton põg.
King of Prussia PA.
O the first time thine
many face moon playing hide and seek showered us with moonlight just to hear us sigh and sigh till song and dance lended our feet shoeless Pon our crib of fragrant blooms tracing on each others back
mo grá Angel
I'm yours, be mine.
aingeal Is mise mise
Te amo.
Thermo King
Westing house
Je t'aime, Je t'aime
mera bano main
tumhaara hoon.
~
By: Karijinbba
74-95 -6-21
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 4:46 PM UTC
When you die
you walk on, shoeless,
your only light a nightlight,
and beneath your feet,
the carpet--
it’s so soft, it feels
like heaven.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
He passed a preacher in hazy,
Misty, London streets.
Whispering sermons
From cracked shoeless feet.
None would stoop to
Cast a passing ear,
To the words of a man
With nothing left to fear.
He told tales of love,
Tempered by the light of reality.
Love of money,
Love of greed
And all the objects of fiction
We imagine that we need.
"To each let it be known!"
"None of your possesions are yours to own!"
"Leased out for the duration of your time!"
"From house to car and from the body to the mind!"
The passers by barely noticed the guy
Who spoke from the heart
With the words of the wise.
The wisest words they would hear for weeks
Lost among the
Hazy, misty, London streets.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
baseball
a malformed hand
resting
in a hay bale
feet
so discolored a figure
shoeless
at dusk
talk
an unbroken scribble
connects
the ears
bathroom sink the mirror’s
belly
in it
are fish hooks
survival lives alone
by the looks of this sandwich jesus is teething
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
streaming moonlight wakes me from demented dreams
of green staring eyes
and blood on the bathroom walls
and shoeless hallways
and blindless windows
they took my purse they took my wallet they took my
clothes earrings phone sunshine air leaves and grass
they took my blood
the north winds cookie crumbles constellations
and wafts her sultry glares through my eyelids
heres your cocktail go home
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
Ragged clothes on the sidewalk, toddlers murmur and cry
cold morning air where abandoned row houses
smell of whiskey, sage, and molded cotton
diesel exhaust belches into light breezes
forests of burning coffee beans mingle
into their hearth, the children, this is their nostalgia
everywhere leavings of life scatter driven by wind
cover unhoused, distressed, makeshift families
they stand shoeless as fortunate people drive past
Glut of humanity smells of wet newspaper
grey gulls picking at grimy cellophane
cardboard litters muddy sidewalks
above the billboard the wealthy jeer at them
sitting by a liquor store with bars on the windows
shut out of row houses with black wrought iron gates
basement stairwells filled with trash
men in alligator boots ready to lunge
into the lives of slick, bright, vacant women
this is the fate of feminine mother love
Thriving in dead landscapes
growing lost opportunity
under skyscrapers where it is always
almost dusk
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC
How long did it take her to be free?
How long did it take
For the wingless dragonfly to finally open her heart to the world
How long did it take for her to overcome Devil’s workshop
Slowly caressing her retinas
With silky daffodils and two-faced tulips
Where
Now
She dives into a glistening pool of complicated risk
Opening her atrium to the masses
Shedding incumbent teardrops
Just for that one standing ovation
That sets her free
It was then
Where pieces of plastic chains fell from demure stratosphere
Dented taps, similar to a shoeless dancer,
Setting off bass tones and low-key monotony
For she was
One cholesterol filled syllable short
To be genuine
One tearful, hyphenated lyric
Too blunt
To be embraced by their “god”
One dilapidated vowel shy
Of being honest
Her diary didn’t have enough pages torn
From emerald sanity
There were too many “Wows”,
Diluting into disingenuous shoulder pats
Her stanza pushed aside
A glorified ***** call with no call back number
Leaving messages towards empty dial tones
…
How long will it take her to be free?
Until she looks up
Knowing she already holds the key
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
i.
eating is done fast and alone. teeth
chatter
in the corner,
a rabbit
muscles
in the mouth. sister
visits
naked
save the sheet
she learned
to wrap in college
while
haunting
tents.
ii.
dogs at the door.
father
shoeless in the basement
negotiating
claw
&
cigarette.
iii.
grasshoppers press the palm, spit.
mother swats
her magazine
at hard
boys hits
the wall, these pictures
that have
her smiling, shrug.
iv.
sleepwalking like something brother won at the fair.
we nudge it. put the bread
back of the mouth. injured
deer, slanted
mailbox. wife
a gown
ghosting
her legs
keeps
taut
the clothesline
from hospital
to home.
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 12:10 PM UTC
We’re like tramps living in this half-furnished house
taking two-mouthful shots outta that big old bottle
playing 8-bit games in between smoke breaks
And when we feel like dancing the house will shake
letting the primal urge take we throw ourselves around
the basement room empty save a couch, the speakers
and some ****** art installment we are still painting
There’s a pile of us on the extra mattress in the laundry room
talking about hopes and dreams for a new life
****** out of old nests, we build our own in the ***** clothes
someone starts crying
I swear I’m in love with every person in the room.
It’s time for another pack or two of smokes for the boys
So we wipe our tears and snot and leave the nest
to run down the 4 am streets with no shoes
sparkling in starlight like vagabonds.
And I turn to my shoeless friend and say:
We could live like this.
Home to a half-furnished house, muffled in sleep-sighs
the couches, the chairs are draped with passed out kids
I cover them with sheets and blankets and kiss every one goodnight
Even the mattress in the laundry room is full
so we lay out a blanket and throw pillows in front of the ****** art installment
sleeping in just shorts, as the heat wave holds the town
the boys let me on top of the dog-pile because I’m smallest
and because in the morning I’ll wake up to make them breakfast.
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 12:12 PM UTC
My love,
today they found you in the alley,
an abandoned porcelain doll.
Your cheeks flushed and lips stained from the cold -
left shoeless in the snow.
Fist wrapped around your empty matchbook -
burnt out - used up - dead.
Those tight jeans and rag of a shirt
looked uncomfortable
even in repose.
At first nobody noticed.
Much to do, this New Year’s Day:
resolutions to be broken.
No time to stop and smell the corpses.
They get younger every year
One cop coughed to the other
a cough of disgust.
They made you a nameless number.
A statistic doesn’t feel the burn of frostbite.
It lends itself to jokes -
and forgets humanity.
In death you are
The Jefferson Avenue Whoresicle
and sooner or later, forgotten altogether.
I can’t forget you,
on display –
hiding in that most undignified uniform.
Your eyes stabbing straight though me.
New Years Eve,
you tried to sell me a warmth.
I ignored you,
avoided your dagger eyes like the sun
I walked away,
Not after I saw how lonely
how frightened
how cold you were standing there
alone.
I can only image your visions
as you burned through those matches
and prayed for some John to come to your rescue.
You can finally rest
in a bed of your choosing.
No judgment passed.
No cold nights on the street.
No home to fear going back to.
It’s all over now.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 4:18 PM UTC
Egalitarians of a smaller world
with forks for fingers
chew loudly on the gravy train
of poor boys paper thin paychecks
spit me out cause I got no cash
better to be on the street with
a shoeless shuffle
than trying to capture a seat
at the silver spoon table....
Pasty-faced bankers counting out loud
the graves of American dreams they spoiled
the song of their voices in unison
is a terrible dirge and a
strange romancer that keeps
one and all clinging to that sweetest of dreams
hope....
Dudley Do Right is a little man
in his little office
acting like the bureaucrat he was born to be
just pennies on the pound for his cold soul
a deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
his heart a cardboard cutout of his childhood idol
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
all these flavorless fools
pay to play on the great machine
where the crowds call for ever more
salacious parody of what should be
where the almighty buck stops here
twice a day
all day Sunday
preacher man
baker, solider, liar, thief
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang
© 2018 mark john junor all of my poems are my
exclusive property and all rights are reserved
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
places where I worship
from the dark green church of my fascination with heavy frogs comes the **** body of a boy wearing the head of a heifer. his legs are not entirely under as of yet but he is let stumble. from the same dark an excessively wormed fishhook flies on a line and knocks the boy’s ******* behind like a bell. I scratch my fake arm from shoulder to elbow and believe the sound is not coming from the hook scraping back into the dark. even in dream I hallelujah lip synch.
places where I am discontent
in an abandoned dog’s house, I am, shoeless, with a slipper, in my mouth, a spotlight, caresses, dry grass, my mind, I mistake my mind, for the brain, cinerea, for cinema, my thoughts are meat, are herded, whipped at by a whipping tool, I fear nothing more than I fear, my ***** what it thinks of me, or that it thought, me, first, and lastly
beneath that whip, at the end of which, some interrogator’s, bulb.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC