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David Ehrgott Aug 2015
I'm a sock monkey
I am a sock monkey
A sock monkey clown

I am a sock monkey
I am a sock monkey
I'm taking over your town

I got a lot of ideas
A lot of sock monkey ideas
I sock monkey

I am a sock monkey
I am a sock monkey
Gonna go to college

I am a sock monkey
I am a sock monkey
Gonna go to college
Gonna go to college

Gonna get an education
Get an education
Gonna take over your sock monkey town
  

I got a lot of ideas
I am a sock monkey
I'm gonna rule
  

I got a lot of ideas
I am a sock monkey
I'm gonna rule
I'm gonna rule
  

I'm gonna drive drunk sock monkey
I'm gonna drive drunk sock monkey
I'm gonna ****, I'm gonna ****
  

I'm gonna blame it on the walker baby
I'm gonna blame it on the runner
He shouldn't have been in front of me
That's what I'll tell the judge
  

Let's rent a limo sock monkey
Let's celebrate now, sock monkey
Maybe make a date
  

I am a sock monkey
Give me all of your five dollars
I am a sock monkey
  

I am a sock monkey
I live in L. A.
I am a sock monkey
for many years
I have wondered
how one could put
a pair of socks
into the dryer
yet
only one sock
would emerge
at the end
of the drying cycle

this

I
must
        admit

has perplexed me
for some time

there have been rumors

of sock gobbling monsters
and the all too common
“roommate sock thievery”

along with
some varied excuses
such as haunted houses
and
old
people
memory
problems

but alas

nothing
has been discovered
as far as proof
to validate
these outlandish claims

a great deal of research
some call “sock studies”
has been done
over the years
with
      no
          real
                clear
                        data
available to
the general public

Many people
from different
“walks of life”
have given their all
in numerous attempts
to find the answer
to the burning question
of the LOST SOCK DILEMMA

My hope is that
someone out there
will find the solution
to this mystery

but to be completely h
                                     o
                                     n
                                     e
                                     s
                                     t

I do fear it could be
a MONSTER
eating my socks though

I say this due to the fact
that every time the drying cycle finishes
instead of hearing a buzz

well

I hear a growl instead

(and I have 17 mismatched socks...just sayin' )
Claud Jul 2016
I lost my sock
in by bed
I think it's near
my lovers head
I hope they won't
wake up to see
a smelly sock
that belongs to me
whoops.
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
i don't know why,
            in a litre, that's 250ml gone,
on the basis that, working from 40%,
i'm figuring, 40% - x = 37.5%,
add the half and then add the 2...
what do you get? 40%.
               anyway...
                 these "hard" spirits
are perfect for mixers...
                     you get a perfect mix
of, say,           dark *** & pepsi,
to conjure up a sharpshooter known
as blackbeard; and that really is
a name for the most trivial cocktail.
    and when i mean "hard", i do mean "hard".
ever drink habsburg absinthe?
        that's nearing the 100% mark...
            or what one might call:
   the 10,000 indicator for: what wasn't
ran, but was drunk;
zeno's paradoxical centimetre or
inches or miles or kilometres come later,
or at least last...
   but this is fascinating... % = double negation
given that kant said, 0 = negation...
it's like a denial divided by denial...
           i know the symbol suggests more
omicron representation than a zee-ρ;
    never mind... it's the perfect fraction...
like a golden ratio, % = the perfect fraction.
the thing is though...
          i'm drinking this 37.5% dark ***
and thinking... if this **** was at 40%...
          i'd be worrying about not mixing it
properly...
            and this is a "hard" spirit after all...
it's not exactly habsburg absinthe,
        or a plum extract that's know by the name
of śliwowica, common in the tatra mountains...
which, like habsburg absinthe, is
nearing            the ten thousand mark;
but some strange reason 37.5% is the perfect
partner for a mixer... say... *** & pepsi...
whiskey & pepsi... ***** & pepsi...
        at 40% you're thinking... posh whiskey,
drank lukewarm... like a brandy / cognac.
37.5% is a ******* mystery to me...
       i actually can perfect the sharpshooter concept
with that balance... mingling 40% with a mixer
is... is... just ****** hard...
          sharpshooter? excess of spirit and
a little bit of a mixer...      a bit like... a shandy...
beer with a head of lemonade?
                                no? don't know it?
37.5%, and a litre of it?! and enough pepsi?
  i call that a friday night... as a party soloist;
oh i did to the laundry wasted today,
      almost anything done drunk is fun as ****,
you get all autistic, making patterns out
of the clothes and where they should hang
on the washing-line...
       red sock, blue sock... no... red sock red sock...
here!        blue sock... tartan pattern blue sock...
no...         ah! blue sock blue sock.... dangle here!
well... you know... people have their alternative hobbies.
Everlasting Jan 2015
If I was the shoe in your foot,
Who was the sock
that impeded us to touch skin with skin?
Who was that sock,
that received the stinks from your lips and absorbed all of the sweat
from your heated days?
Who was that sock,
That I have to thank?
The uniVerse Oct 2015
Let me just lay here
and count the raindrops
they remind me of tears
that never stopped
running down the window pane
why do we run if we've already lost?
I've never felt that much pain
or paid a higher cost
to loose a love like a missing sock
now I'm oddly paired
and out of luck
oh how I despaired
and buried my head
hoping the wind would carry the sand
no longer to be wed
no reason to wear the band
a reminder cast in solid gold
a useless trinket
an empty hole
a broken promise
has passed her lips
no granted wish
will ever be his
all that's left is an odd sock
and a broken heart
is what she took.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BztbQI_HB8V
Leigh Marie Jun 2016
Your sock is still playing hide n seek in my drawer
I can not bring myself to throw it out
Or toss it
Instead I let it squat between my own black socks and torn tights
It is the last thing I have to hold onto
Will Jun 2018
Cleaning the apartment for the first time in forever.
Sorting through a pile of clothes I never wear.
There was a sock that is not mine, buried down below.
I bite my lip, holding in the urge to cry.
How can a sock affect me so?
It may seem stupid, but it reminded me of her.
Sitting on the sofa, her feet dangling off the side.
I would lean against the wall and watch, as she lay there so peacefully.
With her furrowed brow and pensive eyes, she stared at the screen.
She smiled, blushing as she saw me there.
We both laughed as I crawled into her arms.
Her legs wrapped around me, and I looked into her eyes.
It may seem strange that a sock has such power over me.
But I suppose it is not the sock, but its owner, that tortures me.
Rose Alley May 2013
I'm a lost sock
Longing to keep a foot from feeling cold
Even though I can't cover your entire body
Ill settle for an extremity
Because it's true that
Something really is better than nothing

I was dropped between the dryer and the washing machine
Forgotten about just like the paper clip and the thumbtack
My mirror matching partner
May have gone on to meet another
But either way I lie here in lint

I remember the comfort of being in a shoe
When the warmth flowed through me
I knew I was really getting somewhere
Always aware I was part of a pair
One of a two
Half of a couple that together made a team

Then again there was way back when
I was pressed and packaged and pristine and
Presented myself to people in a store
Who could care less to think twice or
Double take and have a second glance at me
I was as unique as all the rest
But I took my job very seriously

Now I crave to do anything
To help anyone and be of use anywhere
To maybe one day be rediscovered and
Perhaps reunite with my other or
Become a fine furniture duster or
A puppet upon the hand of a person Practicing how to be humble

It's a dream and a hope and
One of the few things left I'm free to have faith in
They can take my feet away but
They can't take everything

Somewhere out there is a bare paw
Chilled to the bone and shivering
Stinging exposed to the world
Wishing I was there

Come find me
Drop something worth picking up
So you notice that long lost missing sock
Reach and retrieve me and return me to reality

I've been waiting for this forever it seems
But through your eyes it's just a
Routine insignificant finding
Unknowing that it means the world to me and
My entire existence revolves around dependency
Rainier Oct 2014
i have this sock,
it has a hole now.
the thinner threads tore, finally;
from daily wear and tear.

my big toe protrudes;
attracting quiet glances
that don't see my sock anymore,
just what it was trying to conceal.
Journal of Darkness: Assassin and Deceptress


Nov 21, 2011, 8:17:32 PM by ~OmegaWolfOfWinter
Journals / Personal




(description of storyline: all characters in this work are dragons, with the ability to change into a human form. they live in present day society, but have a base in the middle of the desert. there is a library with the history of the world, which is operated by stacra, an organization to preserve the peace in the world. there is a rival organization, the dracra, who wish to take it over. the dracra is led by a dragon named Darkheart, a dragon who has haunted the Scar line for millenia.)
"... sahsa...."
what was that mumbled sasha, a small town girl in modern day USA. she was nearly asleep when the voice called to her.
sasha was usually described as a freak. she was a dragon fanatic, and she carried her favorite books wherever she went, Brink of Insanity: journal of the Wild and the Broken; and its companion, Blood curse:  journal of the Destroyer and the Savage. they told of dragons living in new york who had to bear a family curse and sought a way to release it. the author was only known as "Lucian".
"....sasha...."
i'm sure i heard it that time...
"....come to me sasha...."
she didnt know why but she felt as if she absolutely had to find the source. she was barely clothed but quietly snuck out, leaving small footprints in the snow.
"....sasha!...."
she felt panicked. as the voice grew louder so did her heart, beating quickly in her ears. some sort of animal instinct took over and she somehow Managed to run on all fours. her whole body began tingling, her skin writhing. she looked back and nearly choked: wings and a tail... had grown from her body. her whole body turned white as scales etched their way into life over her skin. her body began elongating and enlarging, becoming streamlined and lizardlike. she was transforming...
"...yes!... just as you said, master...."
"...quiet, kovu..."
sashas vision went dark as she stumbled, barrelling through the snow. when she looked up, she saw an enormous dragon, with scars just like the ones in her book. "she will be a fine student."
sasha was dumbfounded as she saw her parents walk up behind them. "greetings, master Lucian, kovu." said her father.
"and you, rydon."
"y-you...know...?" stammered sasha.
"all will be explained in the morning, sasha," replied her mother.
sasha felt tired and her eyes shut as the ground came up to meet her.
sasha sat alone at the picnic table, surrounded by lucian, her father rydon, her mother sophia, and kovu. "so... you're all.... dragons.... like in my books..." she gestured to the two books.
lucian stepped forward and placed a hand on the books. his hand glowed and the glossy books turned to worn, leather journals. "yes, we are dragons. sasha. and you have done well guarding my journals."
"your... journals? but i thought that these were best-selling novels..."
lucian chuckled, "no no. young one, there are only two other copies of each of these in existence."
"wow..."
her father spoke up now, "so what are you here for, master? is it time for her to leave us?"
"leave?! what do you mean leave?!"
rydon looked worriedly at lucian and then at sasha,"you are dragon, and it is tradition for you to be trained."
"but what if i dont want to leave?!"
her father began to become angry,"its not your choice!"
"then whose-"
lucian's eyes glowed red in anger, "rydon, haven't you taught your daughter respect? surely you would know of my ways by now."
rydon nodded, "i- i'm sorry, master. i don't know whats come over her."
sasha ran, shifting to her new dragon form and flying away. darkheart had warned her of this, that lucian was a dictatoria leader. she asked herself, "why had her father taken his side? why did this have to happen so suddenly? and most of all, what was she going to do next?"
darkheart had given her directions to meet her after lucian made contact. sasha flew, tired as she was not used to the extra limbs.
once she reached the spot that darkheart had told her, she waited and thought things through.
once darkheart arrived, she spoke, "i want to join you. i beleive everything you've said."
darkheart chuckled, "i knew you would dear girl, lucian is the same as his grandfather, they both hounded me and tortured me, for their own twisted ways. i've tried to keep as many as possible from falling into their cluthces. i wasn't able to **** scarheart, as he captured me and forced me into his own body as an energy slave. he tortured me even there, and after he died, lucian, his grandson, got me. he too tortured me."
sasha looked at her in sock, "thats terrible. i didnt know..."
"you couldnt have, darling. those evil dragons keep everything from those who should know."
sasha stood, "i want to be trained. by you."
"really? i warn you, it is quite tough. not all survive. you must be willing to do whatever it takes to stop those vile dragons."
*     *     * 3 years later
sasha was 20 years old, and it was time for her to take on her first big mission: infiltrate lucian's schol and learn everything she could.
sasha had already talked to lucian, apologizing for her behavior so long ago. lucian had seemed hesitant but allowed her in. foolish old bat. she thought. she had been at the compund for a year and a half now and had become familiar with their ways.  sasha would often wonder why she was doing this, and she remembered, darkheart had said that lucian killed sashs's father. she always looked at him with scorn and wished to **** him. but she restrained herself and kept on the facade.
today she felt especially hating towards every master she came in contact with. she passed tsai, lucian's right hand dragon, as he went to talk with the master. she tried to eavesdrop but they were speaking in an ancient, coded language. she growled and her white scales flashed in the sun.


"Lucian, somethings not right about that youngling sasha... she's always watching us, like she's gathering information."
"yes, tsai, i know. i know exactly what she is."
"what?" tsai looked skeptical.
"she's an agent, an informant. for darkheart."
tsai stared, incredulous."wha?! how do you know?!"
"ive been under the influence of darkheart before, as have you. something about sasha is of darkheart's doing."
tsai nodded "even still, is she possessed by her or under orders?"
lucian thought for a moment "i beleive under orders..."
both stared as lucian's son, kovu, walked up to sasha.
*       *        
"sasha! hi!" kovu had taken a liking to sasha since his father took her as an apprentice.
"oh, um. hi. kovu..." *i cant let my emotions get in the way of my mission!
"how have you been?" sasha felt herself blush under the gaze of the drake. he wasnt half-bad to look at, and she often caught herself watching him.
"i'm doing great, training with tsai is always fun. what about you and master lucian?"
her eyes darted to her master, her target, then back at kovu. "you mean you're... dad?"
"yeah... my dad... but we students can only call them by their designation. even master scaleweaver calls some elders master."
sasha's ears pricked up as she heard scaleweaver's name. she was assigned to gather information on all of the masters. i must make madame darkheart proud... i am worthy... she must see that...
"is... something wrong, sasha?"
she caught herself, "n-no i'm just tired is all... just tired..."
her master lucian came toward her what a fool, he doesnt even know about me... "sasha, i need to speak with you.... alone."
kovu difpped his head and backed away respectfully.
"sasha, come."
she swallowed her pride and said, "yes... master..." and followed him.
once they were outside, lucian turned to her and said, "i know, sasha. i know that darkheart sent u here to gather information on us."
sasha's eyes widened and her mouth dropped. she thought hard how?! how does he know?! this cant be possible....
"i-i dont know what youre talking about, master..."
lucian turned on her with a peircing gaze, and made her wince as he studied her. "there are better ways to lie, youngling... but not to me. ive known for quite some time now."
sasha felt her legs give out beneath her. she sat, looking into the dust, listening incredulously at lucian. "how... how do you know?!?!"
sasha ran forward, clawing at lucian's throat. she was instantly frozen in place, an immensely strong spell holding her legs in place.  "let me go, lucian!"
"its master to you, youngling. and why would i let you go? you just tried to **** me." sasha struggled helplessly against her bonds. she saw lucian mutter something and felt her legs grow suddenly cold. she looked and gasped as ice started to creep up her haunches.
"lucia-master, please let me go... i was only under orders."
lucian chuckled, "how did darkheart get to you?"
"i can't tell you..."
"oh? then let me guess; theres another informant, a higher up in stacra, who told darkheart about you and she arrived, possibly a week before us? she fed you a story of stacra destroying the world and trying to take over the one that they created. she told you that she was only trying to help restore order. am i close?"
sasha felt naked under the gaze of the elder, who saw straight through her act and through her commander's plan. it made her heart quicken and her scales writhe. she felt a sharp pain as the ice crept up and chilled her thighs, creeping steadily upwards. "how... how can you know these things?! darkheart said you wouldnt be able to know... she said that you held her prisoner... that you tortured her... she said that you- you killed my father."
lucian shook his head and wiped something from his face, revealing gruesome scars. "she altered her face to look like mine... look, and know the truth." he placed a claw on her forehead and she gasped as a flood of memories flooded her, darkheart inside lucian's mind, taking over him, taunting him, and forcing him to do terrible things. she heard lucian say, "she tortured me, she held me captive. its true that stacra destroyed the world, but look also;" she saw the corrupt government of old, and their wretched attrocities. "they brought about their own destruction. we created the world you know, but dont wish it to be taken over, we merely want peace...We act as peacekeepers. darkheart seeks to enslave all to do her bidding. and your father died at darkheart's talons, not mine." sasha saw a gruesome scene as lucian tried to save her father.
she felt him withdraw, and felt the magic and ice withdraw from her, the ice's touch fading from her ****. she shivered and crouched low, warming her body.
"sasha, darkheart is a liar... she's been at it for thousands of years." he watched her shiver and said. "come, sit around the fire."
sasha noddded and followed close behind lucian, hiding her vulnerable state.
"i'm sorry, master."
"all will be okay, sasha... all will be fine.."
lucian brought sasha into his study under his wing. he had her sit down in front of the fire and draped a blanket over her. he sat down behind her, looking over the latest reports, waiting for her to speak. after a few minutes she sighed and looked back at lucian, tears forming in her eyes. "is everything you said true? Is darkheart nothing but a deceptionist?"
lucian looked up at her and nodded. "all of it was true. I'm sorry, sasha. darkheart is a gifted deceptionist and many of us have fallen for her tricks.  including me."
sasha turned back and looked into the fire with sad eyes, tears rolling down her cheek. she shuddered and took a shaky breath. lucian came up beside her and placed a comforting paw on her shoulder.
"darkheart forced me to **** my best friend... a she-drake named Clia... in front of her other followers to show that we must be able to turn on anyone to fulfill the mission..."
lucian nodded, "so I had heard... darkheart has become more cruel than ever."
"l-lucian, what can i do to make her pay?"
lucian thought for a while and then shook his head. "let me think more on this, sasha. for now, let no one know that you are an affiliate of darkheart, it could have deadly consequence. you may remain in here if you wish, or you may return to your own quarters. i have some things to attend to."
sasha nodded to him and gasped as everything went still and dimmed, even the fire seemed grey and frozen.
"wha-"
"sasha... you must tell me now, will you work with me?"
she was stunned. "where are you? what do you mean?"
"you want to get back at her, i know how to. but you must tell me if you will work with me."
"i-i will, lucian. but whhy ask now, and in this way?"
"because, there is someone here, that is going to try to **** you. he was listening to us and is going to attack you with magic. ive cast a spell that will give an apearance of death. just let the magic do its stuff and u'll do fine">
"but wait!"
"you must trust me, sasha."
all of a sudden, everything went back to normal, and lucian was gone, she could hear his fading footsteps.
what was that abou- wait! the killer... she kept facing the fire and listened as she had been taught to the clawsteps of the incoming dragon.
"is it true? you're one of them?!"
sasha turned and gasped, flashing him a shocked, innocent look over her shoulder. "what are you talking about, kovu?"
he was angry, and she was struck with fear. "i overheard you and lucian talking. i heard everything."
sasha turned to face him."y-you, heard everything..."
"then you are one of them! i cant beleive it... i cant beleive i trusted you."
kovu stepped forward and sasha's eyes shifted, trying to find a way out. "kovu, i- i can explain."
"you're nothing but a trickster, a deceptress! dont try to talk me out of this."
her heartbeat quickened, stricken with dread. "out of... out of what, kovu?"
he said nothing but uttered the death spell.
*      *    
sasha let herself go, remembering lucian's spell. but as she did so, she thought about why she was doing this. *to make darkheart suffer...
she heard lucian in her mind. "you'll be going to death-sleep for a while, a few days to make it beleivable. now sleep, sasha... sleep and i will awaken you soon."
"o-okay, master lucian..."
"there is no need to call me master anymore, sasha. from now on, you no longer exist. which is why darkheart will never see you coming. its time... dont worry."
the death-sleep overcame her and she fell to darkness.
*   * *
lucian ran downstairs and saw kovu standing over sasha's body. he put on a facade of dread and said, "kovu.... what have you done?!"
kovu looked at lucian angrily. "you were going to harbor a killer... i took care of the problem."
lucian became angry now, "no, you made more problems. you didnt think... you didnt listen. she was willing to help."
kovu snarled at lucian, "i did what needed to be done. I killed her for you, father."
lucian responded quietly, "you killed a helpless dragoness in cold blood. i have no choice but to arrest you for ******, my son." he muttered a binding spell and blocked kovu's magic. he watched kovu struggle for a moment then went to pick up sasha's seemingly lifeless body. he contacted her mentally, saying, "i'm taking your body in to the infirmary, i'll oversee your examination. in 2 days, i will wake you, when i do, be very quiet."
"yes, sir."
sasha's new appearance was stunning, quite different from the black color of her original scales, she now looked like each scale was a glittering saphire, and her horns and underside were now a shimmering silver. sasha was astonished by what lucian had done, he had also changed her voice and form, making her more slender and agile, he altered her voice in such a way that it seemed that she could charm the heart out of a rock. even lucian who had a mate of his own had to keep himself composed. but he was undoubtedly pleased that things were turning out well. lucian had to change everything about her, her eyes now a deep green, her draconic fingerprint being her tail-tip and spine, were changed to furry mane and a slender diamond tip.
she looked at herself in amirror and remarked how mature she looked.
"you may have to be put in certain situations which may have you exploit some... erm... feminine charms."
"so i'll have to...."
"only if you let it go that far. it depends on you. you said that you'd  do anything to get back at darkheart. these matters are up to your own discretion."
she thought long about this. "i want to g
this is a book i'm still writing.
Sarah Pitman May 2014
She wore one
Red sock and one
Yellow sock
And he said
She looked like a sunrise.
CK Baker Jan 2018
who lit the candles
placed eloquently
behind purple rock?
the sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
and frontmen
shuffle their wares
as the madman
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway

hula hoops
and ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Beginning: A lamb with a fluffy fleece
Soon she will be naked
These fine strands of taken
To be twisted by a machine
From an atom-like jumble comes a line
And the line is to be twisted yet again
But twisted in a methodical pattern
Cast off, put on. The sock.
Am I the sock or the wearer of the sock? I am never sure
Joseph Zenieh Oct 2018
THE OLD MAN'S SOCK
His grandchild came from distant land.
She saw a hole in his old sock.
She laughed and told all those around,
and made that hole their evening's talk.

He got so famous for that hole
so quickly and with no effort,
while pages of verse he could fill
and no one gave them just a squint.

He laughed and made them laugh with him
when he could play that witty role,
"I am a grandpa and can't claim
to be one without my sock's hole."
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
____________
GoatWalker Jul 2013
Socks that hide secrets
Socks that hide shame
Socks that contain
the shadows of pain

They once pranced in the dryer
They now slump in the drawer
They send little sock homing signals galore

Fermenting the anguish
Makes the smell much more tolerable

It was all part of the ineffable plan
Matt Jul 2015
Isn't it awfully nice to have a *****?
Isn't it frightfully good to have a ****?
It's swell to have a ******.
It's divine to own a ****,
From the tiniest little tadger
To the world's biggest *****.
So, three cheers for your ***** or John Thomas.
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake,
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
Your Percy, or your ****.
You can wrap it up in ribbons.
You can slip it in your sock,
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.
Tyler Kelley Feb 2011
My sock
caught a snag
and a single thread
unraveled.

Without a thought,
I pulled the strand

And now,
I am left
with nothing
but a pile of cotton

I have a terrible habit
of dragging my feet.
All rights reserved by the author.
Autumn Feb 2014
I was innocently walking through the snow
brand new boots
ankle length socks
then suddenly
something terrible happened
my sock bunched up
you can relate
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!
Danielle Renee Jul 2012
you left a sock and
it is now under my bed,
one of the socks that you left
after a night of close elbows
and hands,
it is under my bed and i will
keep it until we are staring
into space,
legs criss-cross
knees so close
your skin tempting me,
i will keep it until
you breathe short hot breaths
from your nose,
until you refuse to look
me in the eyes
and refuse to hold
my hand,
quivering from thoughts
in my head
that you’re not erasing
with words,
only then will i take
it out and hand
it to you, knowing
full and well
when you left it here
November 16, 2011
Emily Nov 2012
She slipped on her most prized possession;
one yellow sock (the other worn til its end).
Her mother had fancied them at the market
and gave her daughter
something
to call her own.

Cultures clashed,
she had caused trouble in the tribe
bringing in foreign customs
but she had thought it foolish
to not be proud of what she
owned(even if they were yellow socks).

Now she watches her own daughter dancing,
pink sandals strapped on tight,
she thinks she will teach her daughter well-
perhaps as an American might.
Phosphorimental Sep 2014
Last night your bedroom was tattoo-parlor-red…

You were a relentless *** machine
and your Alex Esguerra painting was knocked from the wall
during our rough housing. I found it
broken behind the bed
when I was looking for my second sock…
the other sock was still in my hand when I woke.

I love the way you always fall asleep diagonally
across the bed, so that
I lie awake, contorted and trying to figure out a way
to fit comfortably and proportionally
into your sprawling unconsciousness.

Yesterday, I loved your morning countenance;
void of expression
as you looked down your nose at the coffee press.
Your upper lip rested heavily on the lower, which seemed
immovable, that I’m not sure it will ever change.
It was too tired to be a pout and
I couldn’t look away –
so I must have loved it.

In the throws of passion last night,
you moaned that I made you sick to your stomach. I asked
if it was because I was too far inside you. You said,
“you’re always too far inside me.
That’s why you make me sick.”
And then you came and
rolled off of me.

I woke with only one leg in my jeans,
my mouth was coated with body paint,
and my chest was clawed into military ranks
by your flesh filled nails.

My other leg was propped on top
of an old pine blanket box at the foot of your bed
and my right arm was folded behind me
and numb. So I threw a sweatshirt over my shoulder –
I think it belonged to your old boyfriend, the one
you made the Esguerra painting with –
and I walked out of your flat leaving the door open.
Your cat slipped out behind me and
followed me downstairs to the sidewalk.
I didn’t care.

I sat blankly staring at Sweet’N Low packets
under a newspaper rack at the coffee shop on the corner,
holding my mug for what seemed like
an eternity of suspended animation –
the grip on it’s handle was the only thing
that connected me to the planet.

My eyes held that same lack of expression as yours did, but
my lips were parted so that air could
flow freely in and out if it
became necessary.

Sitting lost in state, it occurred me, that
I deeply and authentically affect you
and it has nothing to do with *******.

Your boyfriend’s sweatshirt was a size too big for me
and I could tell he wore Creed –
I saw a bottle of it on the toilet tank. It’s redolence
clashed with the aroma of roasting coffee and
I was startled from stasis.

So I left, walking out to a cacophonous city, where
the sun had just exploded over the horizon,
and I smiled into its blinding brilliance.
As the door squeaked closed behind me to a snap,
I looked to the right for a moment,
then turned left.
I had no idea where I was walking to and started
blithely swinging my arms
as I accelerated my gait.

I still had my sock in my hand.
And your cat is probably dead.
Lost for words Dec 2010
uh-oh
You're too slow
didn't even see where the red ones go
wasting your eyeline on waves and hares
but the animals only go in by pairs
keep it moving, don't be late
you can't hide when there's too much on your plate
sweating like a cheddar in the midday sun
thinking too much for anything to be done
time trickles through your fingers like a leaking tap
the tide waits for no man so mind the ****** gap
load it up, baby, pose and pout
shake that *** and move it out
dance with the devil, run with the wolves
pride is the sin of he who falls.
Zainab Attari May 2014
Colourful and soft
Hearts, stars and polka dot
Pull me on when it turns cold
Entangle me, don’t fold

Woollen, netted or cotton
Worn at the bottom
Warm, cosy and neat
That’s how I keep your feet

I am always in two’s
You can wear me with shoes
Wear me wherever you like to
But take me off when you enter the loo

Please don’t get me wet
Even I stink when I sweat
Don’t misplace my twin
It will break my heart and that’s a sin

I won't  let your feet turn cold
I will be there when you are old
I am comfort, I am the best
Used in north, south, east and west.

I am stretchy, I am a sock
I ease your feet for a run or walk
If I take the back seat
Numb, tanned and torn feet.

So pay my parents well
Don’t let your feet swell
I promise to serve you
I know you need me too.

-Zainab Attari
Karen Alexander Oct 2009
There’s no other choice but to wear them,
The drawer offered nothing but these.
An odd pair of socks might be quirky,
Odd sizes don’t normally please.

The one at my ankle was spotted,
The other was striped to the knee
The latter two sizes the smaller,
The former quite large by degree.

This mismatch I thought to keep secret
And cover the dissonant pair.
I chose from the wardrobe some trousers
And shoes, with considerable care.

My ruse would conceal the divergence
From prescribed social standards of dress
And none would be any the wiser
My discomfort I’d have to suppress.

Now, it’s harder to mask discomposure
When physical pain has attacked.
The small sock had cramped my toes tightly
That blood didn’t flow, was a fact.

My colleagues regarded me strangely
For they could see nothing amiss
But I could feel cold perspiration,
Anxiety I couldn’t dismiss.

It was then that I felt a strange itching,
The striped sock began to descend
And round my right ankle it wrinkled
And bulged at the trouser leg end.

Dismayed at my great consternation
But clueless to what was awry
My friends made comforting gestures
Need of which I could only deny.

The moral of this story’s transparent
Socks are always best worn as a pair
Their nature is in the relationship
Which provides a well-balanced air.

And take the trouble to remember
Be congruent in all that you do
For disparity will often bring discord
And that path, you’ll certainly rue.
R. Barclay Jan 2010
As a child, everything was free, real,
like early spring air.
Birds were infinite
and could fly to heaven.  
Now air is stiff wood,
and birds only **** on cars.

I took out the dagger to take a stab.
I yawned.
They fawned over the shops on Bond Street.
I yawned
We drank Cristal Brut.
I yawned.
The lights of Times Square dazzled.
I yawned.
The toast crumbs were ******.
I yawned.
The people prayed.
I yawned.

I asked God,
“How do I settle this?”
“Give me your sock,” God said.
So I did.
“Sever all your limbs.”
So I did, one by one.
God stuffed the legs, arms,
and drippings into my sock,
blood-soaking it.
And with that cocktail sock
God smacked me  
and sat silent.
“Now what?”

God yawned.
How people laughed at him
Old vagrant wearing one sock
As he begged on the street
But no one knew him well

He could have been eighty
Or he could have been older
Most people walked on by
Some gave him loose change

Then came the day he died
Found in the frozen streets
He never had a place to sleep
He was only skin and bones

He would give away all his money
To charity for disabled soldiers
Never took a penny for himself
He was an Angel on the streets
Copyright Chris Smith 2014
Anthony Williams Jul 2014
It was always going to be black and white
that's the typeface on my preference of late
defining day and night with your choice of tights
those fine dividing lines on your partnered limbs
wrapped tall in belts daring as a Lara Croft climb
a silky striped raggedy ann gone neat sensuous
tight strapped to a two striking sinuous princess
committed to lodge sins inside my Loveland challenge
hemmed in round towers together to never-never unhinge

at home we horse around and rub along together
boosted by the interplay between cotton twill gathered
pulled low one side then canter balance riding high
as you level up to a line up of outbound thigh
saddled with a lovely leg stirrup over here
and a lean waist wobble to match up there
eyebrow lifts to starch arrowroot attention
over the swings and sway of every action
so swift I play catch-up each morning
delayed by fumbling for ones gone matching
it's a wonder you don't just wander away
in a daze from my one legged hopping display

then I would travel far as a bee
long-legged as stilts could be
to sing to your nails and feet
and be spun free flaunting
our google
a red white and blue
pair of giggles unfurled like flags
in your slim line dancers' legs
dangling ideas like fair weather socks
to goggle one direction behind your back
unique like nobody else contains within
thin licked then rolled back ciggie skins
so I pinch holes in the bacci parts
sinking into slats like leaky wooden boats
your avoiding tiptoes gadfly and curl in return
my feet undoing knits with swats and swirls
toeing tinkling notes like piano keys
undertones pink tinged with tingling knees
and when a jukebox plays
my coins are there always
for I've got your pop socks in motion
your vox populi's united under my skin
with impressive pulled tight bands
embedding imprint elastic rings
inky red slinking down
leaving parallel links


ignore my pins and needles
alone in dead of night
longing for your leggings
luminous stripe tights
today it's all me put on the spot
today it's music you might hate
biographies of people you don't like
subtitled movies too deep to bother
blue jeans dull dyed against your garter belt
a one man team can't DIY a drill majorette
spiralling shafts that come to a threaded point
enthralling with alternating knee bend bit pants
so pretty poly soft I'm pulled up like a fool
fully mixed up by your weaving cotton wool
wave me down in your way of sweet patter feet
a patterned cakewalk for you to catwalk sock it
to me in a stand in posey kind of way
this way to stand outs knitted to fancy
uncross your legs and cross-stitch
my path with gaited kisses
closely
by Anthony Williams
Cat Fiske Jan 2016
_
I
_
I walked with my communist looking blanket tied around my neck,
I had long ago stolen them from an airoplane and like then,
they still did everything you wouldn't expect from a thin blanket.

getting prung and pricked as the buckberry bushes punctured,
me and my communist looking blanket, but atlass I made it,
torn by thorns and all, to the half iced over ****** dam,

_

II
_
this is where I was greeted not by my friends, as they happened to be there,
No, I was greeted warmly by the fire they made,
as they burned detention slips, and failed tests, and anything alike,

it made me take fire 101 control of things, as I spit out,
you can not put wet leaves in this fire, stay ten feet away from the fire,
but it would soon be done,

_
III
_
when it was, we broke up some of the remaining ice from the dam,
placing it on top of the fire as gracefully as you could,
my fingers were once so warmed by that fire, now so cold from the ice,

we went and sat on the rock, and I wrapped my communist blanket around me,
I went into my bag, and pulled out my sock that had my bogs inside it,
I never like to smoke with people, I never really smoked more then two drags

_
IV
_
when I needed to let my edge off, I smoked, and it was a rare thing I did,
under my communist blanket, with ice cold hands I unwrapped my sock,
I pulled out my new pack of spirits and my lighter, and offered anyone with me a bog.

Everyone but one of my friends took me up on it, so I told him,
he can have the rest of what I don't smoke, I only smoke two hits,
I put the bog in between my ******* and my ring finger on my right hand,

I couldn't lite it with the wind, I said,
but, it's because people were there.
He lit my bog for me, I smoked more then I normally do and handed it off,

_
V
_
What was to come soon after was what one,
wishes they could escape to there bedroom with their communist blanket,
and then cry,

he finished what he wanted on the bog,
leaving me with a little more then half,
I put it out and put it away,

my other two friends pulled out a bog each of their own,
as I began to pick up all the little pieces of paper that didn't burn,
I threw them with my ice cold hands into the dam,

_
VI
_
by then they were almost done with there bogs, when one asked me,
"Can I try to burn your arm?"
as she stuck her bog in her mouth before I could respond,

she went into my communist red blanket, and pulled my arm out,
hold my arm with one hand, she took the bog in the other pressing it lightly,
She asked me "does it hurt?" I muttered "no" still shocked,

She went and did it again, this time higher up while twisting it in,
next to a set of new burns I had done myself a few night back,
I didn't even feel what she did, but she went through a layer of skin,

_
VII
_
her and the other girl, proceeded to try to lightly burn themselves,
a half a second touch on the top of the arm, that's what hurt more.
I looked at my friend, and he looked really confused, I was too.

I went into the iced over pond, and pulled out ice,
trying to get the ash out of my arm,
only causing my fingers to freeze more under my communist blanket,

_
VIII
_
*I was unable to continue watching them play around and burn their flesh,
I walked back up, and said I need to be alone,
and I never made myself feel more alone under my communist blanket.

I know it was my fault, for I had let her do it,
I didn't dare say stop, but then they did it to themselves.
why couldn't me of been enough?
bogs where I am from are cigs. if you didn't know.
Squirrely Girl Mar 2015
I heard every word you said.
Still running through my head.
Your words like a needle, slowly pricking my skin.
Prodding, picking finally making themselves slowly in.
Staring off into the street, I knew I had to walk away.
I could’nt bear stay nor listen to another word you say.
Ashamed to have felt something more.
My heart grew heavy and very sore.
I slipped away, blankly into space.
Disappointment and anger staring me in the face.



I’m like a sock.
A ***** one.
However, twasn’t ***** at first.
In fact it was brand new. Really, a very nice beautiful sock.
It was comfortable too, and fit you well.
You wore it so often, the fabric became thin.
Eventually a tiny little hole made its way in.
At first the hole wasn’t bad.
Sometimes it drove you crazy and even mad.
Yah know that feeling when all that sand gets in?
Though irritating maybe it tickled, even made you grin.
Boy! Did those socks get a lot of use, they were great.
You still loved those socks.
They were getting rattier and rattier every day, but you used them anyway.
They were THE socks yah know? You see them, and you know you JUST want to wear them.
So you wear them, you have a run, a WONDERFUL day ,in fact, in those socks.
Really, you always have nice days in those socks, they were just so comfortable!
You know how things get old? Well those socks got really old, I mean REALLY old.
Looking at them- “Man those socks are the best, putting them on now.”
You wish they would last but you just didn’t know how.
Excited to start your day, you put your favorite socks on.
But, ****… one sock really ripped with a giant massive hole.
Such a disappointment, you can’t really enjoy them anymore, they were better when you first bought them.
MAN, that hole got so irritating.
Not only sand came in but now pebbles and big rocks.
That **** pair of socks!
Not willing to throw them away cuz they were THE socks.
You washed them and put them in a far off box. Still *****, worn, and torn. Maybe you will use them again one day.
But, I don’t want to be your ***** socks.
I walked away.
Elizabeth Dec 2013
Don't you find Christmas a little askew in its purpose?
We remember a man who, born on this day, walked the Earth some two thousand years ago
                   By burning pockets with gift giving,
       Decorating a door frame with a $70 wreath which will die in two weeks,
           Stuffing our faces with high fructose desserts and fat filled ham
   Competing for the brightest tree (also going to die in two weeks) and the loudest outside decorations
                                                     ­                 Did we forget the homeless man on the corner who can't even buy a sock?
                                       Who would give anything for that one sock, perhaps even another sock
                   Why is Christmas a competition
                              What happened to Cindy Lou Who, who asked where Christmas was and why she couldn't find it
                                                      I seem to think that Christmas should be much the same as Thanksgiving,
       But I am the only one,
  As we continue to spend thousands of dollars each year's end
                                                             ­   And soil what God intended originally for these twenty four hours
                                            Maybe, just maybe,
                      Spend a little less ******* money on your family,
         And spend a little more time with them
                                      It's all that homeless man could ask for,
                                      Besides that sock
Meghan O'Neill Apr 2014
How do you think
Those mismatched socks feel
When you pull them
From the dryer.
Do they know that they will
Never see their match again
That they will always be
Half of an equation.
Do they know that
They have lost their purpose
Never to be regained.
When you pull that single sock
From the dryer
Does it understand
That it will never be complete again.
Sometimes
I feel
Like the mismatched socks.
But then I remember
That I am melodramatic
They are just socks
And someday
I will find my other sock
I will find you.
Foxgopher Nov 2015
Like a dryer is the human mind
Sopping wet and rolling around
Everything succumbs to heat
Shrinks, tears, fades
Everything

Even the sock gets lost in the dryer
And yet one remains
A half of a whole that can no longer be complete
One sock
Gone forever

Do we mourn the lost
Where is the vigil?
A sock mourned is a thought lost
An idea that can never be
Static we never feel again
GailForceWinds Feb 2015
I wanted your heart
But you left me your sock
I guess I was just dreaming
Do I really want you or not?

What do I do with this memory of you
I should just burn it
No that wouldn’t do

Might you come back?
Should I save it in hope?
I’ll sit here and ponder
While I finish my dope

— The End —