Bare Feet!
your religion smells like
shoes left in a corner, never worn!
i want to know what
your bare feet smell like!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Smelled Like Death
i used to think
old people smelled like death...
but now i think maybe
they smell like life;
life lived, life experienced,
life given, life worn...
or maybe like a bridge
that hundreds have walked on,
or the worn out shoes
of the walkers...
or maybe like the oak tree,
just cut down,
then left to age and dry out
for the fire...
or maybe like memories
of touch and taste...
or maybe like a riverbed now dry,
waiting on the rain!
it's a smell
i cant wash off!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Smells Like
if your heart
smells like my feet,
then the time
is not in vain.
we lose years
in moments of burden...
painting stars
on a ceiling
sure to fall!
if my feet
smell like prayers,
then god should know
the way, and have the key.
if the door
smells like you...
then we'll both wait
outside in the rain!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her Own Shoes
She spoke in a tongue
left over from yesterday
her memories
slowly fading.
Shouting to be heard
if by chance
someone would hear her.
Her tears
left in silence
by a heart
abandoned by life.
Her shoes
barely covered her feet
so aged a brittle cloth.
She laughed at herself
her mind felt with bareness
fell out into the street
as rain fell against
her pain.
No-one near
to cradle her fears
she spoke to herself.
A bus ride
her excursion
to the world
brought more pain.
So she laughed to herself.
Her mind worn out
just like her shoes
in waiting solemn moments
she still felt human.
But the world
no longer reading
her uniqueness
she found an empty bench
The birds
did not judge
her physical obscenity
they came freely
If only to take bread
from her hand.
Everything was worn
her stained dress
her opened shoes
her need for sanity.
All put together
by a world
who had forgotten
she too was only human.
So she laughed
out loud
to all those
whom she remembered
did once care.
Because she knew
one day
they too
would become
a worn out pair of shoes
craving
to be new.
poem by Jodde Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Did We Get Here?
full moon, low hung...
bare branches brush
darkness wet skies.
listening, listening,
to the tin roof
rusting with the dew,
to the bricks groaning
and chipping with time,
to the brown grasses weeping
for a new start...
old cars that wont crank,
window screens duct taped.
the lie on the stove
smells like long ago supper,
the mail on the table unopened.
and the light in the bedroom
flickers, almost done.
who are we?
and how did we get here?
somewhere far off a baby cries,
a dog barks, a screen door slams.
here there is nothing left,
but the smell of old shoes,
and cardboard boxes no one dares
to look into!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I too, have got shoes
Have you seen shoes on children here
No shoes for other children
No shoes for your children
My uncle said to my dad
I lost my shoes—small shoes
from then on
My feet crushed the thorns
from then on
The city was taken from me
But not me from the city
from then on
Many years later my shoe remover died
And I got back my shoes
Bigger shoes—for crushing thorns
from then on
I cat walked in them
And went to bed in them
from then on
I got the city back
Even when I stayed there
from then on
Believe me I too have got shoes
And I slip my feet in them
But not for sleep anymore
Yes I too have got shoes
Other children wear shoes
My children wear shoes
Wear shoes why not
Why not why not why not why not
Shoes in the cot
Shoes to school
Shoes to the market
Shoes to the office
Why not wear shoes
poem by Moses Kainwo
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Red Shoes
I was born a beggar
With the garbage round my feet
The devil lived in every hole
And every corner of the street
When misery is all there is
You got nothing to lose
So come on and buy me
Come on and buy me
Some red, red, red shoes
Dont tell me what I do is wrong
Dont preach cos you dont know
cos I was left without a chance
Such a long time ago
And anything is better
Than being cut and bruised
So come on and buy me
Some red, red, red shoes
Dont tell me what I do is wrong
Dont preach cos you dont know
cos I was left without a chance
Such a long time ago
And anything is better
Than being battered and bruised
So come on and buy me
Some red, red, red shoes
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gador
Gador was left in an island
hot and bare
his mind is obsessed with the boa
with two white eggs
behind the cave where he dwells
lies the nest of the black bird
his feet do not grow
his brain smells like chloroform
he learns to love it there
and shall soon die there
only if he wills it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dewdrops
Dewdrops on the sweet grass
on a summer's morn
Bare feet feel so good now
unbound by shoes I've worn.
Sparkling like a crystal
shining in the sun
how my feet just love you.
Now I want to run.
Dewdrops on the sweet grass
moisture oh so sweet
before the sun does dry you,
before I must retreat
I'll meet you on the morrow
so once again I'll know
just what the grass must feel like
when it feels your shiny glow.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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I Like Smells
i like smells...
woodsmoke, and food,
black coffee in the morning.
the smell of rain,
of mud, of wetness.
the smell of the walls
of the cave, of the stone,
of the moss...
the smell of sex, of arousal,
of a woman's neck.
the smell of pine needles,
of an old house,
of fresh turned earth...
the smell of old books,
of old dogs, of shadows
without form...
i've even become accustomed
to the smell of death!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where The Blacktop Ends
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
I'm lookin' down the barrel of Friday night
Ridin' on a river of freeway lights
Goodbye city I'm country bound
'Til Monday rolls around
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
Workin' in the grind is an uphill road
Punchin' that clock and carryin' that load
I bust it all week and then I'm free
The weekend belongs to me
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
Give me some fresh air give me that farm
Give me some time with you in my arms
Far away from the hustle and the pressure and the noise
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul, you betcha
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
Where the blacktop ends
Where the blacktop ends
Where the blacktop ends
song performed by by Keith Urban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mystery Written
it is the mystery written
in the bed of pine needles,
in the broken branch,
in the bad place in the road.
in the hours between 3 and 4 in the morning,
when the spirit grieves itself with prayer.
in the cool of the darkness,
in the window cracked.
in the homeless dog's eyes,
as he stands in the road.
in the box unopened for twenty years,
in the eviction notice,
and the lights cut off.
in the kerosene heater,
and potatoes strewn in the cellar.
in the tear in the sheet,
in worn out shoes.
in love lost in waiting,
adrift, searching for a light.
in the answer that smells like dawn,
and the smell of strong coffee!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Shoe Argument....
there is this connection
his feet are too small for the shoes
and he is having a hard
time fitting in
what he expects is something
different
something that someone may
find too usual
the shoes are always thought of
as smaller
than that of the feet
i am thinking of another point
what if we have no feet at all?
and the shoes are all too expensive?
same thing perhaps.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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#1 Zero
Listen now, let me speak
I will be the dog at your feet
And come along when you call
Be the little bird in your straw and sing you a song
I'll be there to take the fall
Though you tread upon me for no reason at all
Chorus
But just when you think you've left me blind
I will keep you in the corner of my eye
I will never leave your side
Though you call me your number one zero
your nevermind
I'll be your king, I'll be your pawn
I will builid a pedestal and put you upon it
Chorus
But just when you think you've left me blind
I'll be creeping right up behind
Cause if I need to
I will keep you in the corner of my eye
corner of my eye
Down on the street, over your night
Out of your sleep, out of your sight
if I need to, if I need to
Out of your mouth, in every word
Down in your ego one thing is sure
I will keep you, I will keep you
Chorus
But just when you think you've left me blind
I will be creeping right up behind
Cause baby if I need to
Lord, I will keep you in the corner of my eye
I will be the bird in your straw
But you won't get far
I will keep you in the corner of my eye
song performed by by Audioslave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mariner
he violet scent is sacred
Like dreams of angels bright;
The hawthorn smells of passion
Told in a moonless night.
But the smell is in my nostrils,
Through blossoms red or gold,
Of my own green flower unfading,
A bitter smell and bold.
The lily smells of pardon,
The rose of mirth; but mine
Smells shrewd of death and honour,
And the doom of Adam's line.
The heavy scent of wine-shops
Floats as I pass them by,
But never a cup I quaff from,
And never a house have I.
Till dropped down forty fathoms,
I lie eternally;
And drink from God's own goblet
The green wine of the sea.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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When a baby comes you can smell two things: the smell of flesh, which smells like chicken soup, and the smell of lilies, the flower of another garden, the spiritual garden.
quote by Carlos Santana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Was Good Then
I go back to my childhood
And images come flying at me
These water color memories
That have faded to a certain extent
With the passage of time
Fade no more
But become no brighter.
I remember things in
Sunshine yellows
And frosty blues
Minty greens
And lavender hues.
I remember smells.
Is it even possible to remember
Smell?
But, I swear I do.
Days had their own smell
Skin had its own smell
Sticky with sweat
From playing outside at high noon.
The grass, flowers, and air
Were scented.
By some far away perfume
Carried from place to place.
I remember the feel of grass
Between my bare toes.
I remember laughter.
I remember the gnarled trunk of
A tree under my hands and
Shoeless feet
When I climbed all the way to the top
And was not afraid to look or
Climb down.
I remember being a gypsy child
Going from place to place
Town to town
Without fear.
I remember making friends
I remember innocence..
I remember
Security,
Something I have forgotten since.
I remember
Childhood
Water color memories.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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I Have No Desire To Limp Home With Agonized Feet
I don't have to be in 'his' shoes,
To know what it is like...
To commit to do for others.
And have those oppose my sacrifice,
To share with a few who listen and gossip...
About what I do they would do differently,
Because what I do for 'them' is either criticized.
But mostly disliked.
I don't have to be in 'his' shoes,
To know what it is like...
To commit to do for others.
However,
I have learned over the years...
When those shoes became too tight to wear,
I do not keep them on to soak my feet...
When not in public.
Oh no.
I don't have to be in 'his' shoes,
To know what it is like...
To commit to do for others.
Every pair of shoes I put on today...
Are guaranteed to provide my comfort.
I have no desire to limp home with agonized feet.
After I have met with a group of ungrateful people.
And to argue their cause too?
No!
I've already made those donations.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Shoes
(jack tempchin)
I want em, I need em
And Im gonna go out and get em
White shoes
I know Ill feel better
When I slide down into the leather
White shoes
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
I woke up from a dream
When I saw em in a magazine
White shoes
I said lou you gotta start new
And the first thing you gotta do
Is get some white shoes
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
You know he left me with the lonesome blues
Been hangin round too long with nothin to do
Yeah, he really made me pay those dues
But Im goin out on the town tonight in
White shoes
Well, I wanted em, I needed em
Yeah, and I went out and got em
White shoes
That new boy when I see him
Im gonna walk right up and meet him in
White shoes
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
White shoes
Im goin out on the town tonight
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The smells of Football
Football has it's own smells
from the grass on the pitch
to the aroma from the Hot Dog stalls.
In the dressing room there's sweat
strong odour coming from ointments
being rubbed into aching muscles.
On the terraces you smell beer
years ago there was tobacco too
on Boxing Day the whiff of cigar smoke.
As a boy my mothers washing powder
making my kit smell nice and fresh
and getting rid of mud and grass stains.
The smell of leather of a new pair
of football boots and new ball
and layers of thick black polish.
At the half-time break in a match
onto the field came a large tray
full of sweet smelling and tasty Oranges.
These are the smells of Football
the odours of the Beautiful game
and for some the sweet smell of success.
poem by Kevin Halls
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mmm-mmm...Quick Feet
I'm not a greedy eater,
But I do love to eat!
mmm-mmm...
When you cook,
mmm-mmm...
I sneak a look,
mmm-mmm...
I get addicted with an ease that hooks.
mmm-mmm...
With smells delicious,
mmm-mmm...
And a left foot twitched,
mmm-mmm...
I admit to my impatience like an itchy crook!
I'm not a greedy eater!
I love to eat!
mmm-mmm...
When you cook,
mmm-mmm...
I sneak a look,
mmm-mmm...
I get addicted with an ease that hooks.
mmm-mmm...
With smells delicious,
mmm-mmm...
And a left foot twitched,
mmm-mmm...
I admit to my impatience like an itchy crook!
And ooo...
I need some water,
And ooo...
To take a drink,
And ooo...
The eyes on me don't wink or even blink.
My stomach's grumbling and I'll sneak to eat.
mmm-mmm...
Is it fish?
mmm-mmm...
Or tasty beef?
mmm-mmm...
I'm gonna grab a piece and flee on quick feet.
oooooo...
Quick feet.
Go go...
Quick feet!
mmm-mmm...
Quick feet!
mmm-mmm...
Delicious treat and fleeing on quick feet.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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