To a Pair of Blucher Boots
OLD acquaintance unforgotten,
Though you may be “ugly brutes”—
Though your leather’s cracked and rotten,
Worn-out pair of Blucher boots.
’Tis the richer man before you,
Dearer leathers grace his feet;
’Twas the better man that wore you
In the tramps through dust and heat!
Oft rebuffed by “super’s” snarling,
When I asked him for a “show”,
On that long tramp to the Darling
In the days of long ago;
Tell me, if you know it, whether,
As I sadly tramped away,
Bore I heavy on your leather,
Worn-out pair of Bluchers, say?
Though your leather’s cracked and rotten,
Though you may be ugly brutes,
I’ll preserve you unforgotten,
Worn-out pair of Blucher boots!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Related quotes
Boots
I found a pair of boots upon the street
So I took them home to wear on my feet
I washed them I cleaned them and I aired them out
So I could put them all later when I would walk about.
I put my new boots on, and I walked down the road
They seemed so very sturdy to carry my heavy load
Then they took me places where I have never been
I could tell that these boots were very well broken in.
They felt so very soft and comfortable upon my feet
How excited I was for my new boots others would see.
And when I did my walk many persons just stared
As they looked at my new boots but I really never cared.
Maybe they too just wanted boots just like mine
But this one thing I knew they were hard for me to find.
I had so much fun with my brand new pair of boots
We walked everywhere they placed me in a happy mood
And the longer that I walked still no pain did I feel
I was excited and content my life became so surreal.
So it started to get late so I decided to walk home
So that's were we head just me and my boots alone
And then when I took them off I placed them beside my bed
So I could be ready for my next journey or adventure ahead.
I wore those boots of mine for many, many years
They always felt so comfortable never brought me any tears
I would wash them and clean them and polish them too
Now they were always mine and they always looked brand new.
Then one day I wore another pair of shoes when I went out
I left my old boots home alone so they could air out
So myself and my new shows were gone most of the day
As I had errands to run and also many bills to pay.
But sadly when I got home I was taken by surprise
My boots were stolen and that brought tears to my eyes
I thought to myself who would steal those old boots of mine
Boots that have been worn and used who would commit that crime.
So I went out and bought so many different pairs of shoes
And none are that old as they are all seemingly brand new
I still go for my walks and I still go to town and all about
My feet are so much happier now I myself with joy wanna shout
But every now and then I think about those boots I once wore
The ones I found on the street and I never bought in the store
I wonder now if they are ragged and torn and beyond repair
But that's someone else problem now, so why would I care.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Spanish Boots
(beck, stewart, wood)
I used to work and take a salary
In a hole up near a foundry
But it did not take me too long
To get my boots on a so long!
Long spanish boots on a so long!
I took a day job in bethlehem
I nearly threw in the towel then
But it did not take me too long
To get my boots on a so long!
High spanish boots on a so long!
Dig it
I took a spanish haberdashery
Restored with 15th century tapestry
But oh, mr. nesbitt got the best of me
So I strapped on my boots and said so long!
Laced up my high boots and so long!
Goodbye
... am on a job you see
cause my old boots they mean too much to me
Leather boots are just a mystery
Put on my boots and said so long!
High spanish boots on and so long!
Put on my boots and said so long!
Those old spanish boots
Put on my boots and said so long!
High spanish boots
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boots
When I got out of bed this morning
a pair of boots stood on the stairs.
I don’t know to whom they belonged
or how they happened to be there.
The black boots looked large and heavy,
slightly worn, so not new or old.
The laces were long and tucked inside
and the tongue had a forward fold.
They looked really soft and comfortable,
and I couldn’t resist trying them on.
They slipped onto my feet oh so easily,
and in an instant I was up and gone.
I couldn’t do anything to stop them,
they had taken control of me.
I ran all through the day and night,
with no breakfast, dinner or tea.
I was totally exhausted and tired,
and was running in my sleep.
I awoke running along a forest path
and then up a hill so steep.
I could hear the sound of water
and ran down the riverbank.
The water wasn’t going to give way,
so I very quickly sank.
As I continued along the pebbly bottom
I very quickly ran out of breath.
My feet came out of the sodden boots
and I swam from the water’s depth.
I suppose those boots are still running
and they’re probably now out at sea.
I know that I’ll never again try on boots
that don’t belong to me.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It would be neat if with the New Year
for Miguel
It would be neat if with the New Year
I could leave my loneliness behind with the old year.
My leathery loneliness an old pair of work boots
my dog vigorously head-shakes back and forth in its jaws,
chews on for hours every day in my front yard—
rain, sun, snow, or wind
in bare feet, pondering my poem,
I’d look out my window and see that dirty pair of boots in the yard.
But my happiness depends so much on wearing those boots.
At the end of my day
while I’m in a chair listening to a Mexican corrido
I stare at my boots appreciating:
all the wrong roads we’ve taken, all the drug and whiskey houses
we’ve visited, and as the Mexican singer wails his pain,
I smile at my boots, understanding every note in his voice,
and strangers, when they see my boots rocking back and forth on my
feet
keeping beat to the song, see how
my boots are scuffed, tooth-marked, worn-soled.
I keep wearing them because they fit so good
and I need them, especially when I love so hard,
where I go up those boulder strewn trails,
where flowers crack rocks in their defiant love for the light.
poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca
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leather boots, hands worn
dark shadows beneath tired eyes
house on fire, broken
haiku by Eric Cockrell
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July 1 2009***Giving His Boots a Rest
He is resting
In a comfortable Library chair
With his boots and jacket on
His backpack is nearby
He's reading today's paper
And has three plastic covered
Magazines stacked on the floor
To read next
He's in from the cold and rain
He's in where it's warm and dry
He's been to the men's room to
Wash himself and his socks and shorts
Wrapped in a plastic bag
He'll dry them later
Now he's trying to get his boots to dry
They're damp and well worn
They are not worn out
Just like him
They are well worn
They've covered many miles
He's worked in them
He's slept in them
To keep warm and to see
That they are not stolen
Where do you put your shoes at night?
Under you bed? In your closet?
It's been a long time
Since he's had either
How do you
Keep your feet from freezing
In the long hard-frost winter nights?
How do you keep warm?
If you'd never had to worry
You wouldn't appreciate
The warm dry Library chair
That gives his boots a rest
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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The Cowboy Lives Forever
The cowboy lives forever
As long as there's a faded pair of blue jeans
Wide brimmed hats and leather
And dreams ...
There's a little bit of Roy and Dale in all of us
Though all of us don't wear the cowboy boots and spurs
A man will dream of rescuing a damsel in distress
And the girl likes to dream that it's her
He was born from the dust of the western plain
Raised up tall and straight like a cactus tree
His home range stretches from Hawaii to Maine
He's John Wayne, he's Gene Autry, he's me
You can find a cowgirl at the rodeo
She'll shuffle to the two-step like the cowboys do
She might be wearing petticoats or maybe boots and chaps
She's Patsy Cline, Loretta, Kitty Wells or Emmylou or maybe you
song performed by by Dixie Chicks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My shoes
My shoes were brought to me on order
from Zimbabwe by a missionary,
a man who sell bibles
and sometimes give them away,
just before Robert Mugabe
did root out the manufacturers and sellers
and the rest of my order went to waste
with another pair of buffalo leather shoes
and a buffalo leather jacket as well.
The black handmade elephant leather shoes
do tread far roads with me,
they try to walk on the tracks
of my deceased father,
try to stand up with integrity
like my late grandmother wanted.
The other day I had them re-soled,
to lay down some more tracks
and the elephant leather
might last a life time
and I wonder how the future
folds open before them?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Opposites
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Walked out into the street
And splashed in all the pubbles till
She had such shocking feet
The Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
Stayed quietly in the house
And sat upon the fender stool
As still as any mouse.
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Her hands were black as ink;
She would come running through the house
And begging for a drink.
The Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
Her hands were white as snow;
She did not like to play around,
She only liked to sew.
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Lost hair ribbons galore;
She dropped them on the garden walks,
She dropped them on the floor.
The Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
O thoughtful little girl!
She liked to walk quite soberly,
It kept her hair in curl.
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
When she was glad or proud
Just flung her arms round Mother's neck
And kissed her very loud.
The Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
Was shocked at such a sight,
She only offered you her cheek
At morning and at night.
O Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Your happy laughing face
Does like a scented Summer rose
Make sweet the dullest place.
O Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
My dear, I'm well content
To have my daughter in my arms,
And not an ornament.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Daddy's Working Boots
(Dolly Parton)
My dear hard workin' daddy works his life away for us
That's the way that daddy shows to us his love
And Daddy's two hard working hands
They're callous and they're sore
And Daddy's workin' boots have walked a million miles or more
As long as I remember, I remember Daddy workin'
Workin' on the job or either on the farm
Tryin' to provide for the family that he loves
And Daddy's working boots have taken many steps for us
Chorus:
Daddy's workin' boots have served as his foundation
Though just like him, they're tired and worn
For years they've helped him stand
Daddy's working boots have filled their obligation
They've walked that rocky road with a mighty, mighty man
Dear lord above, I know up there my Daddy's got a mansion
And a great reward that's long been overdue
And when it comes my Daddy's time to be with you in heaven
Spoken:
Won't cha let him walk your golden streets
In a pair of brand new golden boots
Repeat Chorus
Daddy's workin' boots
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daughter
The Daughter.
Daughter, of the police officer who wore black riding boots,
was shining them, a call came he had been killed in traffic
accident. She put polish and brush into a cupboard no longer
a slave of a father who used boots as mirrors in the morning
when shaving, and if he couldn´t see clearly beat her with
a leather strap. Father in his coffin, she polished his medals
he looked grand in death. But for the daughter, of the officer,
each medal reminded her of the leather lash.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Dark Moonlight
Watching from pin hole
lamps of baked clay.
Every thorn was in my flesh.
I was losing my voice
in crowd of maniacs.
Dragonflies climbing on worn leather.
Through cracked sunroof –
skull splinters into million heirlooms.
Fever climbs the feudals.
Why were you impatient with me?
I was narrating a shocking tale.
Frogs had acquired the land.
Plot was thickening every day.
Take me if you can, in the heavy shower
of meteorites in dark moonlight.
poem by Satish Verma
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Unforgotten
Dont have to be
Your only one
Dont have to be
Something from now on
Dont have to be
What I want at all
Just have to be
Unforgotten
I know your new boyfriend
And you belong with him
The truth is my one regret
The truth is my one regret
Just have to be
Unforgotten
Just have to be
Unforgotten
Dont have to know
What Im thinking now
Dont have to know
Better days than these
Dont have to know
Where Ive been so long
Just have to be
Unforgotten
I know youre leaving now
If I had figured out
Just how to be
Unforgotten
Just how to be
Unforgotten
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandma's Wedding Shoes
I’m getting ready
For the garage sale tomorrow.
My grandma passed away
A few weeks ago.
She was a collector of things
You would never know.
I am thinking to sell.
Her pair of wedding shoes
She wore one morning
Sixty years ago
Walking slowly
In a long tailed wedding gown,
Holding a bouquet of flowers in her one hand
While her father held her other hand,
Soon to be given away to her beaux,
Walking beside her, proud, smiling,
In a wedding tuxedo.
Could she have wildly imagined then,
Thirty years later,
Her unwed daughter
Would give me up for adoption
Shortly after I was born?
My mom, a poor mother,
Could not face rasing me up.
I look at the pair of shoes,
They still look new to me.
She saved them as a treasure
In the original box, tucked
Under her wedding grown,
In her old leather suitcase
Made in some small,
Now a non-existent Texas’ town.
The shoes are high heeled,
Light brown, each with two leather straps
To go around ankles,
Some sort of a hybrid
Of dress shoes and sandals,
High fashion luxury of grandma’s days.
I look at them again
And I change my mind.
I will not sell them,
They are worth a fortune to me.
Sixty years ago,
After, “ I do, I do”,
The choir boy rang
the wedding bells
On top of the steeple.
That moment, my grandma
Was wearing these shoes.
poem by Ravi Kopra
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Loves Worn Out Again
Written by gerry beckley and bill mumy, 1983
Found on your move.
Like you said, youd never get used to it
But its lost that old surprise
Time comes and goes so quiet now
Leaves emptiness behind our eyes
Oh, darling, if I could spare us
From an hour of the pain
Like you said, youd never get used to it
But loves worn out again
Winters here, bring the blankets out
To cover up the cold
Im dreamin of the good nights sleep
Like I used to know in days of old
You told me you felt all alone
But you did not tell me when
Like you said, youd never get used to it
But loves worn out again
Loves worn out again, darling
Its moved around the bend, darling
Theres no telling when
Well feel it again
Oh, maybe I cant see whats plainly in my view
Oh, I wish I was a better man, maybe its just you
But theres something goin on here
Like a wound that will not mend
Like you said, youd never get used to it
But loves worn out again
Loves worn out again, darling
Its moved around the bend, darling
Theres no telling when
Well feel it again
Loves worn out again, darling
Its moved around the bend, darling
Theres no telling when
Well feel it again
Loves worn out again, darling
Its moved around the bend, darling
Theres no telling when
Well feel it again ...
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Light Shoes with Straps
In Aruba I bought a pair of sandals, with leather straps and
shiny steel buckles; I wore them with white ankle socks.
Coming home from the sea in June no one in my town had
sandals like mine. Mind, not much call for sandals in
Liverpool, winter rain, soggy streets, hailstones and so on.
When I went back to sea, I left the sandals under my bed
to wear when returning, but when I came back brother had
worn them to death, broken straps and rusty buckles.
I was very sad, but then I met a girl called Sandra and since
it was October, too cold for sandals and white ankle socks,
I got over the loss.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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False Eyelashes
(Bob Tubert & Demetrius Tapp)
Folks back home think I'm a star now when they hear my records play
They say there home town girl made good and she'd go a long long way
Mom wonders why I don't drive back in that big fine car I own
The truth is I don't have a car and I'm ashamed to go back home
A pair of false eye lashes and a tube of cheap lipstick
A pair of worn out high heel shoes and a dress doesn't fit
These are all my possessions all I have to my name
And a record played in my home town is my only claim to fame
I'm so glad that dad can't see me now, his favorite little girl
Singing in this dingy place on the wrong side of the world
And I'm glad that I can't see the boy that offered me his name
For I was blind and turned from him in this empty search for fame
A pair of false eye lashes and a tube of cheap lipstick
A pair of worn out high heel shoes and a dress doesn't fit
These are all of my possessions, all I have to my name
And a record played in my home town is my only claim to fame
Yes a record played in my home town is my only claim to fame
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pair Of Eyes
A pair of eyes constitutes the mass of art,
A pair of eyes, tells the throb of heart.
A pair of eyes, is a cool forest pond.
A pair of eyes, is sorcerer's wand.
A pair of eyes, mirrors the soul and mind.
A pair of eyes, thru which man we find.
A pair of eyes, sees all our deeds,
God's eyes are those, one's conscience needs.
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Add me to pair.
There are you, only you,
who for I long. Tell me,
what is with me wrong?
I love you, only you,
which is not a crush.
Nor a truce, but real.
Can’t you grant my wish?
Maybe one,
someone, is in your way.
In a better way I can sway.
Heed can you pay?
Sweet and sour, one likes.
Moon and stars, one likes.
Kids and kitten, one likes.
If not sweet, be I a soar;
If not a moon, be I a star,
If not a kid, be I a kitten,
To you, dear.
Take me too, with you,
along with them.
Then I am not wrecked.
A pair of eyes,
A pair of limbs
And a pair of breasts,
all in pair you have.
Take me, to pair with the other.
I can’t retreat. Upbeat is
my heart, that will repeat,
will not subside, or recede.
Don’t put me aside.
There are you.
Only you who for I live.
Show me, please,
show me that
you lull me to trance.
17.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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There is definitely something sexy about a girl with an attitude and a pair of leather pants.
quote by Eliza Dushku
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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