Ode to My Socks
Mara Mori brought me
a pair of socks
which she knitted herself
with her sheepherder's hands,
two socks as soft as rabbits.
I slipped my feet into them
as if they were two cases
knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin,
Violent socks,
my feet were two fish made of wool,
two long sharks
sea blue, shot through
by one golden thread,
two immense blackbirds,
two cannons,
my feet were honored in this way
by these heavenly socks.
They were so handsome for the first time
my feet seemed to me unacceptable
like two decrepit firemen,
firemen unworthy of that woven fire,
of those glowing socks.
Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
to save them somewhere as schoolboys
keep fireflies,
as learned men collect
sacred texts,
I resisted the mad impulse to put them
in a golden cage and each day give them
birdseed and pieces of pink melon.
Like explorers in the jungle
who hand over the very rare green deer
to the spit and eat it with remorse,
I stretched out my feet and pulled on
the magnificent socks and then my shoes.
The moral of my ode is this:
beauty is twice beauty
and what is good is doubly good
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool in winter.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Related quotes
Socks, Shoes and Feet
Socks, shoes and
feet
Where they bring
me
Thou shall speak
Soul
Who are you
Who
Thou shall we
meet
I alone am
I
Alone whom else
Who
There's so many
And
There's I alone
Shall
We walk again
Socks, Shoes and
Feet
poem by Jay Reynolds
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You 'Were' Looking For Your Shoes
I can not find my socks.
Who misplaced them?
And why are they not in my sight?
'Grandpa? '
WHAT IS IT! ?
'I've spotted your socks.'
Okay.
Then where are they?
'Grandpa...
They are on your feet.'
Oh.
Well...
Who put them there?
'You did grandpa.
Just before you said,
You 'were' looking for your shoes.'
What are you trying to say?
You know where they are too?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Down To Her Socks
Heres a song about a good ole girl with a big ole heart that got
Broke cause she was in love with
Some son of a bitch who didnt love her back enough ...
Slowly she sank to her knees on the floor
Cursin the freedom shed won
>from the torture she vowed not to take anymore
And the victim shed almost become
Chorus:
For a lady whod learned all there is about leaving
She sure took a long time to go
But he loved her right down to her socks and no further
And her feet were the last ones to know.
You see, the problem is, sometimes when you take a good stiff shot to
The
Heart, it kinda stuns you. it takes a while for the message to get down
To your feet to get you out of trouble. so you stand there like some
Old
Fighter taking punishment you dont even know youre takin. but one
Day, you wake up and look down at your feet and find theyre just
Walking
You away from me.
Chorus:
For a lady whod learned all there is about leaving
She sure picked a hard way to go
But he loved her right down to her socks, and no further
And her feet were the last ones to know.
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Because my socks were wet
That day, when clouds were frowning
And the ants and the antelopes were drowning
The almighty deciding to have a bath
And the rooftops feeling the sky’s wrath
I got a bad ache in head
Allowing me to stick to my bed
When it went indispensable
I moved towards my table
Hoping to see some help
I made a small yell
Deciding by myself then to buy a tablet
But I couldn’t have my shoes because my socks were wet
Yes, that day the master of hell had a laugh
To see my condition so rough
…Because my socks were wet
Someone I had to meet the other day
The sun was shining by my bay
I ran towards the stop but was late
I had stepped into a ditch and my socks went wet
Yes the devil smirked again
As he found his ultimate gain
…because my socks were wet
Once visiting my god’s place
“Temple” they call it in general phrase
We had a long chat
Impressed by my ballad
He decided not to let me go
He contacted his biggest foe
Arrangements were made
Plans were laid
When I bid my goodbye
He smiled and just sighed
My shoes were stolen from his portal
He just wished me to be mortal
I ran, and ran in haste
It rained heavy that eve and made my run a waste
The two geniuses partied and partied till late
…because again my socks were wet
poem by Anurag Chaudhary
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Portis and Coco
Where the hell are my socks?
I have no more
Portis and Coco
are at it again
all are torn, I can't wear them
Portis, the pit
Coco the Shepoo
playing tug of war
with my socks
so it's back to the store
I'ts never enough
to play with a toy
they still get the joy
for some reason, to sniff with my jocks and
tear up my socks
poem by Matt Mondschein
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Laundry Spirits
Laundry spirits all around
Stealing things without a sound
When I hang my washing out
Something missing there’s no doubt
An odd sock here an odd sock there
Drives me almost to despair
I wonder if in days gone by
Did my great gran have this, if not why?
Is my washing machine possessed?
Eating socks I do not jest
Doesn’t matter where I look
There’s certainly a mysterious spook
So laundry spirit in the sky
Please give me a reason why
A pair of socks I can understand
But just for one what is your plan?
I’m buying socks that look the same
So I can make up pairs again
So I will have one fewer grey hair
And stop you driving me to despair
08 03 2009
Chellaston
poem by Jim O'Donnell
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I Can Feel...
she said:
'you're not a poet,
you're just an old man...
old hat, old beard,
even your socks are old! '
'yes, and my socks
are full of holes...
when i walk across
the bare floor i can feel...'
and therein lies
the poetry!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A girl in leather shoes
I am a girl in leather shoes
without socks, a girl who has
no need of socks, a girl
who has few friends-
but doesn't need any.
A strong girl, with real opinions
in her head; sockless in her leather shoes,
a girl whose stride is purposeful,
feet secure inside the leather,
a girl who wears nothing artificial,
who takes in nothing not genuine-
And if she should ever sweat,
this brave, sockless girl,
who knows exactly where she is going
safe in her leather
and her strong opinions-
she would never, never let it show.
poem by Patti Masterman
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Vegetable Man
In yellow shoes I get the blues
Though I walk the streets with my plastic feet
With my blue velvet trousers, make me feel pink
Theres a kind of stink about blue velvet trousers
In my paisley shirt I look a jerk
And my turquoise waistcoat is quite out of sight
But oh oh my haircut looks so bad
Vegetable man how are you?
So Ive changed my dear, and I find my knees,
And I covered them up with the latest cut,
And my pants and socks all point in a box,
They dont make long of my nylon socks,
The watch, black watch
My watch with a black face
And a big pin, a little hole,
And all the lot is what I got,
Its what I wear, its what you see,
It must be me, its what I am,
Vegetable man.
Ive been looking all over the place for a place for me,
But it aint anywhere, it just aint anywhere.
Vegetable man, vegetable man,
Hes the kind of person, you just gonna see him if you can,
Vegetable man.
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Taking Death Lightly As Possible...
it can simply be reduced
taking out from your tired feet
your old shoes
and socks
and then walking barefoot
towards your bed for you to take that sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Winding Wool
She'd bring to me a skein of wool
And beg me to hold out my hands;
so on my pipe I cease to pull
And watch her twine the shining strands
Into a ball so snug and neat,
Perchance a pair of socks to knit
To comfort my unworthy feet,
Or pullover my girth to fit.
As to the winding I would sway,
A poem in my head would sing,
And I would watch in dreamy way
The bright yarn swiftly slendering.
The best I liked were coloured strands
I let my pensive pipe grow cool . . .
Two active and two passive hands,
So busy wining shining wool.
Alas! Two of those hands are cold,
And in these days of wrath and wrong,
I am so wearyful and old,
I wonder if I've lived too long.
So in my loneliness I sit
And dream of sweet domestic rule . . .
When gentle women used to knit,
And men were happy winding wool.
poem by Robert William Service
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More Hair!
You've already taken my lunch, my socks, my long-distance binocs,
Now what do you want?
More Hair!
My jeans, my spleens, my workout magazines,
They're gone, now you want?
More Hair!
I gave you my gum, cilium, chromium,
my green shoes, my feet shoes, my mangy old street shoes,
Come on, you want?
More Hair!
Give me my CDs, my TVs, my Wheaties and my Levi's.
Know what I'll give you?
More Hair!
poem by John W. McEwers
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A cape made of wool
Not for elegance but warmth
Oscar Wilde frowns
Woolly socks and winter boots
I`m a jobbing poet
tanka by Oskar Hansen
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So I Hop
I look for a pair of socks.
But I can only find one sock.
I can not put both feet in one sock!
So I hop!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Pair Of Sneakers Bemoan Never Having A Day Off
When you were a baby a sleepin in your cot
Your feet were too small to fit us all
You could barely crawl in your wee teeny socks
And so I sat qute content in the loft
enjoying the freedom of endless days off!
But now you are grown to seventeen stone
You never give me a rest
Once your tootsies are in
I don't get a look in
As your feet rarely leave me alone
Once I was the guest
Now enslaved to your feet
All day I expand and I squeak!
For fourteen hours a day
I just can't get away
From the rot and the sweat of your feet
Why not wear sandals when the Sun shines so hot?
It's not a scandal to give me a rest
When you pick up the pace
I often grimace
As you 'stroll in your shorts and your vest
Once I had a say once I was the guest
Now this smelly affair is my lot
Don't you know it's a treat to walk in bare feet
And give me a well earned day off!
poem by Yvette Smith
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Too Hot to Sleep
When the night is hot and sticky,
and you’re troubled by the heat,
just think about the penguins,
with no socks upon their feet.
And think about the cold waters
where they swim out to feed
trying to avoid the waiting sharks
with their insatiable greed.
Would you like the life of a penguin
instead of being cosy in your bed?
Or would you like to dodge the sharks
and be nice and cold instead?
poem by Orlando Belo
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Put Another Log on the Fire
Put another log on the fire.
Cook me up some bacon and some beans.
And go out to the car and change the tyre.
Wash my socks and sew my old blue jeans.
Come on, baby, you can fill my pipe,
And then go fetch my slippers.
And boil me up another pot of tea.
Then put another log on the fire, babe,
And come and tell me why you're leaving me.
Now don't I let you wash the car on Sunday?
Don't I warn you when you're gettin fat?
Ain't I a-gonna take you fishin' with me someday?
Well, a man can't love a woman more than that.
Ain't I always nice to your kid sister?
Don't I take her driving every night?
So, sit here at my feet 'cos I like you when you're sweet,
And you know it ain't feminine to fight.
So, put another log on the fire.
Cook me up some bacon and some beans.
Go out to the car and lift it up and change the tyre.
Wash my socks and sew my old blue jeans.
Come on, baby, you can fill my pipe,
And then go fetch my slippers.
And boil me up another pot of tea.
Then put another log on the fire, babe,
And come and tell me why you're leaving me.
song performed by by Tompall Glaser, music by Shel Silverstein from Wanted! The Outlaws (1976)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Jack knitted a new pair of socks
In the deep red colour of hollyhocks
His friends formed a queue
They wanted some too
But Jack fell ill with chickenpox.
quote by by Joyce Hemsley
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Dance, quoth Death
Come, dance with me,
Quoth Death,
I will teach thee
This
Will be Easy.
I made him
A cuppa. I
Broke bread for him,
Buttered it, and proffered:
No one should dance hungry.
Come, this is a Waltz,
Quoth Death,
One-two-three, One-two-three, One…
It will be slow
And becoming.
I made him
New shoes. I
Knitted him the socks,
Warm and well-fitting,
No one should dance barefoot.
And this,
Is Quickstep, quoth Death,
Just jump in the pattern I show,
This will be
Easy, ye know.
I made him
Mittens. I used
A herring-bone pattern of green
Wool and gold,
No one should dance
With hands that cold.
Come, dance with me,
Quoth Death.
All your life away,
This will be
Easy, when I
Will teach thee,
Quoth Death.
poem by Lauma Lapa
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Tired by Talile Ali
Wipe the crust from my eyes
Put my feet on the floor
Stumble into the john
Evacuate just once more
Splash water in my face
Add some soap to the fun
Brush the hair from my face
And pick up the last one
Pull a shirt on that fits
Slide my ass in these jeans
Slip my feet in my socks
With my shoes and I'm clean
Walk myself to the window
Then walk right thru the door
I'm so tired of livin
But I do it once more
Copyright © 2009
poem by Talile Ali
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