For You To Love Me
you must know
how a man's weight
is measured, his broad shoulders
the burden of this abdomen
and his thighs,
you must know how
a suitcase weighs
a muddy pair of boots
your feet must know
how to swear
how i
smell.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Put The Weight On My Shoulders
Put the weight on my shoulders
Take the load off of your mind
Cause the headwinds that blow
Will fade away in time
Rest yourself on my waters
Take the lifeline from me
Rise above what has passed
And let yourself be free
I only know what love must bear
Through laiden times I will be there
And when your down Ill break the fall
Loose the weight on my shoulders
It aint no weight at all
I only know what love must do
When fortune cries Ill follow you
And when your down Ill break your fall
Put the weight on my shoulders
It aint no weight at all
Put the weight on my shoulders
See you star how it shines
Cause theyre so many dreams
Left to find
Put the weight on my shoulders .....
Put the weight on my shoulders .....
Put the weight on my shoulders .....
Put the weight on my shoulders .....
Put the weight on my shoulders .....
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is This Rain Between My Thighs
there is this rain between my thighs
there is this cloud inside my abdomen
it is heavy with something
that accumulates somewhere
and within there is this
tickling and tingling of everything
i feel for you
in your absence
the clouds get so heavy and my abdomen
gives in
the rain falls under my feet
and then i know
it is the ripe time for sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rain Between
there is this rain between my thighs
there is this cloud inside my abdomen
it is heavy with something
that accumulates somewhere
and within there is this
tickling and tingling of everything
i feel for you
in your absence
the clouds get so heavy and my abdomen
gives in
the rain falls under my feet
and then i know
it is the ripe time for sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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Burden On The Shoulders
as the weight of the burden
on the shoulders increases
one develops a trend
an evolution comes
saving you from ruin
now on stronger arms
and bigger bones
the weight becomes lighter
for this is what life is all about
the more burdens there are
the stronger we become
with more rain
the thirst of the earth too deepens
in automation
the balance seeks its own scale
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Liquid
Smoke consumes his lungs.
Liquid fills his stomach.
He feels the weight of the world on his shoulders.
So he tries to lift it off a little by smoking and drinking.
The amount of stress keeps piling on his shoulders.
Little does he know that his baby girl is ready to lift the weight of his shoulders
and fill his body with love and compassion.
poem by Christina J. Williams
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With A Finding Of More Life To Live
If I sat back and thought,
About those battles I fought to win...
I would never have come to appreciate,
The ability to clear my mind...
To say what was on it to get it out,
With a finding of more life to live.
And to leave if for what it is,
Without carrying the weight...
Of who became offended by my honesty.
I've learned not to burden myself,
With judgements made by others...
On my shoulders.
I've learned to acknowledge,
My back and shoulders aren't meant for that.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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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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Baddest Boots
I saw her turn her head
In a drop-dead gaze
She was peekin' out over the top
Of those wire-rim shades
Now it wasn't my charm
And it wasn't my grin
That had that little secretary
Dialed right in
She wasn't lookin' at me, man
she was lookin' at my feet
Chorus:
It's these twenty-two hundred
And twenty-five dollar
Pair o' handmade genuine fine
Horned-back kicks
With a seven-row stitch
And a three dollar sidewalk shine
Yeah they're made to fit
and they're hard to find
Make a pretty woman look down each time
I got the baddest boots on the boulevard
Yeah the baddest boots on the boulevard
They were made by a little man
Down in El Paso
I was passin' though town
Singin' at the rodeo
He said 'they cost a little more
But for what it's worth
There ain't another pair like 'em
on god's green earth'
Then I handed him my money
And he sized me up
Chorus
I got the baddest boots on the boulevard
Yeah, the Baddest boots on the boulevard
When I pull 'em on I start singin' a song
Make me wanna tuck my britches leg's inside 'em
Lets take a stroll
Chorus
They're the baddest boots on the boulevard
Look here girl
Yeah, they're bad alright
song performed by by Toby Keith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hell Gets You Nowhere
Stood by the roadside late at night
Hell came along and offered me a ride
I thought about it the I said no
I asked my suitcase and my suitcase said lets go
And the bass said
Hell gets you nowhere
That I swear
Went to church sunday without my mum
Laughed about my neighbour who sat on my chewinggum
He said the lord would punish me
And hells the right place for me to be
song performed by by Fury In The Slaughterhouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boots
INFANTRY COLUMNS
We're foot--slog--slog--slog--sloggin' over Africa --
Foot--foot--foot--foot--sloggin' over Africa --
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
Seven--six--eleven--five--nine-an'-tw enty mile to-day --
Four--eleven--seventeen--thirty-two the day before --
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
Don't--don't--don't--don't--look at what's in front of you.
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again);
Men--men--men--men--men go mad with watchin' em,
An' there's no discharge in the war!
Try--try--try--try--to think o' something different --
Oh--my--God--keep--me from goin' lunatic!
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
Count--count--count--count--the bullets in the bandoliers.
If--your--eyes--drop--they will get atop o' you!
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again) --
There's no discharge in the war!
We--can--stick--out--'unger, thirst, an' weariness,
But--not--not--not--not the chronic sight of 'em --
Boot--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war!
'Taint--so--bad--by--day because o' company,
But night--brings--long--strings--o' forty thousand million
Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again.
There's no discharge in the war!
I--'ave--marched--six--weeks in 'Ell an' certify
It--is--not--fire--devils, dark, or anything,
But boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Pretenses
this is what
they want to see of you
a handsome face, strong arms, clean fingernails,
broad shoulders,
determined eyes that look always forward
scented ears
the best feet and
good standing,
to please them
you give those parts to all to them
and what you will get
in return is the
applause,
everybody is happy,
except you,
it was not you,
it will never be you,
you are in truth not the one that you really are
you only comply what what they want to see
and surely they will get them
they will get
what they see
you go inside your room
slowly disassemble yourself
all those beautiful parts
a handsome face, strong arms, clean fingernails,
broad shoulders,
determined eyes that look always forward
scented ears
the best feet and
good standing,
you lie in your bed without looking at the mirror
it takes only the rattling of your bones
to tell you who you really are
then you close your weary eyes
and sleep
the dream will join you in these truths
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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79
pretenses
this is what
they want to see of you
a handsome face, strong arms, clean fingernails,
broad shoulders,
determined eyes that look always forward
scented ears
the best feet and
good standing,
to please them
you give those parts to all to them
and what you will get
in return is the
applause,
everybody is happy,
except you,
it was not you,
it will never be you,
you are in truth not the one that you really are
you only comply what what they want to see
and surely they will get them
they will get
what they see
you go inside your room
slowly disassemble yourself
all those beautiful parts
a handsome face, strong arms, clean fingernails,
broad shoulders,
determined eyes that look always forward
scented ears
the best feet and
good standing,
you lie in your bed without looking at the mirror
it takes only the rattling of your bones
to tell you who you really are
then you close your weary eyes
and sleep
the dream will join you in these truths
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Forever in Boots
Swimming costume, bib and tucker
Stonewashed jeans or three-piece suits
Never going to be, a tidy looker
I am the man, forever in boots
Funerals, parties or weddings
Working days or evening pursuits
Planting flowers in their beddings
I am the man, forever in boots
I want to be forever in boots
I wear boots on land or sea
I can be a miserable old coot
If you hide my boots from me
In the ring wearing boxing boots
On a horse in my riding boots
At the riverside in Wellington boots
Happy to be the man, forever in boots
Man forever in boots
Seeks woman, to be his puss in boots
For country hikes, in walking boots
Eternal happiness, both; forever in boots
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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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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Children of the Midwest Sun
We are the children of the Midwest sun:
its light has weight, measured musical tones.
'Come along, ' sang Empedocles,450 BCE,
'and I'll tell you a tale of the Sun's nativity:
how the land, and rapid air,
damp vapors and the sea,
that bind Titan's circle around the earth,
all spring from the same identity.'
For the great Sun God, the Egyptian Ra,
lordly Mithras of the Persians,
Greek Apollo bright-orbed,
the majestic Incan Sun, Druidic Stonehenge Sun,
the Chinese, the Indian, and Australian Sun
are all One...
its light has weight, measured musical tones.
We are the children of the Midwest Sun:
the buzzing insects, beasts and birds,
and creatures that ride the waves in herds,
down the Mississippi basin and out to the world.
This phoenix-like maelstrom earth
in truth is but a shard of ashes and vapor,
for eons in labor,
to which the Midwest Sun gave birth.
We are the children of the Midwest Sun:
its light has weight, measured musical tones.
poem by Jay Mandeville
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Pan
A lilting melody accompanies me
Down the white-rock earthen path-
Played by Pan, half man,
And the air is an arc of rainbow drops,
With the forest smell pervasive,
The tug of gravity pushing my thighs;
The brunch underfoot of my creature company;
He scares me more than a little,
The cleft feet and all;
The rank putrid smell,
But at the town gate he blows a piercing f sharp;
Turns and disappears into the foliage;
Leaving me lonely again.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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