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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Happiness Is A Warm Gun (Danny Saber Remix)
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
She's not a girl who misses much
She's not a girl who misses much
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane
The man in the crowd
With the multicoloured mirrors on his hobnail boots
Lying with his eyes wide open
And the hands busy working overtime
A soap impression of his wife which he ate
And donated to the National Trust
Hey, I need a fix 'cause I'm going down
Happiness is a, a warm gun
Happiness is a, a warm gun
Happiness is a, a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
I need a fix cause I'm going down
I need a fix cause I'm going down
I need a fix cause I'm going down
To the bits that I left uptown
I need a fix cause I'm going down, uptown
Need a fix cause I'm going down, uptown
Happiness is a, a warm gun
Happiness is a, a warm gun
Happiness is a, a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
[Repeat until end]
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Happiness Is A Warm Gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Shes not a girl who misses much
Shes not a girl who misses much
Mother superior jump the gun
Mother superior jump the gun
Mother superior jump the gun
Mother superior jump the gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Shes well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane
The man in the crowd
With the multicoloured mirrors on his hobnail boots
Lying with his eyes wide open
And the hands busy working overtime
A soap impression of his wife which he ate
And donated to the national trust
Hey, I need a fix cause Im going down
Happiness is a, a warm gun
Happiness is a, a warm gun
Happiness is a, a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
I need a fix cause Im going down
I need a fix cause Im going down
I need a fix cause Im going down
To the bits that I left uptown
I need a fix cause Im going down, uptown
Need a fix cause Im going down, uptown
Happiness is a, a warm gun
Happiness is a, a warm gun
Happiness is a, a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun
[repeat until end]
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Two Little Boots
TWO little boots all rough an' wo',
Two little boots!
Laws, I's kissed 'em times befo',
Dese little boots!
Seems de toes a-peepin' thoo
Dis hyeah hole an' sayin' 'Boo!'
Evah time dey looks at you —
Dese little boots.
Membah de time he put 'em on,
Dese little boots;
Riz an' called fu' 'em by dawn,
Dese little boots;
Den he tromped de livelong day,
Laffin' in his happy way,
Evaht'ing he had to say,
'My little boots!'
Kickin' de san' de whole day long,
Dem little boots;
Good de cobblah made 'em strong,
Dem little boots!
Rocks was fu' dat baby's use,
I'on had to stan' abuse
W'en you tu'ned dese champeens loose
Dese little boots!
Ust to make de ol' cat cry,
Dese little boots;
Den you walked it mighty high,
Proud little boots!
Ahms akimbo, stan'in' wide,
Eyes a-sayin' 'Dis is pride!'
Den de manny-baby stride!
You little boots.
Somehow, you don' seem so gay,
Po' little boots,
Sence yo' ownah went erway,
Po' little boots!
Yo' bright tops don' look so red,
Dese brass tips is dull an' dead;
'Goo'-by,' whut de baby said;
Deah little boots!
Ain't you kin' o' sad yo'se'f,
You little boots?
Dis is all his mammy's lef',
Two little boots.
Sence huh baby gone an' died,
Heav'n itse'f hit seem to hide
Des a little bit inside
Two little boots.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Seasons
What is a season, sometimes children ask,
Then to explain to them is not a hard task;
its four groups of months, divided equally,
Winter I like, It's the month so special to me.
First we take Summer, it's sometimes so very hot,
But; when you get to go swimming, it cools you a lot;
Eating Salads, and lovely cold drinks, and sweet too,
But; when it's in the 40's, I just don't know what to do.
Next we have Autumn, a beautiful season to check out,
The colors on each tree change, the wind blows the leaves about;
We know it's almost time, to get our warm clothes ready,
and when it's very windy, it's hard to stay on your feet steady.
Then comes Winter, out comes our warm clothes, and gear,
Our coats, gloves, and rain boots, are always left near;
Then it comes, the rain, Hail, sleet and icy snow,
Where you feel the winters blast, on each finger and toe.
So there is the seasons, each different from the other,
What is your favorite season, or do you prefer, not to bother?
In Melbourne Victoria, It's like all comes together,
Four seasons in a day, oh what strange yet beautiful weather.
poem by Margaret Haig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Shoes
'I wouldn't like to be in your shoes',
This woman contemptuously said,
What's the matter with my shoes,
They've stood me in good stead.
My flat ones take me walking,
Over many a hill and dell,
My sandals, when the weather's fine,
Quite frankly! do the same as well!
My boots, keep my feet nice and warm,
When the snow is on the ground,
And my high heels lift my spirits up,
When I am party bound.
'I wouldn't like to be in your shoes',
She sang out spitefully,
Of course she wouldn't, she takes a big size seven,
And I only take a small size three.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Capture The Moment
Snow on the hilltops
All night and day
There was snow
And the whiteness turned
In some places
With long steps
Tired steps
Of someone
Carrying
The burden of his life
Besides warm clothing
And some worn out shoes
Socks those were fuming
For the wet sock
Why not seek love in hills
Covered with snow
Why a beloved is not born here
And why there is not
A mad man of the snows
Snow is not as cold
There is intense heat inside
And the beloveds of the snow
Let’s sing for them tonight
Let’s tell them to lit heavy fire
Let those chimneys emit smoke
Smoke the symbol of hope
And the fire burning
The smell of baking food
And the sweetness of the beloved’s
Warmth
Let us invent a story of love
As the hills covered with snow
And the pine trees carrying the weight of snow
Bent down
And the distant houses
All covered with a thick white blanket
Sleeping
And some young girls
Making breads and hot tea for the loved ones
In the early morning
As more snow
Rains from the skies
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shivering And Not Singing
Cold and freezing in low degrees,
Leaving people to turn up their collars.
Mittens, earmuffs and coats of fleece,
Leaving people to turn up their collars.
And breezes seem to hollar...
'Winter's here and will slick the streets.'
Leaving people to turn up their collars.
The snow is deep and boots are needed on feet,
Leaving people to turn up their collars.
And spending more to crank up that heat...
While wrapped in blankets,
And warm bed sheets.
Oh...
Shivering and not singing in their homes.
Shivering are many doing this alone.
Winter's here and will slick the streets.'
Leaving people to turn up their collars.
And spending more to crank up that heat...
While wrapped in blankets and warm bed sheets.
And...
Shivering and not singing in their homes.
Shivering are many doing this alone.
Shivering and not singing in their homes.
Shivering are many doing this alone.
And spending more to crank up that heat...
While wrapped in blankets and warm bed sheets.
And...
Shivering and not singing in their homes.
Shivering are many doing this alone.
Oh...
Shivering and not singing in their homes.
Oh...
Shivering are many doing this alone.
Oh...
Shivering and not singing in their homes.
Oh...
Shivering are many doing this condoned!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bursting Through
I'm counting stars
Lying under
Watching you through my walls
All the lights have gone out
I know you're listening now
You've been spinning around
Turning slowly
Orbiting round my house
It's a feeling I guess (Single Version: "It's a feeling I get")
I know you're listening now
Warm me today
Warm me today
Filter in my lonely room
Warm me today
Warm me today
Look outside the sun it's
Bursting through
Bursting through oh it's
Filling up this room
Now my fingers are cold
But I have touched you
You're all I need to know
Don't fade from me now
I know you're listening somehow
All you can give
All you can give
Twisting bright
It's more than light it's
All you can give
All you can give
Look outside the sun it's
Bursting through
Bursting through
Oh it's filling up this room
Warm me today
Warm me today
Look outside the sun it's
Bursting through
Bursting through
Oh it's filling up this room
song performed by by Bic Runga from Drive
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Neutered Boots
Neutered Boots,
Looked at me as if I knew...
The agony of losing,
Jewels once cherished.
Like a bonding of a maleness,
Had been sliced and diced.
And I was petting him gently...
Just trying to be nice.
But Boots had never been kneed,
In the groin.
Or have an affection wished dismissed,
By someone close Boots had lived with.
Boots is a kitten!
He'll get over it.
However...
Not too many other cats,
Will come to appreciate...
Where Boots is at.
And Boots will have to learn that...
On his own!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A little girl in her father's boots
Father sleeps
And Mother cooks
Where she plans to go in her father's boots?
War's over my little daughter
And keep that boots in a corner
You need that for a better school in future
Where they do not teach killings each other?
*When friends meet, hearts warm.
-John Ray
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Thats Entertainment
A police car and a screaming siren
A pnuematic drill and ripped up concrete
A baby waiting and stray dog howling
The screech of brakes and lamplights blinking
Thats entertainment
A smash of glass and the rumble of boots
An electric train and a ripped up phone booth
Paint splattered walls and the cry of a tomcat
Lights going out and a kick in the balls
Thats entertainment
Days of speed and slow time mondays
Pissing down with rain on a boring wednesday
Watching the news and not eating your tea
A freezing cold flat and damp on the walls
Thats entertainment
Waking up at 6 a.m. on a cool warm morning
Opening the windows and breathing in petrol
An amateur band rehearsing in a nearby yard
Watching the tele and thinking about your holidays
Thats entertainment
Waking up from bad dreams and smoking cigarettes
Cuddling a warm girl and smelling stale perfume
A hot summers day and sticky black tarmac
Feeding ducks in the park and wishing you were faraway
Thats entertainment
Two lovers kissing amongst the scream of midnight
Two lovers missing the tranquility of solitude
Getting a cab and travelling on buses
Reading the grafitti about slashed seat affairs
Thats entertainment
song performed by by Face To Face
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Portobello Road
Getting hung up all day on smiles
Walking down portobello road for miles
Greeting strangers in indian boots,
Yellow ties and old brown suits
Growing old is my only danger
Cuckoo clocks, and plastic socks
Lampshades of old antique leather
Nothing looks weird, not even a beard
Or the boots made out of feathers
Ill keep walking miles til I feel
A broom beneath my feet
Or the hawking eyes of an old stuffed bull across the street
Nothings the same if you see it again
Itll be broken down to litter
Oh, and the clothes
Everyone know that that dress will never fit her
Getting hung up all day on smiles
Walking down portobello road for miles
Greeting strangers in indian boots,
Yellow ties and old brown suits
Growing old is my only danger
Cuckoo clocks, and plastic socks
Lampshades of old antique leather
Nothing looks weird, not even a beard
Or the boots made out of feathers
Ill keep walking miles til I feel
A broom beneath my feet
Or the hawking eyes of an old stuffed bull across the street
Nothings the same if you see it again
Itll be broken down to litter
Oh, and the clothes
Everyone know that that dress will never fit her
Getting hung up all day on smiles
Walking down portobello road for miles
Greeting strangers in indian boots,
Yellow ties and old brown suits
Growing old is my only danger
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!