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Best Poems Written by Dimestore Shoes

Below are the all-time best Dimestore Shoes poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Dimestore Shoes Poem

Written During the 2014 Ebola Outbreak

EBOLA
why should i care?
it comes out of nowhere
i am here, they are there,
suffering, kids, women, people, like me
but they are from a primitive society
where people know their neighbors, 
and it takes a village to raise a kid, whats up with that?
but EBOLA is evil, it ruins villages, people die, horriblyly
forget that. ive decided to help stop it. OK, thats it, IM in.
where can i get one of those funny suits? they dont seem to help though
i can wear my circle of prayer, that should do it. no cathloics die in droves.
hummn, i can raise awareness here and raise money! Money always does the trick!
i can join Gods without bordors, or jobs without bordors, something without bordors
why does society have bordors anyway? arent we all gods little toys, his Precious! 
i dont feel precious, i feel like EBOLa is going to spread and it will be world war E! 
this could be it! the second coming of,, EBOLA! the shrikea, the all consuming virus. 
It eats you alive, then those who love you and clean up your guts, get it. nice world. 
what sort of devine monster invented this thing? Well, science stood up to this ogre. 
we have the cure, just not the time to make it. africa may be a gonner. but not us, we are safe..
its time to activate my prayer capsule

Details | Dimestore Shoes Poem

God Is Watching, Sleepily..

The Scene: 
An explosion! 
From those picking.. limbs tear
cabbages and cucumbers  
combing children's hair
mixing with the backseat 
of a zealot's Mercedes Benz
the gunpowder,  smells of lamb, 
and cotton, all blend 
into a bitter, woolen, 
prayerful smoldering
the faces, each one, 
 a sorrowful gurgling.. 

God sniffs, looking puzzled.. 
as usual, murmuring 
'Why is this happening? 
All this crumbling and burning!
Am I the god of Job, 
of the savior foretold, 
of the maiden unrobed, 
of the crocodile's fold?' 
'I created them all, 
the most beautiful of races,
with a worn, savage love 
for me in dry places, 
I gave them this desert, 
the Sirocco, sand dunes
where they hopelessly 
struggle above catacombs
amid these car bombings, 
and gun strapping martyrs
that blowup in my face 
and all reason in shatters..'
'Stop it! stop!' 
God moans, and he chatters
but a look in his face 
tells you it doesn't matter..

I ask, 'Lord, why can't you
 let good people live?
The fools we elected 
can you ever forgive?
We all watch in horror, 
and while your adored
the people in Dar fur 
are swept up by warlords..'

(God's reply)
"Did you create pyramids, 
were you Ramses slave,
do you think I look forward 
to another small grave?
Have you fought in wars 
when you didn't agree,
Who decides who wins 
when they all pray to me?
It takes a whole village 
to pull just one trigger
Womens wages are set by 
Walmart's sale sticker
your planet is warming, 
no snow packs for farming
bringing unwelcome guests 
like mosquito borne pests, 
greenhouse unrest, protecting 
your own, consuming the rest.
I have eyes, I see everything 
you never did, I have ears, 
I hear empty words, 
all things unsaid.. today's living, 
may be tomorrows dead.."

(these are really my words, not God's, who I fear
is considering a reprise of the flood this year..)

Details | Dimestore Shoes Poem

Our Smoldering Factory Town

Our Smoldering Factory Town
free trade, a brick around
It’s gurgling, swollen neck. Surrounding
gray quiet smolder, evokes, 
Once thriving factory smoke
A Crumbling horoscope
once paid it's worker's, soaked
in quiet desperation.
We are it's rusty antiques
sinking ships on outsourced seas
a swollen, bailout casualty
a fallow field, a dustbowl breeze
While children sew our sneakers
In bananna sweatshops, cheaper
hands can make, children's fate
wont matter, they'll dig deeper.

Details | Dimestore Shoes Poem

Psalm of Some Homeless Old Testament Prophet

What have you done to your eager young sons
where will they hide now from the searing sun
and what Jordan river will wash off their pain
your gods were forgotten in your hurry to aim
and the holiest of places are no longer within reaching
and the hopes of the many are drowned by the foolish
we grow feckless and fearful and can no longer see them
their books are unread and unuttered forever
this infection grows scabs all over our bodies
and the fairest of faces turns a dark ugly pallor
our  thoughts are distorted by soulless mad leaders
and our fields are grown weary of growing our bounty
and winds bringing clouds never release their waters
and the dry, warring fields of faraway places
are filled with fresh holes of the people who walked there
and we never once lifted a hand to defend them
and the sand in our faces we'll never inherit
and the righteous bold fruits of the mighty have rotted
their tongues of salvation are shriveling inside them
and the voices of liberty are empty and hollow
may the god of our fathers bring ashes and sorrow
and the end is a welcome change to our blood letting
the rivers that watered and cooled and once fed us
are swirling in angry revenge all around us
a pillar of salt is all that is left standing.

Details | Dimestore Shoes Poem

Rootlessness

From Mastadonian timelessness
Thru Neolithic mankindliness 
Past icy agey instances
Cave-ember dream sequences
Animal carcass sustenances
Tribal ritual religiousness 
Guttural language utterances
Savage native dominances
Eking marginal existences
Toward era-ending extinguishes

To Nomadic brutal homelessness
Under cracking cultural bridginess
Under societal forgetfulness
Under Military expansiveness
Governmental negligences
A congenital hopelessness
Constitutional vagariousness
Evolutionary pervasiveness
Solitary survivalness
That’s my piece of boniness
My tent reeks of holiness
On the edge of precariousness...

Details | Dimestore Shoes Poem

Shifting Sands - a Syrian Prayer

I hope i have a pleasant death
somewhere in the wilderness, perhaps
clinging to a shriveled Apple, struggling
 to grow in the blazing sun, in a dusty
field on this warming, drying planet, or
maybe crushed beneath  a crumbling mosque
during prayers to heaven's deities
appeasing all that's good and just 
a gust of wind their hope in us
and give some comfort to this worlds
most sacred, weary casualties, 
and leave a mark in quiet sands, that 
never shift with time or winds, lay
etched on hearts for eternity.

Details | Dimestore Shoes Poem

On Bleached Seagull Sands

Over the crys of seagulls
gods whisper loudest
over rain, and children voices
heavens open, declaring
'Sorrow is a pagan mask,
to scare the spirts
of envy away!'.
In Summer, tides rise
longest, crustaceans
crawl highest, only
to be devoured sooner
on bleached seagull sands
warming, burning, leaving
a decaying, vanishing shell.

Details | Dimestore Shoes Poem

Julian (Flavius Claudius )

What Julian sought I have sought
In razed and restored clay temples
We have always worshiped words
These gods upon the Olympian crags
splinters of reason, waterfalls
splashing, numinously upon our heads

Then, i thought i ran out of words
life draining them, slowly, dripping
blood-like, into a sterile shallow pool 
of responsibility, but i sense 
your new words, surrounding me 
i perceive it was just a deception 

i am not just an animal, led
to the bleakest slaughterhouse,
i will go out bleating, words 
and the last thing i hear
your new words, ringing 
in my mad, but never cowed brain.

Details | Dimestore Shoes Poem

Plato's Solilique

Plato's Solilique
So we join the protest of the war
with six others by the hardware store
we carry signs and cars honk us 
wave at angry others who jeer us,
we find democracy, gasping, alive
lifting a stone off something that died..
It was poetry of the suburban streets
read to the unwashed.. SUVs
I am unwashed, unheardof, unashamd
unnoticed, unprepared, unaimed, 
a bottle hits Patrick full throttle
It was neither half full nor half empty.
He is Plato on the steps
of the Parthenon, debating
the course of the republic
with the cars, interchanging 
and the roman troops,
over the Tiber, congregating..

Details | Dimestore Shoes Poem

I Met Carl Marx In a Bookstore

I met Carl Marx in a bookstore
hanging around in the classics, waiting
some casual reader's mind to seduce  
his weaver, painter, plowhorse, produce
a strange dream of worker equality
the value of labor, everyman matters, 
An oxcart teeters, ideas splatter
into his subtile, beguiling reasoning
I read on, in a dream, this worker paradise
A place where each of our labors have worth
If I study and become a doctor of medicine
I am the same as the welder and the shopkeeper
I felt the burdens of the laborer upon me
I saw his vision of classlessness preside
I wanted to buy that book! but it's silly
I am a capitalist, shamelessly bourgeois..