Best Barefoot Poems


Premium Member Barefoot

I walk on the deserted beach
listening to the ocean song;
the breeze holds my hand.
Is this where I belong?

I leave my footprints in the sand
feeling the grains between my toes.
Is it too late to dream,
I ask. Only God knows!

---------------------------------------
Premiere Contest No. 7 by Skat A

Premium Member - Everything Is Better Barefoot -

Blue 
vision
Dipping toes
feel the softness
The warm breeze of the summer joys tempts me
Crystallized sand like feathers on the toes
Gold in my eyes
Breathe taking
and pure
bliss





05/09/2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved


Double Tetractys 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper 
# 2
3rd place in the contest

Premium Member Barefoot Tangerine Moon

Barefoot in luxuriant grass, luscious, pearl moonlight falling down,
In the golden season of sensual thrills, in the hours without sound,
Underneath the tempting tangerine tree, eating of its fragrant fruit,
With the stars dancing to tomorrow, by enigmatic, invisible routes.

Barefoot in peaceful dreamland, caressed softly by romantic moon,
When the ebony world lies in waiting, for the yellow canary's tune,
Barefoot in tangy tangerines, in the warm, soft, wandering breezes,
In the darkest hours of sleepless night, when it seems time ceases.


Barefoot Boy, With a Fishing Pole.

A man I am and near my end.
I have other men to call me friend.

And women round me for the lust
And four leaf clover for the luck.

Beer or buttermilk to drink
And time I have to sit and think.

I have meadows which to mow
And I have crops which to sow.

I have men that call me sir.
I have work to be concerned.

I have obligations piled.
Work to do from mile to mile.

I'd trade it all, to be, you know
A barefoot boy, with a fishing pole.

To rest in the shade by a river bed
Soft grass to lay my youthful head.

Fish and skip stones on waters calm
And sleep out all night -when it's warm.

To unravel natures mystery there
Why the turtle wears a shell?

How the Oriole's nest is hung?
How the frog's croak is sung?

Why the Blue-Bell does not ring?
Why the hornet likes to sting?

My work keeps me shod like a mule
Only in dreams, youthful things I do.

When work here ends, to Heaven I go
To be a barefoot boy, with a fishing pole.

Premium Member My Barefoot Girl

I remember the very first day
I saw that teeny-tiny bare foot
When the nurses took her away
And pressed it with ink on the birth certificate

And I watched those tiny bare feet
Take their first steps on the carpeted floor
And the way she would squish her toes in the sand
Is a memory I just adore

Her shoes would never stay on long
And the socks would come off too
As she ran through fields of grass
And the years passed on through

She would splash in rain puddles
Walk through mud up to her calves
Being barefoot she was happiest
Muddy footprints would make her laugh

Now I walk with her in a white flowing gown
Her groom waiting in his tux so neat
The wedding dress covers them up
But I wouldn’t be surprised if she wore bare feet

And I watched my little girl
Walk away with another man
But always I will remember her
Dancing with bare feet on hot sand
© Joe Flach  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Down Birdie Galyan Road

Will you take a ride with me on an unsaddled pony,
past the dusky copper kettle glow of Gilead pond?
 
Two young, carefree kids wandering barefoot..   
far as we can see the fields stacked in hay, our highway 

The Summer sun we'll chase away to the end of days 
'til the dark, moonless forest voices call. 

No lightning lights Vega's face, not even your hand 
catches Cassiopeia's distant glance.

Can we return one day to bottle cap mysteries untold, 
down the long lost dusty finger of Birdie Galyan Road?


Barefoot Rice and Hot Souse

Cook white rice with ochroe in
                                      Coconut milk-----stew 
                              Pigs-feet and pigs- tail seasoned
                                  and spiced ------ain't that nice
                                           Yummy Yummy -----now                                          
                                                set the  table
                                                     Eat                                                  
                                                                                                                                                    
                                                     Hot.
                                                 Dig in man
                                             A caribbean feast
                                           and juice of lemons 
                                       Cucumber, hot peppers, salt
                                           pour  into jar------- add
                                        Boil pigs-feet, in iron  pot

Barefoot Buccaneer

Bronwyn the Barbaric was a buxom lass
the envy of all her peers
She spoke with unrivaled swashbuckling sass
her pirate-ess fashion was fierce

She could charm off the arms of the most hardened men
how they'd swoon at the sight of her swagger
She ruled over cutthroats with a dangerous grin
her hand ever over her dagger

But her smile was so lovely, her style was so vogue
that she had little need for such violence
With a wave of her hand, she could tame ruthless rogues
with a look she could cause utter silence

So, peacefully she plundered (with minions to pillage
and devotedly obey her commands)
Until a shop window caught her eye in the village
and she made a bad purchase, unplanned

There she acquired the most dashing high-heel boots
custom made (according to her wishes)
But the pain that they caused was something acute
and it made the 'old girl' act quite vicious

She kidnapped the cobbler and tortured him so
she was in quite a terrible temper
She dealt him such cruel and merciless blows
the crew could hardly handle his whimpers

She became a tyrannical, treacherous wench
terrorizing from Tahiti to Tangier
Leaving in her wake only ruins and stench
with a reckless and wicked sneer

And 'though her crew were not a cowardly lot
they dared not get on her bad side
The last scalawag was both stabbed and shot
before she tossed him into the tide

But one rakish mate had an interesting offer
her vanity couldn't refuse-
If he could, just once, get those stylish boots off her
a better set he could produce

So eyeing him, slowly, she peeled the boots off
and immediately felt such relief
Gone was her bitterness, her angry scoff
gone was the source of her grief

Seeing their pirate queen herself again
the crew gathered 'round and they cheered
Those bloody boots were thrown overboard
and their mate was quite revered

Now a barefoot buccaneer, she still
struts across the deck
And if they don't bend to her will
she'll see they're put in check!

Premium Member Without Goodbye

"I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it"
E.E.Cummings

Friends I have lost as years rush by--
so many souls I have called friend.
lost to heaven without goodbye
If I could just hold once again.

Childhood memories kept by me,
we grew, walking different lanes.
In my heart, they will ever be
tan and barefoot, summer's refrain.

Good friends forever, now apart.
Those friends I've kept as my estate.
They will live always in my heart
They'll be waiting at heaven's gate.

As we gain years, we lose dear friends
New friends appear, help hearts to mend.

September 22, 2022
Writing Challenge-In My Heart-S forms poetry contest
by Constance La France
Lost to Heaven, Friend
First Place
© Ann Peck  Create an image from this poem.

Barefoot

Barefoot

Off to school and then go barefoot,
in the 50s running wild,
Elvis was singing blue suede shoes,
Used to listen all the time.

Bare foot out a playing football,
kicking, stinging poor old foot.
Bindi’s, Goatheads , sometimes stinging,
Ignore the pain an counter, boot.

Bare foot rolling in the black mud.
Parents couldn’t tell to call ,
were we black or whiter  kids. 
Mud covered as it did,
mud covered us all.


Francines' Barefoot

Premium Member If Dancing Barefoot, Watch For Broken Glass

If Dancing Barefoot, Watch For Broken Glass

Shot straight arrow into a crooked sky
to find if it washed upon me black rain.
Strange that Fate decreed then, I would not die
at least not until later, not in vain.

Time flew into shadows upon dead plains
my quiver empty, my heart cut to shreds.
We all have our secrets and some dark stains
while others sleep with ghosts in bloody beds.

Times of despair, hard choices must be made
if dancing barefoot, watch for broken glass.
Beware for heavy dues, they must be paid
there is no hidden splendor in the grass.

My bow now silent and cracked due to age.
All shot out- words sent from wizened old sage.

Robert J. Lindley, 12-11-2016

Premium Member Barefoot Earthling

It's taken me sixty years
Of evolution
To realise the simplicity 
Of Earthen electricity 

My naked feet, like freshly cleaned
Battery terminals
Strolling in hilarity 
To observe correct polarity 

Electrons flowing in and out
As I freely shuffle about 
In hippyfied insanity
With toes embracing nudity

The science is effusive
So wonderfully conclusive
My body craves perfection
In each pedantry inflection 

So to join the sockless roamers 
The grass lovers and beach combers
I will earth myself completely
With each step I place, so neatly

Is it magic or just factual?
Like a nature deal, contractual
Or perhaps we were never meant
To be disconnected, discontent

And maybe it's progression
To dismiss the shoe of intercession 
Returning to natural citizenship
Of barefoot - grass relationship

Reject the concrete, 
Resist the vulcanised persistence 
Embrace the beauty
Of a soul-full existence
© Sam Scott  Create an image from this poem.

The Earth Is Alive

When walking barefoot trough the grass you will feel a tantilizing tingle.
Connecting your soul to the earth is advised permitting your toes and grass to mingle.
The earth transfers energy through the body and cleanes free radical through the soul.
Enhancing your health by walking barefoot connecting to mother earth for fifteen or more minutes a day should be a daily goal.

Premium Member Barefoot on Boulders-Number 5

(Number 5)

Smiles rise over the ridge.
Courts creek, a childhood dream.
Commonsense, not even a smidge.
Barefoot on boulders, eyes agleam.
Staggering sight of matchstick bridge.

Premium Member Barefoot In a Brook

Shingling of pebbles
hardly seen beneath water
aiding the brook’s flow

bare feet in the sand
and a sharp intake of breath
freezing stream water

dog drags her belly
she delights in this wetness
pretty autumn day

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace