Best Booted Poems
Take away my static hair,
My thick, wool toque, my glassy eyes.
Take away the chilly air,
The endless clouds, the covered skies.
Give me back my sun-streaked hair,
My floppy hat, my shaded eyes.
Give me back the sea-salt air,
The fluffy clouds, the crystal skies.
Take away my dull, dry skin,
My soggy mitts, my booted feet.
Take away the frosty wind,
The icy paths, the slushy streets.
Give me back my sun-tanned skin,
My denim shorts, my flip-flop feet.
Give me back the toasty wind,
The sparkling dunes, the sandy streets.
Take away harsh Winter's sting,
His gales of hail, his banks of snow.
Give me back my darling Spring,
Her rising sun, her lovely glow.
He trails the scent of sweat as he walks in,
his booted footsteps loud upon the floor.
A light kiss on his face gives salty taste.
The feel of stubble on his chin I so adore.
The lingering vanilla from his bath I next inhale
as sweetly from our bed he calls to me.
Salt taste is gone. Now honey is his mouth.
I brush against him. . . we start leisurely.
Dec. 10, 2019
for Sheri Fresonke Harper's Smell Sound Taste Touch Repeat Sense Contest
SKY VIEW FROM THE Q.E.
Dark grey squalls
glide off of Hamilton Bay
trailing snow
look like old time proper ladies
their dainty booted feet
stirring up a wake
of frothy silken finery.
one behind the other
they file toward the escarpment
dropping crystal lace hankies
in coy consent
“I am approachable”,
the squall ladies whisper
“the hour is late
my mood so melancholy”,
as their cold breath
caresses the cheek.
a pale sun breaks through
shafts of light reflect
from delicate flakes of snow
appearing as though
finest gauze wedding veils
drift to earth
earth sleeps
awaiting Persephone
time between white velvet comforter
and a lacy leafed wrap
exposes her bones.
Hot chocolate hot chocolate I like it sweet, at Yule time I'll drink it then take a back seat
beside the old tree where Santa I'll meet they'll be cookies galore for St Nick to eat
as he shimmies and jiggles on two booted feet and a face flushed like rubious beet
I'll be eager to meet him but I will not cheat as I wait for the daylight now isn't that neat !
hot chocolate hot chocolate with marshmallows too I'll watch the chimney as I quietly chew
I have coated the bricks with butter and goo so his belly will slide,
(wink) he'll know what to do !
Down in the manger the angels acrue waiting for Jesus to
make His debut
While the Three Kings are offering their three gifts on cue, dear Santa
I'm waiting, I'm waiting for you
Hot chocolate hot chocolate I like it sweet,
but when it comes to Jesus, I won't take a back seat.
November
Falling leaves crunching beneath booted feet
Crispy mornings filled with pumpkin spice and doughnuts
Soft, warm sweaters covering sleeves
A misty frost across the once green garden plants
Warm, sleepy feet touching down on cold tiles
A flash of color cascading across the ridges that peak
Gentle giants lumbering up through the mountains…
In hopes of finding that winter’s hide away
Whispers of red, gold and amber…
Abiding across the edges of emerald pine
Alive with colors that can only be seen in the month
That arrives with Thanksgiving wonders.
Thanksgiving reminds us all to remember
The year’s blessings, gifts, talents and experiences…
All that we have to be thankful for –
Hope, faith and love that abounds within each one.
Thanksgiving is that perfect moment in time…
To share our joy and peace, our sincerity and serenity,
All that we love and care most about…
Especially Jesus, our Savoir and Lord!
©2018 by Regina Riddle
My twin brother has been missing for a few months now. Ever since that horrible day in January when he got booted, soaked and almost frozen when Little Johnny took him out with him in that terrible snow blizzard. Afterwards, he was left all alone and hung out to dry by Little Johnny's mother. That's when he first disappeared, this time. I know sometimes his life stinks but hey so does mine. This isn't the first time he went missing; he's disappeared on us a few times, but he always manages to show up unexpectedly, so I suspect he will pop up again sometime soon, all filthy and in dire need of a shower. He'll be all ready to be buddy, buddy with me again. But maybe this time I'll be the one who goes missing, maybe this time I'll pull one over his toes and give him a taste of his own medicine and be the twin brother who gets lost or hides. We'll see how he likes being tossed and locked up in the missing sock basket and shoved up in the corner of the missing socks shelf way up high where the spiders crawl and cobwebs entwine and collect. Wholly Moley, guess who just showed up in Rover's mouth- Yep! ((My twinster)) And, just how I expected, filthy, dirty and wholly. Growing up with no parents isn't easy, ya know. It really socks. The only good thing about it is that I can trade my twin brother in for another one, which by all means I will do.
My twin brother stinks
Trading him for another
Sucks being a sock
He was the big stud-on-campus, was Todd,
Until he was nabbed smokin' somethin' odd!
Coach booted him from the team.
Up in smoke went Mommy's dream,
Of Todd being on a pro-football squad!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
The day you have waited for, is here it seems
The day you marry the girl of your dreams.
No time for nerves, no time time to worry
Take your time getting sorted
No need to hurry.
Getting suited and booted
The excitement kicks in
Make sure the best man has both of the rings.
Tis nearly time, time to depart
A beer at the bar, its only the start!
The service starts at half past 2
Your taking your vows and saying
'I DO'
Speak loud and clear
Don't forget to smile
As you walk your new bride down the wedding aisle.
Enjoy the day, soak it all in
Deliver your speech with a big cheesy grin!
It's time to party, after your first wedding dance
Hold Your bride close like it's your only chance.
I hope that you both have a wonderful day
And in each other's arms, forever you'll stay.
SONG ABOUT THE EARTH
Vladimir Vysotsky
Is the earth, as they say, burnt and dried?
Will a seed, as they say, never sprout?
Has the earth, as they say, really died?
No! It’s taken a lengthy time-out!
Mother Earth will forever give birth,
Its maternity isn’t a fiction!
Don’t believe that they burnt down the earth,
No! It’s blackened from grief and affliction.
Trenches, running like scars back and forth …
Bleeding guts black shell-craters expose …
They are open nerves of the earth,
Which unearthly unhappiness knows.
It will stand wars and grief — any thing!
It’s not crippled, though booted and looted …
Don’t believe that the earth doesn’t sing,
That it’s quieted down, diluted!
No, it’s singing as loud as it can
From a trench, from a wound, from a hole!
Since the earth is the soul of Man,
Boots cannot trample down the soul!
Translated by George Tokarev
© GEORGE TOKAREV 2001
I can feel the frigid air bite my lungs
as my shallow breaths try in vain to
soothe and stop the burning pain.
Each struggling footfall could be my last,
yet the mountain taunts me to keep onward.
The snow has consumed my crampon booted feet
with numbness as trembling loins beg my brain for rest.
Heartbeats match the pounding in my head.
I just can’t stop now when so near the summit.
Blinding snow begins to fall as I leave my two
closest friends behind on the promontory.
They plead with me to turn back with them.
All sensibilities have vanished into the whiteness.
“As I feel the snow fly, I will conquer or die”.
Let these words be my epitaph I call to them,
should the mountain claim my sorry soul.
August 10, 2014
For Charlotte Puddifoot's
Dark Poetry Contest
softly swift, along in threes,
battalions fierce, would grind the wind.
the grandeur of glory great,
could savour each victory's fate.
arrayed in lines, for wars cut,
soldiers set in uniforms.
adorned and armed to their teeth,
with gloved up hands, booted feet.
Marching Seasons, the war times,
a great army, with more behind.
trembling earth, meek fields of war,
nature humbled, nature blurred
by armies great, who rivers dry,
and wield emblems; glorified.
Another Petrarchan Sonnet
Picture Perfect
from Uncle Tom's Cabin (See notes for story background)
The long night was not long enough;
The new master and his hired men
Soon will come; the river rages,
The water glistens in the morning sun.
The boat is tethered at the other side,
but water beats against the wharf
And ice blocks bob as if on ocean tide.
The child sleeps. I can but wait,
For merchants traveling to and fro
Will need to reach Kentucky’s shore;
I dare not rest when freedom is so close.
But hark! The men are in the street;
I fear one saw me in the window—
I hear the pound of booted feet.
Lord, help me, they will not take my only babe;
With the river, I’ll take my chance—
No thought. Ice bobs and sinks beneath the waves,
I leap without a backward glance.
The ice seems not so slippery
I leap and leap and leap again
God gives me purchase—we will be free!
The last frozen block sinks beneath
My numbéd feet. I toss my child to the ground
And lunge—gripping grass midst mud and sleet,
The river roars behind, a deafening sound.
But o’er my head—an open hand,
A heav’n sent soul, my babe held in his arms—
A chance at freedom in an angry land.
The evening shadows
move through the branches to the top.
All through the winters' night
the cold white crystals fall,
they seldom stop.
No rest on upper branch
or lower limb you see.
but gently fall
from limb to limb
to plant themselves on me.
And there they grow,
and others come to rest
on cap and boot
and upturned coat
till all in white i'm dressed.
And not a bird or beast
within the wood
could see or hear
so still there in the snow
beside the tree I stood.
But now it's time to go!
I'd watched old sol up in the sky
till winter's darkness
drowned his bright red face;
I'd stood and watched him die.
Now, walking from the wood,
with only moon's pale light to see.
The crisp chill sound
of winter's booted feet
speak mockingly to me.
For I must go!
Return to life's dull roll.
The dumb things of the wood
I leave behind
all pity me I know!
Blisters from shoes, hampered his speed
Banters from foes, sauntered to bleed
Ran barefooted, marathon booted
Ethiopia on his feet, milestone in feat.
I guess we can struggle when we sit down to write
But use your own words - to plagiarise isn’t right
When I read a poem that’s simply too good to be true
I then begin to question, was it even written by ‘you’
If I google a few lines it will give me the answer
You’ve been caught red handed – you were a chancer
I just want to read poems that I’ve never read before
If I find stolen work I won’t read ‘yours’ any more
Why claim words from another writer, as it is a crime
You’ll never find stolen words in any poem of mine
Part 1 posted on soup 7th February 2015
Part 2 ...
To obtain contest glory and gong
You stole another's words, it's so wrong
Plagiarism is vile
You've done it quite a while
I’m hoping this is your swan song
Hollander died aged eighty three
So tell me how could it be
His work’s here on soup
‘you’ wrote it – that’s poop
Soup booted this fraud speedily!
Sadly the culprit has once again been posting stolen work soup even entering it for contests, thanks to eagle eyed souper's he has been removed once more.
30th December 2019