Best Socks Poems
* Written for my daughter, who really does have a precious pair of Little Yellow Socks.
Little Yellow Socks
by Amy Swanson 12/5/2008
Little yellow socks
running down the hall
"Slow down with those socks on,"
I'd yell... too late, the fall!
Little yellow socks
padding softly late at night
climbing up into my lap
one more hug, out goes the light.
Little yellow socks
follow me with squeals of laughter;
Oh how she loves to run in them,
Begging me to come chase after!
Little yellow socks...
now not being worn a lot.
My little girl is growing up,
No longer just a tot.
Little yellow socks
will be cast aside someday
I must guard these precious moments;
in my heart, they'll safely stay.
Hand knit socks you are wonderful to me.
As I'm winding this soft wool yarn,
deciding, which needles to use,
I know you're going to be gorgeous,
cozy, and fun to wear socks.
Only the best wool for you, with
careful, hand wash, and lay flat to dry
cleaning instructions, befitting royalty.
Hand knit socks you will rock.
You'll think I'm a genius, my
matching bright lime green and rainbow yarns together.
The chosen slip stitch pattern, alternating the yarn,
makes you dear socks a joy.
An amazing joy to knit as well as to wear.
Oh the colors, the perfect fit, like wearable art.
My hand knit socks you'll be the envy of my other socks.
You dear socks deserve this honor.
You are the socks that rock.
The Day will come when you won't shift
When being "cool" is but a myth
Though now you may not understand
For it won't happen til you're a man.
Those dirty socks that mattered not
Still smell of cheese and morbid rot
Are but a memory that will never fade
To carry with you through each decade
You'll someday wonder how mom and dad
Stood beside you through the ugly bad
Who wondered what you'd turn out to be?
And if, from you, they'd ever get free?
To all who feel that your kids are adrift
Teach them soon to learn how to shift
To enjoy their days of being young
For this is a song you've already sung.
Good Luck!
To town he goes in fuzzy socks and crocs.
Do watch him! See how proudly that he walks.
He likes the way that everybody gawks
as he strolls down the city’s many blocks.
He bets they’re thinking, “What a silver fox!”
Whereas THEY think his head is filled with rocks.
How comfortable his crocs. How warm his socks.
He feels so good. Down by one of the docks
where street performers strut around like cocks,
I plug my ears. He’s playing his squeez-box!
June 16, 2021
for the Fuzzy Socks And Crocs Poetry Contest of Francine Roberts
When the Sabbath was over, (the woman) bought spices so they might anoint Jesus’ body. Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb and they asked each other, “Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb? “
—Mark 16:1-3 NIV
angels neaten room
Jesus Christ smiles at the sun
strolls out of the tomb
resurrection...it’s begun
knocks the socks off everyone
3/2/2021
At our house we had what was called an ‘odd sock drawer,
A place which the whole family could keep odd socks to store.
Quite often the matching sock was to be seen no more.
When the drawer became quite full Mum declared war.
She bought a sizable pack of large safety pins.
And threw the contents of odd socks out, to fill a few bins.
Each of us was given quite a few pins. No more sox would be odd.
Pinned together as we take them off when the last step was trod.
Into the wash they go still tightly pinned together.
Now through thick and thin and any type of weather,
Those pesky socks can’t come apart even if they try.
The dryer doesn’t like their pins so it’s out on the line to dry.
Cheers for Mum she fought the battle with a wink and a nod,
She won the war. Now we have no more socks that are odd.
Now we can fill that draw with anything else that we please.
It seems to be getting filled with miscellaneous keys.
Keys that have been lying around and don’t seem to fit any door.
A place where the whole family could keep odd keys to store.
I wonder how long it will take her to find a solution for odd keys.
Any suggestions accepted. Use the comment section please.
Sock it to me Baby
He strut like a proud peacock in his crocs
Green they were, worn with lime shocking pink socks
He asked for a date
I said "no way mate"
"Only because I have no matching frocks."
He said he just didn't care what frock I wore
'Cause he'd got crocs of many colours in store
"A lady in red “
I answered in jest
Suspecting that he was aiming to score.
Both of us went on the date dressed in red
"You must be clothed for a bet" someone said
My dates crocs and socks
Gave out vibrant shocks
'Cause all he wore matched, down to boxers and vest.
I answered "yes and it's for charity"
And we raised loads to put in the kitty
My date turned out great
We're now best of mates
His socks and crocs are my flitty ditty.
“Sock it to me baby, come hold me tight
Your crocs so excite me, love me tonight.”
8th June 2021
socks sidestep to the sock dimension,
in order to get away,
they tire of carrying our suspension,
don't like the smell they say,
who cares for the undersock:) hey.....Don Johnson
Fuzzy socks and crocs, oh my
Try some, buy some
Wear them high
Pair them, share them
To be nice
Take them home
For half the price
Crocs on socks are best displayed
When you lead
A big parade
When your socks
Are clean and pressed
Other folks
Will be impressed
Wear your socks to beat the crowd
Fuzzy socks
Will make you proud
When you have
A bite to eat
Crocs on socks
Will guard your feet
When they clamor for some meat
Give them something
As a treat
Rubber ducks
And plastic snakes
Pizza pie
And chocolate shakes
Wear them on a rainy day
Keep the snails
And worms away
Soak them well
Where gutters run
Dangle them
To have more fun
When your day is incomplete
Walk them down
A busy street
When the rest of you
Is nude
Socks reveal
Your attitude.
Submitted to the
Fuzzy Socks and Crocs Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Francine Roberts
On June 10, 2021
I am a blue sock.
I'm the bluest sock there ever was.
There never was a bluer sock, because
I lost my loving partner by the lint-screen fuzz.
We worked together as a pair.
We lived a life of quiet pride.
We'd protect those two feet - me and
My hundred percent cotton bride.
Did this life of duty bore her?
Or make her want to play with fire?
She followed her desire - and so,
After work we went into the dryer.
She danced and played, rolled and tumbled
With so many other socks that day.
Then she paired up with another,
Leaving me to forever say...
I am a blue sock.
I'm the bluest sock there ever was.
There never was a bluer sock, because
I lost my loving partner by the lint-screen fuzz.
I was sat on a rock adjusting my socks,
And what did I see, but a curious fox.
Who was most surprised, probably I,
So there we sat, both having a spy.
He cocked his head in a quizzical style,
I blew a little whistle, and gave him a smile.
His ears pricked up, He sniffed at the air,
He slowly stood up, as if I wasn't there.
A fine fellow he in his red livery,
Standing there posing, as if to say "look at me."
He gave a great yawn, for he had been sleeping,
Not expecting to wake to such a strange greeting.
Then he was off, the encounter was done,
Rarely had a walk met with such fun.
Who'd have thought while pulling up my socks,
I'd have a meeting, with a curious fox.
Entry for
CONTEST NO 550,any form,any theme,
Up to a max of 20 lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand.
30/1/19. Placed =1st.
Cotton fields
White to harvest
Untouched by red clay
Trash, sediment
Banked white snow
Fluffy
Not visited
By neighborhood dogs
Right out of the pack
The scent of clean,
Soft cotton
Dry and warm
Slip one on, then two
Encapsulate the feet
Like clean silver fog
Coats each tree
Ten hours later
There's dirt, stink
Old shoe leather stains
Then tossed into hamper
No longer new
No longer clean
No longer white
Just dirty old socks
A fox in socks
plays with a box
upon her head, she has gold locks.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Jan.12/2005
I'm glad to see that comin' back in chic,
Are socks that I ain't worn in quite a streak.
Argyle socks are now the rage!
Even at my elder age,
I'll sport 'em so I won't be called a geek!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
AN APPETITE FOR SOCKS
We load up our washing machine,
With clothes that practically, weigh a ton,
But why is it when we put in a pair of socks,
And then open the dryer door, we only find one?
Our washer and dryer is like the Bermuda Triangle,
We always deposit our socks by the pair,
You would normally expect, what goes in must come out,
But one of those socks manages to disappear.
This is one of the mysteries of the universe,
It doesn’t matter whether the socks are cotton or wool,
Maybe, just maybe, those socks turn into lint,
And that’s why those lint traps are always full.
Somewhere, there are close to a dozen socks,
That either my washing machine or dryer ate,
As a result, we have a bag of mismatched socks,
That are quite lonely, because they’re missing their mate.
Well, I guess it’s off to the department store,
Some more socks I will have to buy,
I know my appliances have an appetite for socks,
But what I really would like to know, is why?