Best Well Heeled Poems
Miss Garner, Miss Garner. I HATE your Gymkhana,
I loathe every second it's run.
I dread all those horses and obstacle courses,
and everyone else having fun.
Now Mummy is frantic, the panic gigantic;
my pony won't go in the box.
She's shouting and screaming (and often blaspheming),
when Dobbin sits down on his hocks.
We stop in a field, by others well heeled,
their lorries all parked in neat rows.
My Dobbin looks grotty, all rumpled and spotty;
their ponies are plaited in bows.
I get in Show Jumping my usual dumping,
when Dobbin refuses the last.
I'm beat in the Bending (and cry without ending);
my pony is not very fast.
You're calling my name? Is this all a game?
And now you are pointing at me?
What me in the line, at Prize Giving time?
Oh, my? Have you answered my plea?
Miss Garner, Miss Garner. I LOVE your Gymkhana!
It's been such a jolly good thrash.
The Rosette I won has made it such fun;
my Dobbin has got a bran mash!
~
For Francine Roberts' "Children in Rhyme" Contest by Charles Clive.
Looking out of windows, we see the tourists’ stare,
pods of wild balloons, jumping in the air
Ham rolls and pop and cakes galore, sushi pieces
eaten raw, meet the needs of travellers-sore,
missing home and friends next door
Then shopping in the holiday malls, umpteen beggars
follow well-heeled gals, they sell you something
you don’t need, made of shells, or river’s reed
And when the party’s all but done, and touring
guides have had their fun, this Napoleon’s army
beaten thin, straggles back the night to win
Vodkas, coke and watery beers, “will it rain?”
to add to fears; gypsy dance continues on,
romance created, free drinks gone
And then beneath the weary moon, the tourist
zest begins to swoon, heads are heavy, feet as
lead; so quick to heaven’s welcome bed
Cornices, and Gargoyles with eyes turned low,
hold fast the passing in a frozen stare
as slow vapor rising from vents below
is churned by soles into thick city air.
Undeterred, the well-heeled leather bottom
wingtips fly past sandaled sloths at crosswalks
while clicking heels kick dead leaves of autumn
and wind their way through crowded city blocks.
Just above a breezy sidewalk café,
sheer fabric wafts a low-loft window sill,
two pair of empty vamps and laces lay,
removed in shameless haste and lustful will.
Beneath the sheets, a naked feet affair,
entwined, aligned, with dreamy souls laid bare.
Michael F. Lewis and Thvia Shetley
3/6/2013
WELL-WORN PATH OF SHOES
shoes ~ saddle
with gray and blue catholic uniform
dove white ~ easter
sandals dressed in ‘60’s powder blue
sneakers with my uniform
last minute mistake
mercy meted me a guard duty post
click~click~slick
cruise ship formal night
not for love, arm in arm
delicate walk to dining room
catherine de medici taller
well-heeled so we can grow smaller
dining in our fancy chairs
sacrificial slippers – quiet hush hush
toss them overboard
bare ~ love cuddles
“Tall Poppies, Cactus Flowers and a Girl Not Called Betty”
All the Flamingos were called Betty
on a crowded beach somewhere
Well heeled stuck in the quick sands of time
heads held high
like
Tall poppies
waving, long stemmed
they are
tightly furled pale pink peonies
and thorny cactus flowers
the softer velvet petalled man eating flowers
silently watch on
humming tunes
wetting their long musk scented tongues
to catch buzzing bees
and bragging blue bottled stinging horse flies
snapdragons wrapped up in faux violent
violet erroneous blue disguise
languidly caress memories
where the deeper shade of lurid fuchsia
open their moistened crowns
sweet honey traps
dripping with potential
unfurl their arms
seductively
reaching out
strung on legs that travel
all the way up a nowhere road
consider stopping for a while
shedding petalled layers
amusement winks
silkily bending over in the breeze
the feline tiger lily
looks aroused
while the glowing dandelion
a will-o'-the-wisp, walks on water
across the green laureate laurels and
through the pristine poetry blooms
blowing away
the dark dreary clouds
to touch your shores
where you sit smiling naked and salty
toes dangling for sharks
off some shady pontoon
casting the fishing line
into the ponderous light
dreaming
of the long held dance
somewhere untouched
under Blue Sky
Summer's dreaming
reeling Winter back into Spring
Romancing
he rolls his eyes
she grins
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
"Watermelon Sugar" / Harry Styles
https://youtu.be/7-x3uD5z1bQ
"Well I had a dream and in it I went to a little town
And all the girls in town were named Betty.
And they were singing: ..."
dance?
"Smoke Rings" / Laurie Anderson
https://youtu.be/Pdoj-w8xn1g
LYRICS / https://genius.com/Laurie-anderson-smoke-rings-lyrics
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Will-o%27-the-wisp
(For six days in mid-August, 1971, at Stanford
University near San Francisco, a psychological
experiment was conducted in which students
took on the roles of prisoners and prison guards.
The experiment had to be cut short, because the
guards were indulging in unhealthily sadistic
behaviour.)
"Never again," we say.
Those things can't be repeated.
"We set our face against him,
and Hitler was defeated."
Are you sure?
If sweet-talking you
could make it come true,
I would hand you the world
right now on a silver platter ...
but what would it matter?
Life isn't always Garry Keillor.
It's Rwanda, too. Sabra, Shatila.
The key you're holding
won't fit my door.
And you're not welcome
any more.
Just picture this, my friend.
Almost in sight of the Alcatraz ferry,
that sunny August of seventy-one,
a couple miles from Haight-Ashbury
something funny has begun
- and we're not talking Tom and Jerry.
You used me and abused me
till I felt like I wanted to die.
You created a need in me
that only you can satisfy.
Well-heeled campus kids
don’t quibble at the pay rates
make fifteen bucks a day
playing guards-and-inmates
- but is it really play?
I wondered hard
'tween twelve and one:
I asked my God,
"What have I done?"
These guards love Cohen, Dylan,
Che Guevarra, Mao, Durruti -
but now they're volunteering
for unpaid extra duty.
He spits into my food tray
for nothing more than spite.
Hear him whip the women
just around midnight.
You'd be surprised
what humans do.
Hippies can be Nazis, too.
A misty path all through ahead
Quite uncommon, quiet was the way
Moonshine, the guide to his dark forlorn destiny
Marionette played by an unseen unknown.
Enigmatic enjambment, enmeshed he was
Left in the middle of somewhere, alas
New faces, hard facers, these phases are great
His quest for the treasure with no knowledge begun.
All that is left now is a whorl of hope,
To get through the labyrinth, this misanthrope.
One day, the bootless might be well-heeled
The secret lies there he'll say Finally revealed.
Take a look at your past, your awry trail
You never get a second chance and thereby hangs a tale.
Weekend wanderlust, backwoods trail tramping
Accesorized with well-heeled, hard-soled boots
Forrest frolicking, overnight camping
Freefalling footsteps connect to grassroots
Lost in labyrinth of lengthy commutes
Energized inboard engine outpaces
Scavenger hunting and other pursuits
Tieing up loose ends with taut bootlaces
Observing the touch of untouched places
Muddy meanderings, dry diversion
Pathway erases bootprint/ retraces
Exiting road-less-taken-excursion
Rejuivenated, (much to my liking)
Striking campfire desire for more hiking
I’m Packing and She’s Packing
I’m a film noir private eye and I’ve got my eye on this voluptuous dame. I’m investigating the murder of her rich husband and searching for clues. Because deep in my gut, her sweet demeanor made me suspicious and I smelled a rat no matter how much charm she exuded.
My research told me she used to be a barmaid in a well heeled club and her gentlemen friends (they weren’t gentlemen) sought her out and she could pick and choose. During my questioning , her sorrow consisted of martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
I questioned her candidly and she answered as well in a sultry way. I was tempted but I had to be hard and in control of my misguided hormones. but I was determined seek the truth.
she swayed me
But I was on to her
time will tell
The Private Eye and the Femme Fatale
Halibun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
April 25, 2019
I don’t want to be the other half of
something someone lost a long time ago.
I’m not interested in being
the better part of valour.
Everybody learns the hard way,
one way or another. No matter
how good you are at numbers,
you can only count up to broken,
forever.
So eat your liver & onions.
It should come as no surprise
to discover the divided heart
multiplies nothing.
Any child can tell you
love is invisible geography
& Reality’s the only fiction.
The more you look, the less you see.
Like insects whose words are feelers,
we strive to recollect the half-
remembered that deeply mattered,
witnesses to rashness
passing as bravery.
Despite the bad jokes
& Chardonnay
there’s an absence of humour
In what we say.
By resurrecting the dead we glorify
our names, our reputations
as artists, misfits & revolutionaries.
Savages together,
we toast our mutual savagery –
hear hear!! – the clinking solidarity
of well-heeled somebodies.
I have dreams and goals to fulfill,
Longing for a wife to join me.
Hope for a place to call my own,
The confidence to stand alone.
We all have one fear at the least,
Whether or not you choose to believe.
None of us should trek in fear,
Live in hope not your greatest fear.
When I think I’m getting it together,
Glass shatters by life’s wrecking ball.
There’s always something I don’t get,
A detail that seems impossible to miss.
When revelations finally dawn on me,
Everyone is already seven steps ahead of me.
Will I ever be the well-heeled man I want to be?
Or will I always have an Achilles heel?
ONE MORE DEAL
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Who is it that dictates right from wrong
The common perception says, it’s the strong
It could be a majority or those in power
Or a well armed group can make you cower
But what about those that are well heeled
They always make out no matter the deal
Why is it the rich can usually impart
Their wants and needs, cause they’re smart
They know who to grease and who to back
What circles to visit, a winners knack
But even the affluent have an achilles heel
If they are greedy, they want one more deal
To make money this easy seems like a sin
That’s the thought as the con man reels them in
That’s when the foxes come out of the woods
The scam is perfect, bid adieu to your goods
Greed is good that’s what some will say
Not those having their wealth stolen away
No doubt there will be bitter consternation
A blow to their ego heartless frustration
They’ll keep it quiet so there’s no indication
They can’t stand the spotlight of humiliation
Dredged me from squalid littoral
Brushed me up; saw the first light
Eschewed from things personal
Gleaming new being; future delight
Stepping on high table of moral
I'm now the well-heeled protégé of a rosy sight
O but it ain't free! T'has dismissal:
Obey without permit
Keep mouth shut, but be loyal
Respond with no slight
Shan't be heard; not even vocal
Still on duty like a freight
For their legacy's balance 'am focal
Because they showed me light
This, than my home, is abysmal
Thought 'twas free will-alright!
My place was freedom, though lousy local
Get me out of here. Take me back to my dirt
I have found little to paint my life
As exquisitely as your song
For the sun did not shine on my bearing
Or grant me shelter from the rain
I am but an ordinary creature
Of no flair or finesse to circumvent
My gifts are not of beauty or brilliance
My breath a mere intrusion on your journey
You see…the seasons failed to transform
That which knows no glory
And the canvas remains ill-favored
Powerless to rise above well-heeled judgment
And just as a seedling with no light
Will not age in splendor to greet the heavens
A soul deafened to life’s symphony
Will never truly learn to sing out in jubilee
Twas only in the sweetness of Apollo’s kiss
That I dared to dream of places beyond my horizon
And for a flitting, I stood barefoot in the garden
And felt full the majesty of Elysium
I welcomed the offerings, my book flung wide
Inviting fate to ink the pages of my journal
Welcoming the stain left on my heart, and my life
Cherishing the makings of bittersweet memories
But oh how fleetingly those treasured moments passed
And I woke from my reverie to find myself alone
Imprisoned still, in the concrete of my reality
My tender heart reeling from the loss
Yet…I do not rue the passing of your shadow over mine
Nor will I forget the elation of sunshine on my flesh
And though the fire sparked but for a twinkling
I will long remember the warmth of the flame
For, I have found little to paint my life
As exquisitely as your song, my love
And I will carry breathless, your lullaby
Captured forever…in my heart
*********************************************
Copyright © 2009 Leria Hawkins, All Rights Reserved
The exodus is on course
Homeward bound, full force
Christmas and New Year cheer
Of the pandemic, we have little fear
The well heeled among us, lead the pack
Who knows what they will take and bring back
Those who can, alone, stay home
Trying to preserve their human microbiome
Shades of post- war nineteen twenty
Soldiers brought Spanish influenza aplenty
Hit us hard, many died - we had no masks
Our Doctors and nurses this time, not at their tasks
Like then, we rush to send wishes true
To the political and CoVid millionaire crew
Next year, if we are here to tell the tale
Their fortunes will move further from the pale