Conceived of wool and birthed Siamese
In grand factories by hands unheard.
My socks move into separate drawers
Like orphaned siblings.
Soon
Each of my six pairs are strangers
that move in perfect lockstep
inside loafers in offices, brogues in churches and Chucks in clubs.
Then—
For nights’ sakes, on the floor;
Rolled rainbows of imperfect donuts.
Who thinks of unmatched socks
while he sucks in his gut to be a body stacked atop another,
to love?
Categories:
brogues, art, for her, kiss,
Form: Free verse
Don’t you see the skip of my jolly heels,
skipping about the globe while planting stars?
Ask then from mother earth what joy she feels
When my rubber sole and her corners spar.
In offices, they don brogues and loafers,
See me jolly hop with sparkled laces.
My Chuck 70’s turn suits to gophers,
Gentlemen grimace and grow grey faces.
I know jealous jugs of beer that will spill
and stink my Converse in bars and taverns.
Yet the canvas skin won’t break for their swill,
For it has walked over hills and caverns.
In churches and pews, I dance all the tunes,
Hear the slide of my foot to the insoles.
While priests return bibles for forks and spoons,
I hear sermons from the trips of my soles.
My All Stars have walked a callous journey
From my little foot to my huge footprint.
I don mine in king beds and in gurneys,
This shoe that has become my life’s blueprint.
Categories:
brogues, beauty, celebration, childhood, clothes,
Form: Quatrain
Roads rising up from Irish mists in merry jigs
To the flowing tenor song
Sung by the River Boyne born from Tara's Keep
As Patrick's paschal fire
Weaves truth from stones of blarney
And lucky charms of Erin's spring
Cloth hills in kilts of green clovers with four leaves
To the Kerry pipers wail of jigs and tiompan reels
When soft sunbeams kiss fields - the wind petals
Of Killarney's rose in Londonderry Airs
Born in fifes and fiddles in soft brogues
Delighting in tea and scones - the clairsel harp -
When clear cut crystal rays
Embrace green fields clothed in sheep -
Faire mischief - the wind dance of the Kells -
In bohdran thunder to banish banshee cries
As pirate queens and lost chieftain kings
Sail from emerald shores
Until they meet again beneath the blessings
Of the Celtic cross
In the north winds of the fair aran island.
Categories:
brogues, poetry,
Form: Free verse
From a distance I saw the way she was staring at him
I couldn't possibly fathom what she felt cos I haven't been in
He must have captured her heart and ‘fort knoxxed’ it
I could see the love drool from her eyes and I loved it
Loved seeing that look and wish I were at the end of those eyes
Not exactly hers, but to be like that is someone's heart
I admire such beauty in love and it gladdens my spirit from within
I wish I could step into his brogues and experience it feels
Categories:
brogues, heart, hope, joy, love,
Form: Sonnet
"Headline news! The rag trade is torn to pieces!
Dolls are strewn across the streets with skirts lifted high.
Headline news! Markets are buzzing with voracious bees;
Stinging for honey, for money to burn. Sly.
May I escort you sir to higher gains? Just feed the slot
Machine coffers with offers of fine dining and lustful desires.
Become bloated and coated, botched and scotched
And drink embers mellow as you repast by the fire!
Suits you sir! That suit should fake them and shake them,
For you look a right toff and in those two tone brogues
None can guess and think anything less of you and your suit
That is pin striped and blue. Welcome to 'Cafe Rogues'.
Are you a gambler sir? Do you place your bets well?
Do you prefer evens or odds or don't you give a sod?
There are no consciences here sir! We'll take your money
And spend it on honey and fine clothes by God!
Paper!paper! Read all about it, headline news!
Dolls are found in alleyways torn to shreds!
Escorts are fattened calves ready for the slaughter!
Suited toff is found dying in Savile Row gutter!
Gambling money spinner wins. Camera closes the shutter.
Categories:
brogues, england,
Form: Rhyme
Barefoot, blistered and bleeding
She wanders in from the street
People stare, flabbergasted
Very odd, unheard of in fact
She doesn’t know her size
So like Cinderella, she tries them on
Randomly selecting pretty colours
Silvery, glittery heels
She twirls for the mirror
Sales assistant sighs
Wellingtons for the garden
If she had one!
Satin ice skates
She would glide on the icy pond
Pretty sandals
To feel the sand between her toes
Boring, black brogues
Perfect!
With no pennies in her pocket
She wanders back to the street
Barefoot, blistered and bleeding
Categories:
brogues, loneliness, lonely, woman, women,
Form: Free verse
Woven from the ripple sentiments,
an overture of things seems to come.
Like an instinctive feel that draws time,
a weighty thought has mighty call.
Drawn in swooping strokes of ink,
are bits and pieces of character traits.
within the discovery of human drama,
provides a scope pregnant with thoughts.
On a long and arduous journey,
a culture of attitude comes through both.
Becoming part and keeping apart,
with that ability to have a sense of life.
Like pieces of parchment of yesteryears,
old, wrinkled, and fading color.
on which memories of the past,
are drawn with passion and confession.
It is a stealth device,
a kind of creative embedding.
A truthful picture, a source of reflection,
that depict the whole spectrum.
In an assortment of events,
including some heavy episodes.
Disjointed moments with lilting brogues,
transform the action into reflection.
Categories:
brogues, introspection, life,
Form: Narrative
He turned into a rooster, right there before my eyes
His arms became plump chicken wings, imagine my surprise
His chest puffed out and swelled with pride his back a feathered thatch
His scruffy brogues were cast aside, as he began to scratch.
He started pecking with his nose, his neck shot back and forth
And then he started crowing, with his head adjusted north.
Running round in circles I thought he’d have a fit
and that was why I grabbed him, cause I thought he’d never quit
That was when he started flapping, I thought he’d never stop
To calm him down I used my strength to stuff him in a pot
In my haste to quiet him down It must have slipped my mind
That I’d put some veg and tatties in, soup helps me to unwind
The fire was lit by accident, But how I have no clue
And that was when I realised, My George was in a stew
I’d hoped through chicken farming, a tighter bond we’d forge
and that’s the truth your Honour, why I ate my husband George.
Categories:
brogues, funny
Form: Rhyme