They do the swing and sling dance someone said
About my friend Charlotte and her buddy Ted
It is the Lindy Hop, and it is looks rather wild
They asked me to try it, but I am a non-dancing child
I used to love to dance and kick and twist and shout
But a torn ACL and injured leg bone had struck me out
Now I barely skip, never hop, and sometimes limp along
After becoming my age, my body has yelled “this is wrong!”
I have arthritis in my ankles, so how could I swirl?
A bunion on my foot would not help me in a whirl.
Here is my advice, young woman, and young man too.
Do all the living you can while your body keeps up with you.
Of WHAT USE ARE FINGERS TO HANDS THAT ONLY UNDERSTAND MITTENS
I have a bunion and an ingrown toe nail;
I’m a blind man wearing glasses and I can’t find them;
My hair is so short that I am bald;
My spine so straight I am tall;
I have a four year old who keeps shaking his fist at his sister;
And it’s cold and snowing my question is;
Of what use are fingers to hands that only understand mittens;
And what’s the use in cooking dinner in the kitchen;
When we don’t know how to fry chicken livers;
12/17/22 2022©
For Of What Use Are Gloves to Fingers That Only Understand Mittens Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
I’m a bit of a mystery, a bit of a myth.
My answer to small talk is taking the fifth.
My loyal troops are always gathered ‘round.
It’s just Santa, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy,
And me.
I’m a bit of a fog, and a bit of a fraud.
I’ve smuggled illegal opinions abroad.
I hang with all the usual suspects.
It’s just Bigfoot, Yeti, Paul Bunion,
And me.
I’m a bit of a rumor, and a bit of a fact.
You can tell by the way my critics react.
But I’m never worried by all their drawn swords.
It’s just Athos, Porthos, Aramis,
And me.
Target it
Hush is calling
Twilight seeing stars
Shooting loaded finger guns
Unloaded and ammunition gone
Target it
Bunion feet on the run far
Silent lips not moving
Eyelids filled with star, why?
Blinking stop lights blinking eyes
Target it
11/12/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Lefty Louie was screwy
His stinky bum went blewy
Like a peeled onion
Was a ripe bunion
Terminus Fungus was he
Walk the Lands Devilman
The devil roamed the earth
And yes, his feet hurt
He is encrypted and cursed
Father of lies roaming as a lion
Foot to big bunion or paws
Satan has fallen
11/22/17
by James Edward Lee Sr.
Got wrinkles on my hands
Been there then that
Got nowhere else to go
And nothing less to show
Got bunion on my feet
Been walking them there streets
Corns rubbing gainst my shoes
I've done paid my dues
Went from Selma to Washington
Mr. Man got me on the run
My soul cries out for freedom
Got old feet, crows feet
Got toe nails like a knife
Just short of being rip up and sliced
My socks are worn holey and torn
And nothing less to sow, been walkin fer miles
Done already raised my child
Is married and just me and my wife on the road
Walkin them there streets
Holes burning in my shoes
Got plenty to eat
Toe jam tween my toes
Nothing good as those
Gonna walk it off walk a mile
I've done paid my dues
Make 38 cents and hour cleaning Mr. Cheney's toilets
Been down so long been prayed up and on
I've don there paid my dues
Got nothing more to lose got old feet
Got old feet
07/06/15
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
from anthology 2015 UNO Poetry to Bridge Generations"
Going to her 40th high school reunion
Ann was nervous but thought it'd be fun
wearing her name tag and walking around
her bunion hurting but not making a sound,
Wondering whatever happened to her first
they bumped into each other because of their thirst
drinking punch and reminiscing about the time
they had split up as teens for no reason or rhyme,
Both divorced now with married kids of their own
they were heavier and not wanting to be alone
joining weight watchers together which was a treat
dating each other again which was bittersweet.
9-2-17
Poison onion rings
Bunion on a sling
Rustic carriage bolts
Shoe string eating antelopes
Cankered bison crying wolf
While dancing under the heated son
No one comes this is the dawn
Poison onion rings;
Bunion on a sling;
Rustic carriage bolts;
Shoe string eating, antelopes;
what's the matter
what's the matter
whose ya mad at, son;
what's the matter;
what's the matter;
whose ya mad at, son;
when it all settles, when the feet hit the dust;(this ole earth)
and the horizon falls from the skies. . .
it's on, it's on it's all a matter of
it's all a matter of dawn;
the Matters of dawn
Cankered bison crying;
While dancing under the heated son;
My cousin from Missouri says he's only seen black squirrels in Nebraska;
No one comes this town in the dawn;
Catch phrase of the 1970's was, What's going on, going on;
and the horizon falls from the skies...
it's on, it's on it's all the matter of
it's on, it's on it's all a matter of
it's all the matter of dawn;
the Matters of dawn
what's the matter;
whose the matter;
what's the matter;
whose ya mad at son;
what's the matter;
don't be a hater;
lift up your arms, your hands, your head up to the skies;
rejoice in the creator, for He made ya;
and for this ya need to be grateful;'
it's all
yes! YA
it's all matters of the dawn
Faint bubbles of ache twinge amidst the froth
Steps cause trips to be carefully guided
But a bricked fall would waist the pain of pace
So weight continues to race pain faced shock
Grimaces speckle the shock one sided
And grace stops hiding from the hate of shape.
A mental case of cause and effect paused
Farce and neglect charged like loss of respect
Swinging at random gusts of wind, fate stands
A pierce that disenchants frozen thought thawed
A pulsating twinge gnawing at regret
Paused an effect and cause both speak demands.
Froth guides the shock of pace shaped one sided
Fate stands as loss of respect thaws regret
Demands then pause a pierce that swings in farce
Neglect effects grace and stops pain felt faint
A simple case of bubbles aches and stress
Yet through aches through stress bubbles always fart
A mental case of bunion and wretchedness...
The field is full and the crowd is primed
Scream and cries rent the air electric
The mood is part sacrifice part slaughter
The smell of ritual repentance hangs heavy
Defeat floats around caressing the fringes
The bell clangs in preparatory adjudication
Sweet science of massacre in full flight
Adrenaline rivers rush and over flow
Bursting dams of timid cowardice
Fear grips tight in vicious vice
Blood tastes tease molars and pallets
Blood drops singe hearts like bullets
The countdown is on and Cain is raised
The frenzy is now full bedlam chaos
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
Seconds to go round 1!
Second to go round 1!
Repeats like a terrible echo
Leaden legs attempt to loosen
Arm raised with sinewy determination
Sweat drips in torrid anticipation
Months of welcoming hills and hell
Welcoming torture and torment
Welcoming bruises and bunion
Lift ! Jab ! Weave ! Hurl !
Do not drop ! Do not drop !
Just come out swinging
With everything little thing you’ve got !
the swashing
the evening we were declared
WORLD’S HOTTEST CAPITAL
sarah & i seek relief via a cool walk
between jetties — where an impromptu
marine superhighway has formed
— a never ending people procession
2 & 3 abreast wander the swashing —
magical median between sand & sea
— adults stroll — kids splash — dogs chase
the waves which suck our toes — pulling us
toenail by bunion — into pulsing blood
— heat particles extracted & dissolved
into shadow — salt replaced by crystals
of coolth — a strange osmosis — sighs
meanwhile a girl in white glides across
glass slowswift & graceful soon fading
in the gloaming as if she’s a ship
sails full of wind the rest of us
cannot catch
Jealously Bearded
The computers afforded to the elite and working forces are not the dells everyone
detests to use as free ones given in all the better libraries they are the IBMS. The
number on the backs of them are plated in real GOLD bunion old. The screens
are made of crystal glass and fashioned as a shiny mirror made to look like
windows hanging in midair. The mouse has three click buttons and seldom will
ever break from the misuse the student teachers make the housing is made with
titanium fair. The total concept is an old one the same old song and dance. The
man needs to eat or work or graduate if a lover or a student user. The trap is
baited with the silver and the gold instead of just plane cheese. The end result is
at least one million dollars worth of please. Jealous is a simple word for me.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.