footless from fanatical factual feminization
I invite immoderation into increasing inflationary integer
my meditation melange momentously moresque
tippytoe through those twisty tulipa
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 3–9, 2026)
Winter has left one empty shoe
upon the doorstep.
Around that footless mouth
tulips grow
despite the muscular winds
and a thin sunshine.
The crisscrossing of the seasons
does not confuse the land,
people grow out of themselves
as do the ants and the hedgehogs,
the green womb cannot be emptied
by just one shoe and its gaping mouth
no matter how loud it shouts.
Phantom figures at the window,
Shapeless shadows on the wall,
Footless footsteps faintly follow
Faceless voices down the hall.
Are all my memories mere illusions,
Have time and distance made them blur?
Is my past cast with self-delusions
And not the way things really were?
Memories, though they may haunt you,
Can help survive life's bitter burn,
If you're old enough to want to,
And wise enough to want to learn.
Snake
You may be poised to celebrate
As shadows whirl around us
I feel you might be premature
As destiny has found us
The children cower in the dark
But hope will flick the light on
The power of fear is banished
As the King enters to fight on
So here we stand defiant
As the page is slowly turning
This chapter in the book of love
Is all about returning
No matter how you hiss and spit
Your venom is redundant
An antidote to all our woes:
Our spiritual incumbent
Is waiting in the wings
The stage is set and ready
Life is the play, and freedom sings
This plot twist sweet and heady
So shuffle on my footless friend
Your days are small in number.
We've rolled the reddened carpet out
The King's not dead.
Just rising from His slumber..
Jinjagoliath
Holy Saturday
3rd April 2021
boatman on the lonely boat
rowing east to west
with the rising sun to setting down
folk-songs play a Cupid game
in the alone heart
an abode of naughtiness
builds a palace to the far
mountain of darkness
moonlight there are
under the veiling of new nymph bride
rhythm of mind river
hails the graceful virgin night
twilight praying
in the peace and war of lusty life
Vesper comes to pour
the petals of night jasmine
starfish walking
on the footless pebbles footprints
girdle ornament sounding
with the narcotic senses
inebriated the around
none there is
just whispering of love
the whole night
the next dawn sun
discovers the two
in the court of intimated love
-08/01/2020 CTG, BDT
glittering night
at the bud of
new year's root
expands its sight
in multitude
I’m devoured
by solitude
loneliness
showers my
walking path
as footless print
alone, alone
all alone born
none can adorn
for endless morn
-January 02, 2019 Chattogram
A Lonely Socks Lament
Unmatched
in loneliness
am I
hidden
in a five drawer
tower
locked away
unable to search
for a mate
shunned
by those in
pairs
I wait
listening
to the dryer’s
tumble
anticipating
a reunion
as each cycle
ends.
Footless
no toes to cradle
no hugging shoes
only loneliness
in the corner
of matchless
socks.
John G. Lawless
©4/2/2018
Maybe
Baby
Young cad
Is dad
Leaves her
For Fleur!
Teen mum
So glum
Up duff
Feels rough
Loo quick...
She’s sick
Huge tum
Soon mum
Wide girth
For birth
Can’t sleep
Counts sheep
Morning...
Yawning
Foods spurn...
Heartburn
Feels pain
Again
Again
More pain
Babe due
Needs loo
In rush
Must push
Not far
In car
With mum...
Best chum!
Log jam
Bedlam!
Head’s down
Feels crown
Mops brow
Push NOW
Babe’s born
Named Dawn
Babe screams
Mum beams
Cuts cord
In Ford!
All’s swell
Child’s well
Follow up poem inspired by Footless contest
11-1-17
There was a boy
named Jeff had messed
up teeth, and had no feet
he rolled around town
screaming out loud
I want pizza
from pizza king
yes this little boy that
lived in Anderson a big
brother that hated him.
Jeff asked him can "can you
order pizza?" he said "sure."
Then they both turned
to the phone then they had
Their pizza.
I lost my way
In the wrinkles of the road!
Footless the night creeps into my room
It's not that I don't want to sleep
but the emptiness is creeping into myself.
The wind that would begin its violent roar
on the ridges of my fear,
It'll rapidly descend towards
The hole of emptiness soul,
like an agitated swarm of bees
returning to their hive after
a day of frenzied honey collecting,
has finally abated,
when you appeared smiling in the dream
and it is now calm and quiet.
I no longer need to use my words as a brace
against the fabric of the fear.
"...Dominus orationem meam suscepit."
Burning his little jelly bottom raw,
He blisters in his liquid greenish poop.
He has no means to summon us at all
To drain the acid swamp of split pea soup.
Except to scream, a peevish infant yawp,
And so he screams, until we take his goop.
We modestly subserve our son's ejecta.
Clean, dry and warm: his everyday trifecta.
He's not alone. I've had my days of burning.
Blistered and raw, to salve my hurt I prayed
for balm from God, ultimately learning
His summit lay on far too steep a grade.
Footless in His scree, inflamed with yearning,
My wounds combusted into wrath. I brayed
My blasphemies, then heard the Logoi fall.
I had no means to summon Him at all.
Which births a trailing thought about the sainted:
Their whispered prayers, their worshipful reclusion,
Which all the hagiographers have painted.
Don't buy it. Souls corroded with confusion,
Their love of God with hatred wholly tainted,
And Doubt the only friend to their seclusion,
With blasphemies they burnt the fetid air.
Profanation is the purest form of prayer.
FOOTLOOSE AND FOOTLESS
Children just don’t remember they’ve got feet
And deliberately fall, giggling - it’s sweet
Treading the leaves in gutter here:
It don’t hurt to fall on your rear.
Bursting handfuls of big yellow leaves -
Oh, what a collection-pattern it weaves:
Red, orange with spots of lavender -
Love-given bouquet for indulgent mother.
Look in the mirror but it’s not you;
The real you is inside you :
Nothing to do with rears or feet.
Being three years old is so neat.
Oh footless shoes
You are left behind
Behind to tell the story of tragedies
To tell stories of pain and suffering
Oh footless shoes
You are without life
Can no longer tell of journeys you have travelled
Can no longer revisit the places you once treaded on
You mark a path of flowing sorrow
Of journey's never to be taken
The rain washes away your prints
You are no longer there
On wings of sunlight,
Enchanting sonnets of peace;
Composed by the morn.
·
Rustled by the leaves,
Carried by the footless winds:
Echoed by the breeze.
·
Poems of the dawn,
Written by the morning dew:
Passionate...fresh odes.
All Hail King Kelly
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
A footle a day
Keeps melancholy away.
And I just must say.
Sean Kelly, today,
You are what I’ve been missin’
Your words have risen.
Life’s fun to new heights-
Hail now, oh king of footles.
Thy great wit brought forth.
Bestowed on the world.
Unhidden humor: thy pearl.
Those chitty short writes.
Great images sprout.
From your words, there is no doubt.
All hail to thee, friend.
The footle king speaks.
All ears listening say, “Wow!”
Yes, he is the king.
(Of footless and how-)
.
Written as a Tribute Poem to Sean Kelly.
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