My Brothers Boots
David J Walker
(3/19/74)
They opened him
And closed him
And told him to go home a
And wait
I was a soldier then
I took leave to come home
And be with him
We talked about the army
And he gave me his jump boots
Thirteen years old
But still shined
With a little spit and kiwi
In Germany
I wore them on guard duty
The midnight street lamp
Glowed a halo
On the mirrored toes
And I walked as if
Each step might be their last
A letter came
A week after the funeral
I spit-shined his boots
Naturally
And carefully laced and tied them
As I had always remembered them
And put them in a box
In the bottom of my
Footlocker
To rest
Pipelines to Hell.
Orchestrated leaks.
Dangerous data with the potential to explode right in front of their faces...
Or so we would think.
Wiki leaks are sparks of volatile info released on a graphic timeline that hangs in the stinky footlocker of the beast.
You never know which angle of hell's propaganda he'll "expose" next.
Is it another scandalous love affair?
Vladimir P said what?!!!!
Let me check MY references first!!!
I'll have to get back to ya on that one!
Dinosaur fossils of the past brought forward to incite fear today.
Who woulda thunk?
Are you kidding me again?!!!
Bill Gates is actually a distant relative of the Queen?
Someone wake me up from this surreal nightmare.
Wiki leaks.
There is only one authentic thing in this poem...pssst!... It has to do with the Queen.
Gwendolen Rix
7-27-16
She sings to us,
Even when we hear no
sound,
Especially when our
eyes are closed.
She is always there
subliminally,
Inherently in the
background noise of
everything
The city traffic and
noise of the workday
She swims softly
through our head in
the after hours
Tempting us with
Toys and Riches
Telling us what
would make us Happy
She sings on the TV,
on the BIG SCREEN
more, more, more
She fills our head
with empty promises
of The New Golden
Rule
Watch as the masses
head to the mall
To worship at this
shrine of
materialism and
greed
To pay grievances at
Gap and Footlocker
To give thanks to
Victoria's Secret
and Macy's
She is No God
but a Blind Savior,
A False Prophet,
leading men away
from enlightenment.
I met you outside a ransacked footlocker
Your fingers touched mine, entwined
As we pushed a Tesco’s trolley
Through the window
Shards of broken glass fell upon your shoulders
And into your hoodie
Like glistening amethysts
Flecked in their reflected hearts
With the blood orange glint
Of burning shops and perfect hatred
I bent down
And offered you
A single perfect red trainer
Its lace a thorned stem
We were alone on the planet in that moment
Our faces obscure behind football scarves
But our sated purpose eloquently screamed from our eyes – destruction obtuse and divine
If I had never known a love
Or known what a life with love can be
I knew it then as we were dragged away together by our hair
And smashed
By special constables
And smashed
Our landscape is empty, and we share it bitterly
But the strength of the convictions you gift us
Has led us to this demonstration of how powerfully
And how singularly
We love each other
And detest
You
After the Footlocker Bouquet
Naïve I went my separate way.
Facing a falsehood…promised love.
Yes, I remember well that day.
Forever fit us like a glove.
My hand was promised to someone.
I knew not he loved another.
We too, in fields of dreams had run.
True love, I did not discover.
You stood strong as you watched me leave.
Loss was forever locked that day.
Upon wild flowers, dreams still cleave.
Fantasies in pressed blossoms stay.
© Dane Smith-Johnsen
April 27, 2010
Poetic Form Quatrain
Flowers on a Footlocker
Love that remains forever
Even after two young hearts.
Have gone their separate ways.
And grown old, is in memories:
Pure, simple, sweet, and dreamy
Forever, richer because...love.
Forever remembered because
Adventure…Freedom…War.
And innocence. Thank God
His name is not on the wall!
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
February 10, 2010
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