Long Barefoot Poems
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The clock hands move,
but do they really?
They carve circles in the air,
pretending progress.
We name hours,
divide them like cake slices,
yet hunger remains.
The river doesn’t rush;
it only looks that way
when you stand on the bank.
Dive in, and it holds you
like a lazy afternoon.
Mountains shrug off epochs.
Stones forget their own weight.
Even the sun, that punctual tyrant,
is just a slow blink
in Something’s endless eye.
We measure, we mourn,
we clutch at seconds
as if they could be kept~
but time isn’t a thief.
It’s the room we’re all standing in,
barefoot,
unaware the floor is falling.
Your favorite kind of treat
perhaps its spicy or maybe sweet.
A special TV show
that quiet place you go.
Some special song you sing
for the joy that it brings.
Holding hands with those
and the bond that it shows.
That little roadside stand
the barefoot walks in sand.
A gentle cooling breeze
the welcome shade of trees.
Meeting up with friends
are good times we get to spend.
A treasured memory thought
and finding what we sought.
The warmth that sunshine brings
sweet smelling blooms of spring.
So now to be clear
not all the fav's appear.
But as you see above
some simple things we love!
With the Supermoon in the night sky,
the magnetic field pull, powerful,
lone wolf steps from the dark shadows,
no longer enduring the torment of lycanthropy.
Her transformation into the supernatural,
makes her a natural huntress,
killer instincts, humanoid
hazel eyes bright like stars.
A ferocious animal in her fur-coat,
a camouflage to her prey, muscular
jaws drool frothy saliva,
fangs sharp like razor,
detrimental to human flesh,
one wicked bite draws blood, sinew and gore.
When the hunt is over, the feast demolished,
a true wolves' heart's a mischievous spirit,
she sits on her hind legs and,
a chorus of howling begins,
howling at the round face moon
ahooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Under the rare Supermoon,
lone wolf runs barefoot with the midnight pack.
That barefoot girl runs on the smooth, red sand as a gazelle in the wild,
she hears terrifying screams coming from the shore while the surf arises:
is somebody about to drown? There are no safeguards
watching from their posts, it's after closing time!
Her pale face shows panic, but is that her child?
There are some people on the beach, the Seaside's distant bells chime...
hardly anyone had paid attention to the peaceful surroundings
being occupied with their thoughts of contemplation on dreams;
seagulls gathered on rocks, take flight seeing her coming:
she starts shouting, " Call an ambulance! The child is drowning! "
Everybody realizes the seriousness of the matter,
and as if in an act of prayer, their gaze wanders far...
reaching the fearless swimmer fighting off waves, searching hard;
and with great stamina and strong will of mind, she will not be afraid!
Her kindness is a love that will save any life experiencing extreme dire;
it's the most difficult challenge she faces and will remember a lifetime!
Entered in Eve Roper's contest,
" Oil Paintings 4 & 5 "
My Pick: Oil Painting # 2
Ponder
The House That Remembered Fire
There is a house at the edge of my sleep
where the windows have forgotten
how to be windows.
They are wounds now,
stitched with moonlight,
looking out upon a field
of abandoned names.
Every night
the walls inhale.
Every morning
they exhale ghosts.
I know this place.
I have walked its hallways barefoot,
carrying a candle made from years
I could not survive twice.
The staircase climbs nowhere.
Still,
I climb.
At the top waits a room
filled with clocks.
Not one of them keeps time.
Instead,
they measure regret.
One ticks for every apology
that arrived too late.
One ticks for every hand
I should have held longer.
One ticks for the version of myself
buried beneath the rubble
of becoming.
Sometimes
I hear laughter behind the walls.
The kind that belongs
to people who have already forgiven me.
The kind that terrifies me most.
Outside,
winter kneels upon the earth
like a patient god.
Snow gathers in the footprints
of those who left.
The drifts grow deeper.
The footprints remain.
Then dawn arrives,
not as a sunrise,
but as a thief.
It steals the shadows
one by one.
The clocks fall silent.
The walls release their breath.
And for the first time,
the house remembers
it is only a house.
I open the door.
The field of abandoned names
has become a garden.
Beneath the thawing soil,
something impossible is stirring.
Not memory.
Not grief.
A seed.
And though I do not know
what will bloom,
I kneel beside it
as if hope
were the holiest thing
I have ever touched.
Verse 1
We were barefoot kids in the ‘Bama heat
Chasing fireflies through the summer wheat
She laughed like a song, wild and free
Holding that jar like it held a dream
I'd watch her glow in that golden hour
And wonder if she knew her power
Pre-Chorus
Even back then, I just knew
Some kind of light was pulling me through
Chorus
From fireflies to neon lights and everything between
I’ve been chasing stages, chasing what it means
To turn a song into a prayer, a moment into gold
And every time I rise, she’s the hand I’m gonna hold
From fireflies to neon…
She’s always been the spark behind the dream
Verse 2
Now it’s bright marquees and a midnight crowd
A thousand hearts singing every sound
The rush is real, and I love this life
And seeing her there, it all feels right
She’s been in every line I wrote
The melody inside my soul
Pre-Chorus
And somewhere along the way I found
She never left — she’s still around
Chorus
From fireflies to neon lights and everything between
I’ve been chasing stages, chasing what it means
To turn a song into a prayer, a moment into gold
And every time I rise, she’s the hand I’m gonna hold
From fireflies to neon…
She’s always been the spark behind the dream
Bridge
She’s the glow when the curtain falls
When the streets go quiet and the silence calls
Through every city, every melody
She’s the light that’s always guided me
Final Chorus
From fireflies to neon lights and everything between
She’s the reason I kept going, the heart behind the scene
Yeah, the crowd may cheer, and the signs still shine
But when the night is done, she’s what’s mine
From fireflies to neon…
She’s always been the spark behind the dream
Outro
Yeah, when the town shuts down…
She’s still the light that leads me home
She can't do tricks to fidgety to sit
but she loves to run and fetch a stick
Big floppy ears and a cold nose
don't go barefoot she'll nibble at your toes
Her tail is long and wags a lot
call her name and she's Jonnie on the spot
She kisses with great big licks
and scratching her belly does the trick
She is a happy dog and likes to run
chasing squirrels is too much fun
Her bark is loud and sounds assured
anyone bad she would detour
Her eyes sparkle with the joy of glad
those eyes so soft when she's sad
Children are her favorite playmates
leave the gate open she dosen't want to escape
She can eat a ton and steal a treat
but ever so cute when the big dog sleeps
She seems to laugh and wears a smile
my big happy dog and forever best pal
My younger self waits beneath the Mosikiri tree, barefoot,
pockets filled with Motsentsela and impossible dreams.
He smiles when he sees me,
until he notices how tired my eyes have learned to be.
"You made it," he says,
certain that the years have been kind.
I smile back,
the way broken things pretend they have never fallen.
He studies me
with the innocence only children possess.
"So...did we become the writer?"
"We did."
His face brightens like the first rain after a long drought.
"Then you must write every day."
"I don't."
The smile slips quietly from his face.
"Why?"
"Life happened."
He wrinkles his forehead, confused.
"I thought life was the reason we wanted to write."
I stay quiet!
"Do we still watch sunsets without checking the time?"
"No."
"Do we still jump in it rain?"
"No."
"Do we still believe people mean the promises they make?"
I take a long breath.
"Not always."
He lowers his head, drawing circles in the earth with his heel.
"You've learned so many things."
I nod.
"But you forgot so many too."
His words find every place my silence had been hiding.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out one grain of Motsentsela
"Remember this?"
I do.
It was treasure before money taught me its own definition of value.
He rolls it into my hand.
"You used to think the smallest things were miracles."
I close my fingers around it, afraid it might disappear
like everything else I failed to hold on to.
He looks at me
one last time.
"I don't mind that you grew older."
He pauses.
"I just wish you hadn't grown so far away from yourself."
"What if I want to find you again?" i ask
He smiles, the same smile that once believed
every tomorrow was a gift.
"You don't have to find me.
I'm still here.
I'm waiting every time
for you remember who you were
before the world told you who to become."
Tears don't fall upon my face
They soak my soul
For being the strange, foolish one
pushed aside
Hidden in the world of dim-lit shade
as the other, always the other
Leaving me lonely in a world of billions
Where I sit and stare out of panes of glass
covered in falling rain
Alone with my confusion of what it all means
Withdrawn in a darkness that buries me
with my wounded soul
Filled with introspection that feels cold
and unwanted
Lost in dreams of broken glass
spread before the path I walk
barefoot and bleeding
Chasing years forgotten, living years unknown
Searching the horizon for answers
that never comes
Surrounded by a misty realm, with my eyes of pain
from a world I'll never comprehend
Seeking redemption for my soul
from another time, another place
Wanting to pass through a time I've yet to see
Listening to the unbroken sound of tears
falling upon my soul
That walks the winding staircase, bringing a lamplight
of truth
So its flame can spread light on the hilltop of my unknown
Cook white rice with ochroe in
Coconut milk-----stew
Pigs-feet and pigs- tail seasoned
and spiced ------ain't that nice
Yummy Yummy -----now
set the table
Eat
Hot.
Dig in man
A caribbean feast
and juice of lemons
Cucumber, hot peppers, salt
pour into jar------- add
Boil pigs-feet, in iron pot