Long Shoe Poems
Long Shoe Poems. Below are the most popular long Shoe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shoe poems by poem length and keyword.
Dearest
I was your experiment
If it does not
Work out,
Bin it
Your Guinea pig,
in lying to me
With no emotion,
Years of hard work
Flushed down the toilet
Like a statue
Non moving emotions,
Cold to the core
You left
Stop
Your finger prints
deep in my brain
Scratching like claws
You gave me hell,
Stop hurting me
I
do not like
This experiment
Put the shoe
On the other,
Hurt
if only you knew,
Yes the other foot
It took so long to see
happier now
"Homeless"
I found a little turtle,
I assign it to my favorite green shoe box
I guess I over spoiled him, with one simple, pretty punk rock
He does not mind, when I hold him in my handbag
His presence makes me feel as if nothing will sound faulty
On the day I discovered he was sick
He scratched my finger twice
I tossed the turtle, back into the woods
The next thing you know,
He sat pretty under his shell, on my front steps
Here, I go again
I took it back inside by morning light
Weeks went by,
I told him I was bored of cleaning up his Poo
On the spur of the moment I had the itch to eat turtle stew
As time got by, so did his box and my castle
Everything between the turtle and I, became into a tussle
My little turtle my buddy, what should I feed you,
I ran out of money, all I had was a six pack of Mountain dew
This homless moment, felt like eternity
It was time, to set my turtle free
My tiny friend, with a hard shell, found many turtle girls
My itty bitty turtle tore them all up in two
Lucky me now I get to eat some real turtle stew. :)
By: ME
A few weeks back, when I took off my shoe
I peeled off my sock, and I saw something new
I went to the Doctor and what do you know
I had a little fungus on my right big toe
So he handed me some pills, then sent me on my way
And said "You'll be fine, if you just take one a day"
Well, about a week later, my foot was looking well
But I notice that those pills I took, made my left knee kinda swell
So back to the doc's, and he said " That's OK,
Take a few of these capsules, each and every day"
So I took all the pills, Yes,every last one
Then I look at my knee, and I was glad that it was done
When I woke up the next morning, I said "what the heck"
The pain in my hip, must be a dammed side-affect
The Doctor said to me "That's common in this case
Just, take two of theses and the pain won't leave a trace"
OH wow, what a wallop, they made me feel like I could fly
But then my stomach got upset and I thought I would die
Well, I drove back to the Doctor and told him how I felt
So, he gave me a prescription, that he thought would really help
When, I popped the purple pill, I felt my stomach pain subside
But my nose started running and I got real blurry-eyed
He said "I can treat this, but there's one thing you should know
The side-affect, of 'This pill', may cause a fungus on your toe"
It’s one of those days when my stomach is pressing against my chest, and my lungs is playing tick tock toe with its own breath. My adrenaline is running a hundred miles marathon per hour and my arteries are bouncing up and down the trampoline from the sound of the heavy metal pounding in the background.
This closely knitted community with all its clarity is composing its own rhythm but you cannot tell from whence it begins. The story about the crop and the young maiden wearing the new frock with the billiard balls positioned on the table waiting at the corner to make the first shot. I still have this strange feeling inside that makes me want to move but there is nothing substantial to choose from so I wait for destiny to propel me along.
The area around me is cluttered but I can still find a breathing space and water to wet my tired face. The threads on the tire are screaming, and my shoe laces are reeling, my dinner plate is waiting at the gate and the wood cutter is composing a new symphony with logs and aluminum pots.
All fears are boiled out of me and water is boiling at three hundred degree. There is always a story to tell even if you are trapped in the darkest hell.
The days are getting longer and my patience is getting shorter. I am surrounding with walls and trees and a big water tank leaning against the wall and if you stand against it, it will make you feel small.
Two concrete structures and a board house trapped inside its own middle are waiting on top of the hill for the drill, and the bushes around makes the board house look like a clown a long night gown.
The sky is turning blue and the crickets are composing symphony number two. The sound is celebrating with the sky and the trees are waving goodbye. I am pressing towards the finishing.
Poor Jane Doe lies on a slab
When they found her she looked drab
Worn-out clothes and no I.D.
No purse, no money, no front-door key
Surely someone wonders where she's at?
Even if it’s just her cat
Her red hair matted to her head
When found, the pavement was her bed
Her eyes were closed, though eggshell blue
Heel all worn down on one shoe
Caesarean scar and bladder full
Long hairline fracture in her skull
Injury caused by blunt force
Inflictor will feel no remorse
Spleen is split almost in half
Purple bruises on each calf
Dental records will soon show
The true identity of Jane Doe
Man gets phone call and starts to cry
“Please can you identify,
A lady that may be your wife”
His heart is breaking, she was his life.
The mortician pulled back the curtain
Before he saw her, he was certain
He held his breath, pulled back the sheet
His heart sank, it was Marguerite
He saw the label on her toe
It said two simple words ‘Jane Doe'
Once upon a time...
Once upon a time, in France, a storyteller fella
Wrote of a girl named Cinderella,
Meant as a fairy tale romance.
Her daddy died when she was young, and she was forced to share his riches
With three monumental b****es,
A most unhappy circumstance.
For years her stepmom and stepsibs made her perform a menial's duty,
And as she blossomed into beauty,
They grew more hateful, mean, and cruel.
Each night they dined on fine cuisine and wore lace dresses with silk sashes,
While she wore rags begrimed with ashes,
And got just crusts of bread and gruel.
Then one day a herald from the king demanded entry
To the homes of landed gentry,
They were invited one and all.
It was the prince's eighteenth birthday, and the king and queen were harried
Because their son was not yet married.
Ergo, the reason for the ball.
The stepsisters primped and preened and wild excitement they exuded,
When Cindy asked to be included, they gaped at her as if appalled.
Stepmother sneered, "Look here, I'll show you!"
With self-righteous indignation,
"Your name's not on the invitation.
Just we elite are so installed."
So Cinderella went downstairs to seek some solace in the kitchen,
But 'stead of sittin' there and b****in', she started dancing with a broom.
She whirled and twirled around the floor,
Or else she'd stand there, gently swaying,
As if an orchestra was playing
Pretending they were bride and groom.
And then a flash, a crash of thunder, and to Cindy's stunned amazement,
There gliding through the kitchen casement,
A pudgy lady dressed in blue.
She said, "Hello, my dear, no fear, I'm here to grant your secret wishes,
I'll wave my wand and clear the dishes,
And make a princess out of you!"
She waved and tapped and flicked and zapped,
And what she seemed to make the air do
Was give her make-up, nails, and hair-do,
And then to make the look complete,
Out of those rags so soiled and worn and far too torn to drown a cat in,
A gown of gossamer and satin, and crystal slippers on her feet.
Without this timely intervention, Cindy's tale might have been tragic.
Could she have managed without magic,
And her dilemma be resolved?
But everybody knows what happened with a gourd and six white mice,
And how a smudgy scullery maid was made to clean up really nice,
When a fairy got involved.
To be continued...
In her words I find ore
Of grace through which I shore
And as the mix is deep, it gives ores
On which we ride our desire as horse
To make deposit bless her fish's roe
Making me feel better being her only hero
And as well; my heart: forever hers
Leaving no chance in gap per luck to others
Peeping at my heart afar through my hose
Unknown to them who I've planned to give rose
Whom shall make onlookers watch like foes
When at the end my world owned all to her
Reading her eyes to light moments so blur
After the night is free of the morning sore
And every flaw we permanently restore
Then, no one would ask-- "who is she?"
Each will shut h/her lips for no one will say sh!
The one who has always be in my own shoe
Of a truth without explanation shall definitely be shew.
Shining-shimmering shoes should something
Shirley shopped at Shalanee’s shoe shop.
She should have not shopped with shy Shay who
only shops shorty-shorts at the shopping mall and
shoots gold at Sharon’s pawnshop.
Shirley could have shared a pair of sheering shoes with Shandy
if it wasn’t for Sheena who shamelessly
showed her shocking-shindy shopping spree
manic shimmying for a Penshoppe…
Shivering Shirley should have shopped to Shoppee;
shipped Shandy's shiny shoes and pays the shipment fee
instead of shopping with Shay and Sheena
who shadowed and shrilled her shopping “Shoe” day.
Where do you get these ideas? She asks; poetry is a daunting task.
See the apple, Playdough, pen, stapler, and bleach cleanser I ask?
I use them with “what if” and create a missive in seconds sometimes.
I open a drawer and show her markers, a notebook and sixteen dimes.
Everything in my world can easily end up in a poem, you see.
Items quickly and connivingly jump into my brain and tantalize me
She does not see, she does not understand, and she tells me this too.
I have no other suggestions, for now a dog is being eaten by a shoe.
A horse from outer space is whispering sweet everythings in my ear.
There is a knight with one leg who is limping toward me, my dear.
Ideas are bombarding me from my left, south and right.
All I can do is begin writing with all of my might.
Where do the ideas come from? I have no idea at all.
I cannot figure it out, but the wall has grown tall.
The couch is rolling around with the recliner in a lecherous way.
I will have to get back to you at the end of the day.
Collin has loved Erin since first grade
When he could not tie his shoe
So, she got down on one knee
And tied it for him
With ginger hair and the bluest eyes
She gave him a wink and a gentle pat.
You can help me with counting, she said.
He was entranced.
Erin was drawn to the quiet boy since she was four.
She turned and met his eyes in her father’s store.
She knew he was her forever ever man.
She never thought anything but this.
They flirted around each other through sixth grade.
The first year they were together in a class since first.
He came home and said, “I will marry Erin Braughman.”
And now he had, and they knew it was forever after.
And it was.