The Glen is silent, almost to a deadly halt.
You can hear your own breath and your heart beating in your chest.
It’s eerie and you’re feeling afraid.
You don’t know why?
The haar is closing in and dulling any sound even more.
You start to panic and go to turn on your heel.
As you pace yourself to move you look behind you and hear the most awful noise.
“Mum, I’ve lost my shoe in the bog!”
Not on your nelly is telly better than laughs from your belly
That roar rocks you to the core before long you’ve a sore jaw
Stand up tour or panto to the fore has always worked before
Not just one more but an encore in store of many a guffaw
Pure & raw soul does soar but appreciate I’m no Shelley
Feeling down through thick and thin then best way to begin
Wriggle from a frown your mouth wiggles become a giggle
Head in a spin again after too much time with your ken & kin
Things get under your skin it’s not a sin to well crack a grin
Tipple & tucker don’t buckle me ol mucker succour to suckle
No sandwich of the knuckle nothing as pukka as a chuckle
While we all know the best denial to rile vile bile in style
A sage’s way to turn the page engage with road rage
To bewitch & beguile for a wee while is well just to smile
After a rafter of everything dafter whether grafter or drafter
Din of chagrin within a guffaw, smile, giggle, chuckle, grin
Will always win as it is shoe in the best medicine’s laughter
“Ride, ride the carousel; reach for the brass ring—life is a circular thing." (Julie Andrews)
The calliope sings through twilight’s hush,
a drunken waltz of pipes gone slightly lush.
The carousel spins ghosts in gilded light~
each rider swears they’re flying, in their rush.
Clowns have shed their greasepaint grins by dawn,
their hollow eyes still laughing, though withdrawn.
The carnival packs up its aching bones,
but the carousel? It's never quite gone.
A ribbon lost, a child’s shoe in the hay,
the scent of sugar clinging to the fray.
Ticket vendors count their silver lies,
while horses dream of galloping away.
Tents collapse like sighs into the dust,
yet something lingers—rusted chains, a trust
that when the moon hangs fat and low once more,
the music will return. And so it must.
If you enjoyed this poem, you may want to read its companion memoir vignette posted on Poetry Soup: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/carousel_of_memories_13583
If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?" taken from The Merchant of Venice, Act 3 Scene 1
bleeding scarlet by laceration
audibly amused through titillation
beautiful ladies diminish survival
launches second shoe in reprisal
The spider spins in earnest
To foreshadow some effect.
A solitary sort of fellow...
Deserving of respect.
If a spider's life has purpose
And in Nature... pulls its weight.
Think twice upon the moment...
You raise a shoe in haste
The End
Step out
Walk on
Imagine distance
Courage in an instance
Circumstance through situation
Determination with participation
Sole together
Strong and sturdy in all leather
Shoes tell your story
Accomplishment with all its glory
The miles you left behind
Life that was kind
The times you tried to run
Those times weren’t all fun
That makes your soles different
The creation of significance
Identity of how you and soles weathered many storms
A when from then
Tomorrow turned into current
Soles on duty
Adventure through triumphant
Victory through honor
Soles on
Leather held up
Shoe in
The purpose of this exercise or test
Is to assess your own individual
limit's of excess
And if you are 1 of the last standing
at the end
You are a shoe in for the job
After that there is a small case of
a swearing in welcoming ceremony
Then your skills will be put to good use
In the matter of the dark arts & craft
arena
Tennis shoes paraded through my mind
Taking me hostage and tying me up.
With laces that seemed longer than most
They were designed with neon colors
Not one or two, but six or seven.
They were prettier than party confetti.
I was intrigued by them, for they had minds
And opinions and they held secrets.
I tried to coax them to tell, but they refused
Parading to the music in my imagination
Dancing and hopping, skipping and bragging
In a lively, happy, unconstructed way
I shall be a tennis shoe in my next life, I thought.
They are revered and loved, and they get to dance.
And hop and skip. What could be better?
I really have to say
I'm much like a shoe in a way
for down on the ground
I am usually found
with a foot in my mouth every day
Courage in Steerage and Porridge
You will never read another
limerick like this one. Was
watching Cinderella when
courage was mentioned.
We heard she had so much courage;
Was stuffed in shoe in her steerage;
So much delight,
In pretty sight;
She also had tasted it in her porridge.
Jim Horn
Could Call A Shoe In
What he was called is a shoe in;
A sure fire winner he had been,
Who they did adore,
Named Roy Moore,
And he lived a terrible life of sin.
Jim Horn
Poor man's prayer
Lord, don't fix the hole in my sole
For the shoe can be replaced
I can walk a mile, tread softly on the sole
Avoid the puddles and pebbles
The thorns
Deftly reaching my destination
Lord, fill the hole in my soul
That life has dug deep, lord
Make me feel whole again
Let me steep in your love
Like a tea-bag, Lord
Lord, I know the hole in my belly,
In my shoe, in my clothes
Is only temporary
But the hole in my soul
Is taking it's toll, Lord
Fill it, Lord I pray
I dress for comfort not for speed these days
And believe me I dress for comfort a lot
Forget the hassle of even tying a lace
When I slip into a cool pair of Crocs
I'm blessed to live near a Crocs store
And you know I can't help but go hog wild
Walls and walls of Crocs from ceiling to floor
In every imaginable color and style
When I dress for the night to show off my stuff
The smell of plastic permeates the air
It's like a drug, this shoe in which I am in love
I'll shout in the air! My love affair! I do not care!
You see I have my casual Crocs
As well as my Sunday go to meeting pair
They make me wish it was Sunday
more often than not
Cause when I wear them I'm in heaven
and feel I'm walking on air
On normal days when I mow yards for a living
I put on my Manly Work Crocs
When Winter is here and the cold comes a-licking
Crocs look stunning with knee high socks
So you see I have all of my bases covered
You've gotta love it, like it or not
Of course I walk on one side of the street,
my family the other
Cause I like to jump up and down, turn around,
skip and bounce whenever I am wearing my Crocs
Try Out Trump
Hillary how heavenly she had been
For President shoe in and sure to win
Why with off of the ability of her's
No wonder dogs bark and a cat purrs.
Voting for her is like in choir singing
Causing shrill bells to start ringing
Any resistance is sure to squelch
Those with bad manners who belch.
Over and over had been Hillaryfied
Even after Republicans lied and lied
And to turn tide what God did do
Gave honorable Hillary to me and you.
She brought vivid picture of vivation
Could be induced into our great nation
On second though would have to wait
To try out Trump as Secretary of State.
Ho Ho Jim Horn
Threw in Every Philabuster.
Why has Hillary always been the one,
Who must complete things until they are done;
Always in the middle and involved,
Until all goals are met and problems solved.
Sure sounds like perfect person to me,
With all of her knowledge and ability,
To super fine President be one day,
In victory a shoe in as well as a runaway.
Was up about it night and day praying;
God is the one who she should be praising,
And also receiving all of the credit for,
Being in White House where she wants to be more and more.
Prayers were answered each and everyone,
And when her terrific tour of duty was done,
What she had set out to do did fulfil;
They made a monument for Hillary and Bill.
Monument contained leftovers of a big mess;
Bibles both were sworn in with and her dress;
They wanted to add a whole lot of luster,
So someone also had added every Philabuster.
Ho ho. Jim Horn.
Sub Categories
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.