Mutant metronome’s
stygian riddle
inscrutable fixation
spuming
clustered clairvoyance
honing snoopy
quest querulous
quicquidlibet
tamper connived
sinewy stratagem
plimsoll plot
“sneaker” of
wily webfooted
nefarious nudge
at
tenebrific toll
maple smoke
screen screed
clandestine
cobwebs cohere
mohair marinated
muddle
subdued thespian
herringbone hoodwink
skewed camouflage
perused pearl
inveigling
skulduggery rife
underscored cadence
persuasive
percussive rattle
ubiquitous underbelly
prop to
dodgy dialogue
muted ritardando
silhouette streak
dangling magnet
mired in
gauche guesswork
subterfuge sciophobia
inkpot
amorphous machination
fiction wizards
emblazon
indices incipient
embryo empiricism
mouldering
cabinet coterie
spookish svengali
minatorial
repercussions
incurvate
sniffer dog
detective
poirrot’s prognosis
clouseau contingency
that
rivetting mystery
The strap on my leather bag broke,
Its usefulness gone up in smoke.
My old shoe repair,
Like most others, not there,
So on Google my fingers did poke.
I found a small old-fashioned place;
Good reviews from the neighborhood base.
So I brought in my bag,
A short walk, not a drag,
And the owner stitched it up apace.
Eighteen bucks, which I gratefully paid;
The repair looks like it was well-made.
I asked, “Why did it break?”
He said, “There’s no mistake.
Nothing lasts for all time, I’m afraid.”
For that reason, his business exists,
But since life has ironic-type twists,
In these sneaker-clad days,
Tradesmen’s work hardly pays,
Though his livelihood somehow persists.
I don’t want to tell you what to do
I can only tell you what’s true
beware of new shoes at school
they can leave you black and blue
blistered, and embittered
By the end of second lecture
I was so affected
I had to slip them off
and walk around barefoot
enduring the side-eyed censure
my barefootedness triggered
to avoid further scandal
Charles brought me some mule sandals
and by third lecture, all was happily corrected.
Anyway, don’t let this happen to you
fashion can make you a fool
unless they’re sneakers, of course
I’m not sneaker averse
I ended up washing my feet
in a tiny ladies-room sink
what else could I do?
.
.
A song for this:
A Girl Called Johnny by The Waterboys
.
.
I discovered a band from the 80s - The Waterboys - I LOVE their every sound.
the pond was pumped dry
the ducks gathered at the deepest part
as the pump did its thing
until all the water was sucked away
then they just stood in the wet clay
later
two mallards chased each other around an old oak tree
heads down
disgruntled wings beating
the workmen sat among the trees smoking
and laughing at the birds
there were things in the pond
wriggling minnows
a few rubber balls
the skeleton of a faded red and yellow kite
one black sneaker
the pond floor began to smell bad in the midday sun
the men packed up their equipment
then left in a large white truck
the ducks waddled off to sit under some shade
to wait for something to happen
nothing did
Typical short gray curly hair
Smile
She looked away from me as I entered
I would have said hello
She grasped her cane as she sat
Starring into the distance
Her shoes look comfortable
like a nurse's sneaker
She wore jeans and a sweatshirt
I was on my phone
browsing nothing
She thought about me
and I thought about her
Yet we didn't speak to each other
Did her husband pass
Did she have children
I could've initiated a conversation
We were alone in a room
with no music or tv's
When her name was called
"Janice"
She rose from her seat with ease
and seemed not to need a cane
Maybe that cane was for comfort
I'll never know because I lost a chance
to communicate with another human being
When growing up, I had a dog
And when he had to go,
He did his business in the street;
A leash tug let him know.
We didn’t have a pooper-scoop,
But we’d prevent a squat
On sidewalks where pedestrians
Might cross that very spot.
Yet nowadays, the owners let
Their dogs go where they please
And even if they clean it up,
It doesn’t quite appease.
Just yesterday, I took a step
And - take a random guess -
My sneaker sole with lots of tread
Became a stinking mess.
It took a while to get it clean
And here I will admit
That, in my mind, that owner is
A selfish piece of ……spit!
Inspired by Bill Baker,
A friend in Texas
add on's welcome!
If The Sneaker Fits
I bought blingy gold sneakers with Trump's magic in it
A guru with genius, that's how I spin it!
But deep down in my guts
I think I'm just nuts
Another one of those suckers born every minute
by Robert Gorelick
If The Sucker Pays
Nice of you to support that Fother Mucker
Who's your daddy now Carlson, Tucker?
Deep in my guts
I too think you're nuts
Trump took you for hundreds you poor sucker!
by I Am Anaya
Little boys in caps
Dirt on their seat,
Puppies in their laps
Toy cars at their feet
Dirt on their seat
Baseball at their side,
Toy cars at their feet
Sneaker laces untied
Baseball at their side
Cars in red and blue,
Sneaker laces untied
Puppy wants attention, too
Cars in red and blue
Go round until dark,
Puppy wants attention, too
Hear him happily bark
Go round until dark
Puppies in their laps,
Hear him happily bark
Little boys in caps.
When day care classes take a stroll,
In line with lime green smocks,
They look so cute while navigating
New York City blocks.
With grown-ups at the front and back
And sometimes in-between,
They move along, accustomed to
This urban life routine.
Though yesterday, I passed a group
And heard a teacher shout,
“Shoe stop!” and so I turned to see
What that was all about.
Apparently, one little boy
Had stepped out of his shoe
And kept on walking, unperturbed,
As children often do.
The teacher held the sneaker up;
The kids looked at their feet.
The owner found, the class continued
Marching down the street.
The way the kids responded
Told me this was not so rare,
Though hopefully, the kids go home
With both shoes of a pair.
This little city sighting,
As I wandered on my way,
Was a tiny taste of urban life
That often makes my day.
Favorite pizza place
Pizza,
vegetable,
delicious,
fresh,
large size
soul-fattening
Pizza store,
go in with lunch hunger
and order the same
and come out with it
I ate in the car
I looked around and felt so good
and examine my heart
I ate slowly
eating
A small slice of pizza
fell on the tip of my sneaker
I picked it up
a thought occurred to me
.......
I hurried out the door of the store to
went back, opened and went in
Just like when I came in
Unchanging smiles
the same greetings as years ago
and
eyes waiting for my words,
"I didn't pay for the pizza?"
Carlo nodded,
I paid for Bruno's
and walked toward my pleasure.
From the Sages of old
came an ancient ruse.
They named it a Yote.
But it's not a fluke.
Cause they're in the know.
Won't, refute the scrolls.
Yotes, wear sneaker boots.
And Yodel in Tune.
Higgins was the worst Math teacher,
and that year I was his worse student.
Higgins had loose blubbery lips.
When he taught long division or algebra
his words were full of spit
and phlegm.
Higgins had big feet and he carried a large
thick-soled sneaker
which he threw at slow thinkers
It hurt
especially if hit by it 3 times in one lesson,
especially since we had to pick the damn thing up
and hand it back to him
especially when he loomed over you glaring,
daring you to be a wiseass.
Higgins was really very big
his massive form always intimating
to young minds.
Mostly I just doodled his form
on my school math book.
Happy to flunk any test of his.
Once I drew him naked,
his fat backside bouncing on the back
of a spavined mule.
Underneath this masterpiece I wrote
'It hurts don't it?'
Sadly he had snuck up behind me
too late
I felt his hot breath
drooling down the back of my neck.
Higgins was hit by a bus,
but that was years later.
When I heard
I felt sorry for the bus.
Today I unraveled a sweater
I erased the words of a book
I retraced the lines on the map
Of the journey I never took
I untied the lace of my sneaker
I pulled down the zipper of my coat
I removed my X from the ballot
For I never casted my vote
I forgot all the things that I never did
And the dreams that weren't a success
I deleted all of the repetitive thoughts
Of the sentiments I would never express
I pushed back the hands of forever
To a time that I never yet knew
I erased all the time I'd spend trying
Forever and a day to find you
The bones are loud and heavy
they don't like exercise anymore.
The treadmill chugs along
while vertigo topples unready toes.
Nothing can push these bones along,
time has filled them with concrete,
the rubble of marathons once run.
A young woman sprinting effortlessly
beside me smirks my way
as I stumble through a flat-footed mile.
Maybe she cannot see her future yet
while mine is clearly
painted on a wall I will soon hit.
At Wimbledon, you must wear white
To play upon the courts
And that includes your sneakers, visors,
T-shirts, socks and shorts.
The colour police do not allow
Off-white, ecru or cream
And sneaker soles and laces
Should be white enough to gleam.
A single trim of colour
May adorn your neck or cuff,
No wider than one centimetre,
Which should be enough.
These rules apply to underwear
As well, and all obey.
How shocking it would be
If some black lace were on display!
In other tennis venues
Players’ fashions may beguile
But at Wimbledon, these regulations
Cramp some people’s style.
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.