Poetry competition CLOSED 1st March 2024 10:35am
WINNER
Isgyppie_ (L.C. McQuillen)
Isgyppie_ (L.C. McQuillen)
RUNNERS-UP:
Razzerleaf
and Jezkeebs
These boots were made for walkin’
Anonymous
Poetry Contest Description
Write an introspective poem inspired by the memory of a pair of shoes
*mic check mic check… 123..321* is this thing on?
.. ah there we go.
Welcome to this contest. 🎤
For this comp, I would like you to look at the above pictures of different pairs of shoes and choose one. Write an introspective poem about a memory that pair of shoes triggers. See where it takes you.
Extra points for thinking outside the box and not just being lineal on this one.
Notes
• No erotica.
• Audio / visual / video allowed.
• No word count limits. Just don’t go nuts. I wear glasses for a reason.
• Please give a nod in your author’s note somewhere on which picture you used as inspiration.
• Comp judged by host
• New writes only
• Two weeks
[/exitstageleft]
Kiev Sneakers
These sneakers are like a time machine
lost in a Kiev alley...
They keep the memories of those who used them
and the stories that were never written.
They witnessed the glory and the pain
of a city that has transformed.
They saw the revolution and the war
and the dream that shattered.
Sneakers that were worn on a boy's feet
who ran through the streets without fear.
They jumped over the walls and the roofs
and explored every corner and secret.
They followed the steps of a young girl
who fought for freedom and peace.
They marched with the crowds and shouted
and resisted the shots and attacks.
They comforted an old man's feet
who wandered around the city aimlessly...
They stepped over the ashes and rubble
And they cried for those who were gone
These sneakers are like a time machine
lost in a Kiev alley!
They wait for someone to find them
and take them to another place and time.
lost in a Kiev alley...
They keep the memories of those who used them
and the stories that were never written.
They witnessed the glory and the pain
of a city that has transformed.
They saw the revolution and the war
and the dream that shattered.
Sneakers that were worn on a boy's feet
who ran through the streets without fear.
They jumped over the walls and the roofs
and explored every corner and secret.
They followed the steps of a young girl
who fought for freedom and peace.
They marched with the crowds and shouted
and resisted the shots and attacks.
They comforted an old man's feet
who wandered around the city aimlessly...
They stepped over the ashes and rubble
And they cried for those who were gone
These sneakers are like a time machine
lost in a Kiev alley!
They wait for someone to find them
and take them to another place and time.
Written by PAR
(PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
Go To Page
Related submission no longer exists.
Anonymous
PAR and Anne-Ri - thanks for starting things off. Lovely stuff.
that girl
she didn't know how to relate
couldn't speak their language
she only knew what they wanted
so the 34" inseam on her 5'2" frame
bore the tiniest of skirts over those bare legs
always adding a little height to her stature
letting her walking do the talking
in an undulating fashion she worked those lush hips
they gawked as those little scraps of fabric swished
not really understanding...knowing only that it got them
heads on the swivel
whistle passing lips
you work with what you're given
and she put in the overtime
seeking that elusive connection
heart to heart...mind to mind
she kept trying to look beyond their exterior
hoping for more...
...more love
...more belonging
...more time
while they stalked that notch on the headboard
only hung around until the next fresh thing
as the years went by the skirts grew longer & fuller
shoes kicked into a corner
shrinking in dimension
hope slipping a bit more with each failure
until she finally withdrew
not enough air bubbles could be found
under the flood of her emotions
one sobbing shudder after another...
...she eventually drowned
I wish I could have told her
but at the time I never knew
she placed her value on her body...mere sex
but her true gift was priceless
I'm still working it out but I know more now
not one of those hungry tom cats ever touched it
though they probably sensed its presence
her spirit...her strength...was endless
tap that & they could have had a wildcat
but all they ever got was a little fun...before they moved on
all the searches she embarked on...
...she was looking to them...
...when all she really needed...
...was to find herself
I've been painting her portrait one poem at a time
one day maybe we'll both believe
she's a badass...same as me
inspired by These boots were made for walkin' comp; pink heels & bare foot image
couldn't speak their language
she only knew what they wanted
so the 34" inseam on her 5'2" frame
bore the tiniest of skirts over those bare legs
always adding a little height to her stature
letting her walking do the talking
in an undulating fashion she worked those lush hips
they gawked as those little scraps of fabric swished
not really understanding...knowing only that it got them
heads on the swivel
whistle passing lips
you work with what you're given
and she put in the overtime
seeking that elusive connection
heart to heart...mind to mind
she kept trying to look beyond their exterior
hoping for more...
...more love
...more belonging
...more time
while they stalked that notch on the headboard
only hung around until the next fresh thing
as the years went by the skirts grew longer & fuller
shoes kicked into a corner
shrinking in dimension
hope slipping a bit more with each failure
until she finally withdrew
not enough air bubbles could be found
under the flood of her emotions
one sobbing shudder after another...
...she eventually drowned
I wish I could have told her
but at the time I never knew
she placed her value on her body...mere sex
but her true gift was priceless
I'm still working it out but I know more now
not one of those hungry tom cats ever touched it
though they probably sensed its presence
her spirit...her strength...was endless
tap that & they could have had a wildcat
but all they ever got was a little fun...before they moved on
all the searches she embarked on...
...she was looking to them...
...when all she really needed...
...was to find herself
I've been painting her portrait one poem at a time
one day maybe we'll both believe
she's a badass...same as me
inspired by These boots were made for walkin' comp; pink heels & bare foot image
Written by WillowsWhimsies
Go To Page
Anonymous
Lovely stuff WillowsWhimsies. Thank you kindly m’dear :)
Footwear
Boots and shoes, I have worn them all.
From the white, crinkly go-go boots when I was seven years old,
to the ballet shoes I tried thinking that’s what I wanted to be.
The cowboy boots my stepmother insisted that my sister and I must have,
if we were going to ride horses then shit-kickers were in demand.
The rubber boots I wore to walk through the shallow puddles of Pine Creek,
slightly made me feel somewhat safe against the hissing snakes.
My favorite tennis shoes, brown and orange in the late 70’s,
went with my uniform when I was bussing tables.
High heels I had to try but they were really not for me,
clumsy as I was, I’d be falling to my knees.
Slippers are my style, soft and cozy on the feet,
toasty during those winter days they make my feet complete.
From the white, crinkly go-go boots when I was seven years old,
to the ballet shoes I tried thinking that’s what I wanted to be.
The cowboy boots my stepmother insisted that my sister and I must have,
if we were going to ride horses then shit-kickers were in demand.
The rubber boots I wore to walk through the shallow puddles of Pine Creek,
slightly made me feel somewhat safe against the hissing snakes.
My favorite tennis shoes, brown and orange in the late 70’s,
went with my uniform when I was bussing tables.
High heels I had to try but they were really not for me,
clumsy as I was, I’d be falling to my knees.
Slippers are my style, soft and cozy on the feet,
toasty during those winter days they make my feet complete.
Written by jmcchesnie
(Joylyn)
Go To Page
Glory Season
That time of the year again
fans cheering, playing to win
I settle in to my suit
waiting for the kick to boot
the poor pig down my field
with each crunch the crowd is thrilled
as their Emperor like blood lust is sated
this is the moment long awaited for
to see my boys fighting to score
yes, at long last glory season has come
time for the competition to come get some
so as my doors open after forever
I know this will be the best season ever
fans cheering, playing to win
I settle in to my suit
waiting for the kick to boot
the poor pig down my field
with each crunch the crowd is thrilled
as their Emperor like blood lust is sated
this is the moment long awaited for
to see my boys fighting to score
yes, at long last glory season has come
time for the competition to come get some
so as my doors open after forever
I know this will be the best season ever
Written by LongTubiFree
(JustinSizemore)
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Anonymous
Thanks for your entries jmcchesnie and LongTubiFree.
Anonymous
Thanks for your entry Jordan
Odd Girl
I was an awkward girl with no balance
a little too fat to wear a tutu
my grandma said too heavy for my toes
my mother put me in ballet
said it woud teach me grace
as my grand plies looked pitiful
and my dance so mournful
light blue leotard and stockings
on a chubby little wretch
my poor mother
I felt for her, I was happier up in a tree
playing Jane of the jungle
and dreaming of my future
the sun setting on my back
the sky open
far away from that stuffy little studio
where I learned grace and civility wasn't for everyone
later in life I would don combat boots with my dresses
my nod to the feminism
and my freedom being an odd one
Written by smackdownraven
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War Zone
Every night I walked through the door
Your combat boots would trip me
And I would quietly move them
So your combat hands wouldn’t hit me
In the morning you’d lace them up
Stomping dirt around the floor
And I would tiptoe sweeping behind
The mess you trudged but blamed me for
When you left I’d release my breathe
Your heavy footsteps rattled by bones
And I would still creep on my bare feet
Because our house remained a war zone
Your combat boots would trip me
And I would quietly move them
So your combat hands wouldn’t hit me
In the morning you’d lace them up
Stomping dirt around the floor
And I would tiptoe sweeping behind
The mess you trudged but blamed me for
When you left I’d release my breathe
Your heavy footsteps rattled by bones
And I would still creep on my bare feet
Because our house remained a war zone
Written by Isgyppie_
(L.C. McQuillen)
Go To Page
Anonymous
Thank you for your entry smackdownraven.
Anonymous
Thank you for your entry isgyppie_. A fine example of stepping outside the box there that I was talking about 👍🏻
