These boots are made for walkin'

I was actually watching Forrest Gump this afternoon, and thus, this competition was born. What I'd like you to do is simple: write a poem telling the story of any of the shoes pictured below. What have they been through? What images do they conjure in your mind?

- no collabs, please
- no word count.
- two weeks


http://i1072.photobucket.com/albums/w371/missysub/Mobile%20Uploads/B936B771-2495-46BF-B6C2-D68EE0B462FD_zps1gu9psmj.jpg

http://i1072.photobucket.com/albums/w371/missysub/Mobile%20Uploads/456A2307-32E2-4E4E-A0DA-50B7D26B6217_zpszqussxya.jpg

http://i1072.photobucket.com/albums/w371/missysub/Mobile%20Uploads/5CFC574A-EBC7-43AB-AC35-D653A4114E4D_zps9gxiqp81.jpg

http://i1072.photobucket.com/albums/w371/missysub/Mobile%20Uploads/8577ED11-C904-4546-AC89-8FC4EECB4453_zpsgs0cneik.jpg

http://i1072.photobucket.com/albums/w371/missysub/Mobile%20Uploads/260ED717-566E-48AF-A0A2-66E2D9CD74FB_zpserw5j1m6.jpg

http://i1072.photobucket.com/albums/w371/missysub/Mobile%20Uploads/D99002C2-49B0-4E0B-8829-8B9427EF9F9F_zpsj12mwrym.jpg

he'd been out choppin' logs again
but the hot weather hadn't broke
for six days on the trot

she'd been dying for four years
and in the end it was almost too quick

he never said goodbye

cos he'd been choppin' goodbye into trees
for four years

Thanks for kicking things off, Craic

Bravo mija! (old)

They laughed at her

Told her it need not be done
Not by her anyway

Mija, you're not made for that
It's not made for you

Misshapen condolences of a mother to tell her she had failed
before she even begun

Tutus are pink
Tights and shoes, white
The burgeoning sparrow crushed before the ballad sung

She commanded the attention of many with her bold hips and thighs
They saw conquest
She wanted concertos

They wanted her submission to carnal pleasure
She sought direction from a maestro
A toll of gnarled toes and tendonitis
willingly paid for her desired treasure

Why is it parents teach their children to fear what They couldn't do
Wouldn't do
She'd have paid that price
To show she could bend with grace and attitude

Her one great stage is now within my heart
Where I gladly stand and applaud
Bravo! Mi amor! Bravo!

If you want to weave a few images together, I'll allow that, Mr. LSP.

(Going for the first image, the old boots, and this is a true story of what happened this morning, in the grocery store)


Feeding Liam


I saw him take the apple—
The man with the dirty boots, and
the rest of him,
just clean enough to pass, unsuspecting, through
the produce department.

I saw him give the apple to the small boy,
Liam…
and I watched, while Liam ate, oblivious
to the other shoppers he bumped into, while
the man taught him to say “Excuse me,”
a small gesture to cover the theft.

I saw them walk the store, the man
with Liam, devouring the apple, to leave no trace,
save the core,
which would no doubt, be hidden in a pocket, upon
their exit.

I told the store manager, what the man
had done,
and I handed her the money to cover the cost
of Liam’s apple, because
the advertisement on the loudspeaker said
that some children go to bed hungry
every night
even despite the efforts of food banks, but
at least today,
Liam will eat.

The Oasis

we all walked ever taller
the outfits shrinking with each sales visit
only the heels grew longer
in our den of iniquity

no glamour in those chameleon areas
usually three chairs and four mirrors
three where the lipstick and mascara
were moved over for nose powder
and one that reigned supreme
the full length

where we'd watch the last touches
lift our asses nearly as high as our thoughts
pedestals for feminine energy
it was the last stop before the lights
and there was always a pause
like the altar of whoredom
we prayed before it
and worshipped ourselves

slippery floors coated in drink and worse
there were rules for baby oil but
just beneath the stage lurked the real danger
even capitalism can't paint some stains pretty

Mai-Tai's and apple wrappers round red sens
and the D.J. did all he could
turned the tunes loud enough to drown out
the sound of fear
as those numbers added up with the steps
overly sexy without trying
calves swollen under swaying thighs

those shoes always paid for themselves

Thank you for your entries guys!

Let's Go Back to the Overlook


Oh darling
I’ve always been a melancholy sort
it’s in my blood you see
it’s just that my mind is a somber artist
and paints things this way

let's go back to the grand ballroom
we'll sit and drink aperitifs

as I sit and watch you
while ol’ Al sings our song

Midnight with the stars and you
Midnight and a rendezvouz
Your eyes held a message tender
Saying "I surrender
All my love to you"

the night will cast its usual magic
it's so beautiful it makes me sort of sad

oh never mind
just wear your black shaggy dress
feathers in your Lulu hair
hold your jewel-encrusted cigarette holder
though jewels cannot compete with your eyes

we'll do the Charleston
laugh and have a merry time
then the lights will flicker
the floor an ocean of stars

lean into me
and I'll smell your sweet perfume
Tabac Blond taking me to the most exotic places

how I want you so badly
I'm frightened by my own desire
and for some reason
I want to cry

oh never mind
let your hand grasp mine
as you lead me to the terrace
let me dance into you

your bow lips red as blood
your face a livid white in the moonlight
eyes painted and staring like a doll's

I will hold you as you die
my little doll
I will collect all your doll parts
and hold you forever

Oh darling
I’ve always been a melancholy sort
it’s in my blood you see
it’s just that my mind is a somber artist
and paints things this way

Midnight brought us sweet romance
I know all my whole life through
I'll be remembering you
Whatever else I do
Midnight with the stars and you


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJ9aT-Wa_tE

His shoes old and warn down,
Hers shiny and black long heels made him want to jack.
She moves so eloquently in those shoes,while his have holes.
He should spend his money to buy something more new and shiny,
However he's addicted to her heiny.

The way she moves in those shoes, up then down in a groove
She grinds on that pole, moving in time with the rhyme in the beat she smoothly moves her feet.
She smiles at him seeing him spend the money he clearly works so hard for.
She wonders what it is he does, she scans him from head to toe.
Without a spoken word a connection is made, she smiles while moving her body in perfect time.

The lights flicker, spin, and shine making her body flawless in his mind,
He thinks what I wouldn't do to make her mine. She would never have to work. I would pull two or three jobs just to see her stay at home. Her story he will never know.
She dances in these heels making easy money to pay her way through school where she slips out of those heels into pink laced slippers with other ballerinas. They dance around in pink leotards this is where stars are born. One day she knows she will put on a different kind of show.

She dances there for him to stare, the club is packed as they all are throwing money at her feet. Those heels she wears will be temporarily worn while she works hard to make her dreams come true. Up there on stage she dances for you. Moving up, then down she glides all around. You may pass her on the street and never notice her face. One day soon she will dance in a new pair of shoes, hanging up these heals forever.

Worn-In

There's a worn-out sharpie sketch of a compass drawn on those old converse all stars.
Old shoes.
Same message.
I'm control which direction they go.

Mud stains, and sole discoloration.
A perfection representation.
There's a story behind each scuff.
A rally of tally marks.
A diamond in the rough.

There are holes from the nights
I ran from home.
And there are holes from the days I spent trying to find my way back.

The road less traveled in packed underneath the canvas grips.
I don't know where I'm going,
but these shoes have seen where I've been.

A little less worn-out.
A little more worn-in.

They were issued to a soldier to fight a war on foreign sands
And as he first laced up these boots a boy became a man
These boots saw with him the pain as they walked through many forts
They sailed upon those foreign seas and partied in the ports
They once were covered in the blood of a man who was his friend
They sat beside him as he cried and begged God for the end
As they walked the sands both got scarred and worn
But they both survived the war to come home a little torn
Those boots they still were with him until his dying day
And they were buried on his feet as his family knelt to pray
Though life was hard on boots and man he kept them til the end
I guess that you might say his boots were his best friend

Me and Chuck (new)

It's no wonder I trust you with my soul
Let you embrace me
Cover me
Sheild me
Your coat of arms makes me

Royal

Our misguided adventures are of my design
But you are the perfect partner
Wings to this dragonfly
As I lope over
Carolina's creeks
And swing from the mahogany of her oaks
You're there with me

My cousins say I'm not ready

Boy you're so skinny
you could hoola hoop with a Cheerio
They yell

Ya mama
I yell back
Now gimme the rock
And I shoot like the Pearl
Soring with your stars beneath me

By evenin'
My uncles let me in their circle
They pass
cigarettes
beer
gas

lies and laughter

Their feet are bound for the burdens they must carry

heavy
muddied
scarred

They call me
Boy
Cause I still carry stars in my eyes

and on my feet

http://i1072.photobucket.com/albums/w371/missysub/Mobile%20Uploads/260ED717-566E-48AF-A0A2-66E2D9CD74FB_zpserw5j1m6.jpg

Down, down and under.

There, beneath me, was the swelling and the breaking and the ache that you left
and it let out short, sharp, shaking breaths on which I was expected to lean.
The outer shell had a stench, old flesh, strapped tight to ankle and heel
both holding me up and leaving me bereft.

Your juice, it made me thirsty and tasted like inflamed passions on the mind.
Those greying eyes stared, cold, into the dark corners of my soul - a medication of sorts
for psychotic twinges when the weight was too strong
to usher these stories out for the blind.

The movements were quick, a sprightly kitten
bouncing over sordid details, savouring seconds before I came undone
where there, beneath white light, you begged me to stop,
on the floor, still somehow smitten.

I, eyes bulging, puffy from weeping
crushed your throat beneath a razor point heel
and you began to gush, more than before. For that whole, holy evening,
in late July, there was clarity. I was well, soundly sleeping.

First place: Imperfectedstone, for a piece so chilling it made me convulse internally. Bravo.

A very close second, LSP, for Me and Chuck (please publish this so I can reading list it, because it's awesome.) There was literally the width of a hair between this and the winner. Miss Moondancer too, who thoroughly deserved to be up there.

A great set of entries here. Thank you for everybody that took the time :)