work poetry (Remove filter)
These Wooden Boots
All I think of when I see these boots
is a hand full of dimes
squeaking at me through the leather
and broken soles that seem to grind
my feet to the ground
All I see is a row of wooden picture frames
and I count them, subtract them, divide them
into the hours that mark my sanity. Because I
am aware of time and can add, subtract, multiply
and divide it I breathe thro...
Tuesday 3rd January 2017 6:44 pm
Recent Comments
David RL Moore on Too late too late
11 hours ago
Rolph David on Love The Light, Embrace The Rain
11 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The roads taken
15 hours ago
Red Brick Keshner on still, the Earth breathes
15 hours ago
Marnanel Thurman on The roads taken
15 hours ago
Red Brick Keshner on where shadows do not drown
15 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The Empty Streets of Ego’s March
17 hours ago
Larisa Rzhepishevska on The Policemen Arrest The Men.
17 hours ago
Ray Miller on The Empty Streets of Ego’s March
17 hours ago
Ray Miller on The roads taken
17 hours ago