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
Graham Sherwood on Look Both Ways
5 hours ago
Russell Jacklin on Mob Rule Mentality
8 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on Target
10 hours ago
Jon on Innocents' Deadly Foe
12 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on Good to be back!
12 hours ago
Mike McPeek on A Somewhat Short Poem About Almost Nothing
16 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Haiku for 2025 [No. 28. Politic-toc-tic-toc-tic toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic]
20 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on When Genocidal savagery meets the useless outrageous ignorance of closed eyes
21 hours ago
LEON STOLGARD on When Genocidal savagery meets the useless outrageous ignorance of closed eyes
22 hours ago
LEON STOLGARD on Target
22 hours ago