Friday, August 6, 2010


Flung up to hang by their laces
from the power line,
marking spaces like tombstones.
Shoes with black bottoms
leaving streaks on the gymnasium floor.
They won't be allowed back.
Shoes flapping
their torn soles on the pavement
like lips.
Old shoes
with stories worn into them
in creases and cracks,
colour worn off their toes
like burnt grass.
New shoes, white
as a fresh sheet of paper.
Baby shoes.
with the laces undone,
waiting and snickering.
Shoes with attitude,
high-tops like a popped collar.
Shoes walking tracks
through the mud
like fingerprints.
A trail from baseball field
to broken window.
Fancy shoes
that only come out at weddings
kicked off under the table
when the dancing starts.
Shoes cramped in boxes
at the back of a closet.
Shoes on sale.
Shoes clicking
a clock beat down the hall.
Women's shoes: beautiful
high-heeled iron maidens.
Men's shoes: black and anonymous.
Shoe with an empty stomach,
hungry for a foot.
Shoe searching for its match.
with cleats
taking bites of grass
and spitting them out.
Shoes full of baking soda,
stink burnt into them.
Shoes reinvented
with neon pink laces,
song lyrics scrawled in thick sharpie.
Shoes in a pile
by the doorway
having their own party.

This poem was written in response to this week's Poetry Prompt on Big Tent Poetry. It was also inspired by the poem Crows by Doug Anderson.

Photo by Nick Wiebe

        What do you think your shoes say about you?


Dorkmaster Flek said...

Same thing pretty much any of my clothes would say, I think. NERD ALERT! :) Or maybe just "plain ordinary". There's really nothing special about them.

Shoes...let's get some shoes...

vivienne blake said...

This was an exciting read: your synonyms, metaphors and half-rhymes all effectively chosen to enhance the pleasure. I particularly liked the last 3 lines - the idea of a shoe party made me smile.

Mary said...

I loooove this poem :) Cleats taking bites out of the grass, high tops like a popped collar, hungry for a foot, in a pile at the doorway having a party... I love it.

My shoes say that I have really fat/wide feet as they always wear at the pinky. They are also very ratty and comfy which says I prefer comfort over style any day of the week.

Tumblewords: said...

So well done! Really enjoyed the read!

Elizabeth said...

I love your poem. For many of the same reasons that Viv and Mary have already stated. But, your poem itself makes me think of a pair of shoes, brand new, waiting with barely concealed anticipation for that first step out, promising both comfort and high style.

I only own two pair of shoes, one a pair of battered slip on mocs, sole thin and wide spread from over use, and another pair of stylish sandals with just enough heel to give me that extra height that allows me a larger, wider view.

What fun you have created,


Wayne Pitchko said...

really enjoyed this read....thanks for sharing your words

gautami tripathy said...

A very enjoyable read!

now it is there, now it isn't

Deb said...

I love this! I have been wanting to write about power line shoes for quite some time, but never could put it together.

Fabulous ode to shoes!

(They remind me of my age -- how I can't wear heals anymore, so try to find funky flats...)