Writing Prompt 7

Welcome to the seventh day of our 30/30!

Your prompt today is:

 

Write an elegy or ode to the most loved
pair of shoes you’ve ever had.

 

 

Image credit www.cliparts.co
Guidelines, if you want them:

  • Posting your response is not required
  • Feel free to post your response   🙂
  • This is not meant to be the perfect first draft – respond without hesitation for 5-7 minutes, then keep going if you want to
  • While our prompts are geared towards poetry, we welcome all kinds of artists
  • Tips & encouragement are here
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7 comments

  1. Deerskin moccasins with silver
    and turquoise bolos became my
    footwear of choice for hiking
    through the woods, soundlessly
    stepping on last years leaves,
    creeping up on the beaver
    getting ready to drop yet
    another willow down the
    bank to shore up the lodge.
    Hightops with buckskin laces
    I could cinch snugly below the
    fringe, these come from craftsmen
    to the north, no cheap knockoffs
    with a foreign sole/soul. I wore
    them until they proved to be
    beyond mending, have yet to
    find a replacement that holds
    the thousands footsteps that
    would mean they are broken in.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. ode to my ankle boots

    black rough hide, brushed leather
    bless the beast you came from
    how much i love to wear you

    through three pairs of eyelets
    i pull and lace-up really tight
    how much i love to wear you

    the pair of you, sometimes
    undone, makes me do you again
    how much i love to wear you

    my long skirts makes you peep
    in & out, hiding you while i walk
    how much i love to wear you

    wearing you and weather makes
    an imprint you show off empty
    how much i love to wear you

    two inch heels, high enough
    to stand straightly upright
    how much i love to wear you

    Van Gogh painted his boot
    shoes, while i praise mine
    how much i love to wear you

    a change of season requires
    sandels and other open shoes
    how much i will soon miss you

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Somewhere between the blue of the sky and
    the blue of the ocean, your color
    comforted and energized.
    You rested patiently in the closet
    until the time when I would slip my feet
    into your worn leather.
    Humble and flat heeled you were not stylish,
    not even especially attractive,size nine moccasins,
    almost boat-like in appearance.
    You were beyond functional getting me from one place to another,
    scrambling after four kids born in six years.
    You were ridiculed and little appreciated by those preteens.
    I wore you for longer than I can remember
    and forget when and where we parted.
    Etched in memory, mine and my kids,
    you were more soul than sole.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Pingback: #NationalPoetryMonth’16 Round-up (Day 7) | Bonespark~

  5. Dear Black Ankle Boots

    What I love about you most
    is the sound of importance
    your heels make when I walk—
    strike-strike-strike. They say
    I mean business. They say
    Pay attention. And I like
    your criss-crossed laces, but
    its your zippers I love: z-i-i-p!
    z-i-i-p! Two quick tugs
    and I’m ready. I like me a little
    heel, the way the calves contract,
    the legs on alert, and my toes
    thank you for all the room (even
    in my favorite blue wool socks).
    When I leave you at the cobbler,
    I’m bereft. I grow quiet and small.
    My pants hang wrong and I miss
    your leather hug. Black boots,
    you’ve walked me through puddles
    and slush. Invincible boots,
    you’ve taken road salt’s scrim,
    you’ve taken wet grass and mud,
    gravel and asphalt’s assault—
    I salute you! When I open
    my closet to dress for the day,
    it’s you—always you, only you.
    You’re the ones that I want.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Ode to a Pair of Doc Martens

    You– whose green leather, yellow stitching, and discarded rubber from Luftwaffe airfields
    came together to cradle my feet– how could I forget you loved me,
    after you carried me away our first afternoon in Glastonbury.
    I remember your eyelets after our day of walking
    through Cornish time and tide to look upon St. Michael’s.
    We saw Virginia’s lighthouse and while my hand touched Vanessa’s paintbrush,
    it was you who kept me grounded, steady. Inside, I trembled,
    listening to Bloomsbury susurruses and catching the scent of dusty ghosts.

    We would kick the cork under the bed and sip into night.
    In the morning I would lift up your tongues, slide inside,
    and you became my two boats that set sail and let me glide
    into dreams on London’s streets and then ferried me across to the ocean’s other side
    where we learned to kick up oolitic limestone and calcareous marl
    under the sweet taste of mangos and alligator pears
    and I traded you in for sandals. Forgive me.

    Liked by 1 person


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