I Don’t Buy Shoes

shoes2

The other day I had cause

to open your wardrobe and shoes

fell out like maggots

from a corpse.

 

New shoes

old shoes

blue shoes

broken shoes.

 

A pair for every day of the year

it seemed.

Try as I might

I couldn’t get them all back, for

 

I don’t have your gift

for packing or hoarding. So I

put some in my wardrobe

because I don’t buy any shoes.

poem and image ©copyright rp 2016

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Poem ‘Fugitive’

fugitive

for so long you said nothing,
you let it all well-up inside.
It swelled like some geyser beneath you,
or some vast unstoppable tide

but clearly the choice was yours;
to sit quietly and safe in silence,
or face the dangers of disclosure.
what use was there in pretence?

so you told those cowards straight,
to carry on with ignominious lies,
because you knew the whole truth –
heck, you saw it with your own eyes!

so now you ride trains in the night,
mingle quietly in busy queues;
the world doesn’t want to see you
nor cares of the state of your shoes

and then one day, maybe quite soon,
you’ll vanish with barely a trace;
at least you knew your rabid enemy
defined the justice of your case

© copyright David F. Barker 2012

Poem ‘Snow Again’

Snow Again

I grab a cup of tea, set out
to make something of the day.
Snow again, it brings daylight on.
They describe it as ten centimetres
which I still find hard to see.
It’s enough to cover my shoes,
that’s how I look at it
while clearing your little car.
Later, the laptop warms my knee
with Schubert declaring his genius,
when I feel the phone shudder.
A cursory text says the roads
were not too bad.
I look outside at the gathering host,
busy blots of grey and black
on white. An emerging blue.
They know the human is about
and that he has food.

photo and poem © copyright dfbarker 2012