Dayna Leslie Hodges

A Hat Two Sizes Too Big

A little girl wearing a hat two sizes too big

pulled down over her face  

has pulled her knee socks up over her skinned knees

after falling down after tripping 

over her jump rope with her big feet 

at recess on the grade school playground.

She tries to hide her flaws;

she believes she is marred in flaws. 

Sunlight unveils patchwork authenticity

adorned in shy garments

shining beneath a floppy hat

with a big buck-toothed smile.

This skinny brown haired little girl thinks no one can see her

when she looks down at the ground

because if she cannot see them,

then no one can see her 

even when her flaws scream their insecurity.

In quiet voice,

she is always asking for permission.

Gerda Govine Ituarte

Just is…

 

Saints Peter and Paul Catholic School

St.Thomas US Virgin Island

nuns rule intimidation normal

everything in its place

place for everything

cleanliness next to Godliness

 

uniform white short sleeve cotton blouse

navy blue pleated gabardine jumper

white cotton socks

lace up black leather shoes

quiet student earn good grades

did not speak until spoken to

 

imagine walking with school shoes on

Magens Bay white sand beach beneath

coconut palms sea grapes mahogany trees

fly between hills above Atlantic Ocean

sit on white puffy clouds take off

land in crystal clear aquamarine water

 

float swim dive variety of birds

dot sky brown pelican red tailed hawk

belted kingfisher fit into my secret life

school shoes stay dry look new

no miracle no fairy tale

just is…

PJ Swift

Too Cool for School

Waiting forty years to write about him, and still not ready.   Even now his personality has been too potent to properly digest.  The oldest kid in the room by twenty years.  The best pot, the coolest digs on the edge of this edgy town, the hottest, loftiest, girl in the school.  And the parents couldn't touch him.  All the dudes swirl around him because what else could a sixteen-year-old dream of?  And if you're just an odd kid, who by some odd chance sees right through him, well, he sees right through you too. And puts you back in your odd place, even if you can see it coming.  Because you can't do anything but giggle self-consciously as he blows bong-smoke in your eyes.   And think, if this is cool, maybe I'll never be cool. 

Patricia Murphy

SCHOOL

I enjoyed School when I was in it.

We had Summers off.

June, July and August.

In September after Labor Day 

We went back to School.

In High School I had two favorite classes.

I loved singing and was in a Chorus class.

I also loved French.

I studied French for three years.

I enjoyed these classes very much.

I enjoyed my singing class teacher.

Her name was Chris Khorney.

I enjoyed my French teacher.

His name was Richard Bass.

This was the best part of my life in school.

SHOES

Elvis Presley sang the song: "Blue Suede Shoes."

August 16th is the 47th anniversary of Elvis' death.

I cried that day.

And I cry every day. 

I also loved watching Elvis court Priscilla when he was in the army/

Elvis was the King of Rock n' Roll.

His songs still play on the radio today.

Put yourself in someone else's shoes.

When shopping: Try on another pair of shoes

I love shoes.

High heeled shoes.

Flat shoes.

Fancy shoes.

Designer shoes.

Fashionable shoes.

R A Ruadh

Walking lessons

I did not understand why

my shoes were so different

a little too big wide and clumpy

never the same colour as

the other kids’ shoes

As in so many other things

my shoes were the odd ones out

and didn’t fit in

I could not know then

that my mom bought them clumpy

for my extra wide feet

and a little too big so I could grow

into them during the school year

solid and durable and made to last

I could not know then

that her flat and unfashionable choices

would spare me decades of bunions

fallen arches and shortened tendons

as well as making it easier

to run uphill from the bullies

chasing me after school

I could not know then

that my footwear was giving me

a solid grounding in standing my ground

as well as nurturing an appreciation for

quality over quantity

comfort over capitulation to fashion slavery

Still I remember dreading

the beginning of the school year

slapping and flapping across the floor

in my clunky Buster Brown Mary Janes

while everyone else sported Bass loafers

with shiny new pennies

Today my sleek Danish ECCO Mary Janes

out walk and outlast my limping classmates

while my Dubarrys need neither pennies

nor apologies to my feet standing steady on the deck

as I haul on the brown sails of an old hooker

racing the sunset across Galway Bay

toward the Aran Islands and

a night of Guinness lubricated sean-nós

in a room full of shoes like mine

 

Kathee Hennigan Bautista

Today I say goodbye to my flipflops

Mom is taking me shopping for school shoes

Our annual pilgrimage

To enclose my toes

In shoes that are safe for

Running, climbing stairs, walking through

Wet hallways on rainy days.

My school has rules about shoes:

No open toes,

They must be black, brown or white

Forget the ones with skates on the bottom

That mysteriously disappear

When the teacher is looking

Time with mom on the last week of summer

How bittersweet

Like new school shoes

Delightful to look at knowing that they will leave blisters on my heels

Saying goodbye to the freedom of summer.

Ugly Shoes

My flat feet beg

For ugly shoes

Not for fashion shown

On the news

They want to carry

My considerable weight

Enabling me to walk

With a steady gait

You’ll never see me wearing

High heels

I simply don’t like the way

That they feel

Those fancy shoes that they make in Rome

Won’t find a way to my closet or home

So give me a pair of oxfords or flats,

Sneakers or loafers but nothing with spats

There are places to go that I want to see

I’m counting on ugly shoes to carry me.

Previously published in Altadena Poetry Review 2018

Mismatched Shoes

As a toddler my daughter wore mismatched shoes

One red, the other pink

She loved them both

So why play favorites?

It was a decision I chose not to fight

Her first taste of creativity

Of independent decision making

I credit mismatched shoes for her self-confidence

Love of color

Courage to be take risks

To express herself freely

Marvinlouis Dorsey

From
dirt roads
to train tracks
deer in head lights
still blind afraid to see

blue
sky
orange
ho-
rizon
flames keep
me warm

is it not
nor-
mal
to be by
your-
self

when the sun
spends the whole
day alone

 

 

Strange
sen-
sation
walking on
con-
crete

the
old man
said
he said

with the
death of the
past

you
may
never
feel

your
feet
again 

 

 

White shoes

who could

be

con-

fused

 

how long

have you

used

 

some-

one

else's

 

way

of

thinkin

Lori Wall-Holloway

School Haiku

 

First day back at school

kids fill car in afternoon

Kick shoes off sweaty feet

 

(Published by Four Feathers Press

School Poetry – Education in Southern California

Edition – August 2023)

Mary Langer Thompson

Ben

He walks the dim halls

past the Stuart Little mural,

shoes on the wrong feet,

no socks, bowlegged,

his shorts showing bony legs

like shrunken baseball bats.

He recalls hearing a teacher say,

"Ben, wasn't that a movie

about a kid who played with rats?"

He wishes people would stop thinking

he plays with scary animals,

although he'd almost rather do anything

than be at this school

where he floats like a ghost that

teachers are trying to give form to

by reading nonsense rhymes--

dat, gat, jat, lat, rat....

He would like someone to fix him,

to at least say hello to him

as he stands framed in the principal's doorway,

a scribbled teacher's note crumpled in his hand.

He eyes the red licorice whips on her desk and

hunger and fear mix in his stomach.

When she doesn't look up

he returns to wander the dark hallway.

Bobby Bartleby

School Bell Villanelle

 

I ain’t talkin’, no matter what she does.

“Why were you sent up here in the first place?”

she asks. And I say nothin’. Just because.

 

"Why aren’t you working? Don’t give me those shrugs.”

I’ll show no tear, no smile on my face.

I ain’t talkin’, no matter what she does.

 

She asks if I know who Bartleby was.

I stare at her throat, her blouse and its lace.

She repeats. I say nothin’.  Just because.

 

She’s gettin’ real mad. I hear a fly buzz.

She might punch me out. I look down, in case.

I ain’t talkin’, no matter what she does.

 

She yells. Suddenly there's a great big pause.

She’ll kick me out. Says this is not a race.

She has time. I say nothin’. Just because.

 

She goes on. Blah, blah, blah, ifs, whens, and huh's?

Yeah, whatever. She's enjoyin this chase.

I’m not talkin’, no matter what she does.

I will always say nothin’. Just because.

Moon Over Back-to-School Night

 

After my talk

about standards,

lessons and assessments

for the year ahead,

I pack up my notes,

the classroom empty

of concerned parents.

 

Outside, I am struck by

an orange, first-quarter moon,

and it occurs to me

what I should have said--

 

even the moon

waxes and wanes,

 

it takes some time

to reach one's brightest phase,

 

even what we cannot see

is often still there.

 

Or, perhaps I should have told them

raise your eyes and gaze

upon where our children

will one day walk.

 

Jeffry Jensen

LACES TANGLED IN DYLAN BLUE

It was the untranslatable sea that hooked

onto a resurrection song

and would not let go of the expanding

underbelly of a mumbling universe

until I could reach the wet sand

covered with crabs and 7th grade shoes.

Someone was whispering

into sea shells at first light

leaving tall tales reminiscent

of Hank Williams or Marty Robbins.

Einstein could play a mean Stradivarius

at the drop of a soft shoe.

I always wore t-shirts

with the best feral cats on the front.

Jerry Orbach got all the loaded zingers

on prime-time Law and Order.

Bill Gregg could beat me on the tennis court

anytime of the day no matter

whether I was wearing my Adidas or not.

His reward for being so good

was that he got to grow up

and become a ground-breaking dentist.

For me give me the library, poetry, art,

and as many fussy cats as possible

stretching out on my California king-sized bed.

When I last looked into the rear-view,

there was a pile of Keds spinning

at the speed of light on a rusted Merry Go Round.

CLS Sandoval

My Old School Shoes

Saddle Shoes, Keds, Saltwater Sandals

Almost always purchased by Mom from Nordstrom

I didn’t realize there was another store really

Pristine and perfect that Thursday before Labor Day in fall when we went back to our round pink stucco building

The one with the fifth-grade classrooms and library in the center

Where those shoes carried me from classroom to classroom

From multipurpose room to playground

Losing their squeaky-clean day by day

Until mid-June, when the souls were worn, and my toes were crunched, and it was time to buy my summer shoes

The First Day of School

Each year, I awaken my daughter to have her rush down the stairs toward the front door in her brand-new outfit complete with brand new shoes

As much as it’s important for her to be awake and ready for the school day, she knows that there’s a photo shoot before she walks out the door

Each year those footsteps become surer and heavier as she pads toward the exit of our house

Once so very tiny, her shoes have increased in size each year

Now she’s only three sizes smaller than me

I wonder if by the time she’s in high school she’ll be borrowing my shoes or I’ll be borrowing hers

Footprints

In Poway’s Green Valley, I took the bus one year

I would have to walk down the long winding private drive to the main road with a sidewalk in the morning

In the afternoon, back up the hill, over leaves, through the bamboo maze, sometimes up the grassy part of our yard, other times all the way up the asphalt drive

Each day, leaving a bit of an impression of those shoes my mom so carefully selected with me to be sure that my arches and toes and heels were supported

Those shoes would complement that perfect outfit hugging me all day we had to be separated, substituting for her hugs

Shih-Fang Wang

That Day

 

Hand in hand we walked

Along the cobbled streets

Wearing my first ever high-heel shoes

Gingerly I tried to keep my balance

To avoid stepping into the gaps

Between the paved stones

That might catch my shoe heels

 

When crossing the street

You wanted me to hurry up

As we were late for the movie     

I could not speed up

Annoyed you broke off your grip

And left me behind to stagger

 

I watched you walking away

Tears in my eyes

Your silhouette obscured

My dream of our future together

Petrouchka Alexieva

The Secrets of the School Shoes

 

There is a saying:

“The closest place is the farthest

when you run to school and

the longest way is, when you come back”

…and I am the real prove of that.

 

Our home was 5 minutes away

from school by walk. But I often was late.

It seemed that I had the wrong shoes

and short legs, when running for class.

 

Then on the end of the day,

the entire flock of kids had to go home,

bringing each other to the garden gates

and…always the time stopped to exist.

Our shoes did not matter the snow, the rain.

 

The same magic happened to my boys,

while the school was just a street away.

They blamed the same – the shoes,

that run in a wrong time and

walk back in a wrong direction

in the entire neighborhood.

 

Every pair of school shoes carries

the innocent secrets

of a happy and careless childhood.

Dean Okamura

At the Gate at the End of My Life

I had come expecting to have no regrets
because everyone said they had none.
I have danced, dreamed, sung. I have loved.
But the land demanded fairness for all.
I put on my shoes, walked the district,
got out the vote.

I say the politics are going wrong.
Sadly, my face fades in the twilight
that misses the dreams we had in youth.

Fearless, we would "ask what you
can do for your country" but darkness came.
It washes me in tears.

Rest, rest, rest for three lifetimes.
Then three times more.

 

– After Linda Gregg, "At the Gate in the Middle of My Life"

But it wasn't "just another massacre"

But it wasn't "just another massacre"
for the woman whose foot once danced,
now a shadow in the dust.
For the boy whose arm held dreams,
now a broken wing on the earth.
For the man whose intestines held life,
now unraveling threads of a story cut short. 

Shoes scattered like forgotten memories,
torn clothing whispering tales of loss.
For them, it was the end of the world,
a horizon darkened with finality,
where no dawn could break the night.
For their loved ones, a chasm of grief,
unfathomable, unyielding,
a cry that echoed into nothingness.

They left behind more than broken bodies,
but the weight of lives undone,
and the silent plea for a world
that would remember their names.

 

Disclaimer: This poem was generated by an AI language model based on a prompt provided by the user. While AI’s intelligence is neutral and operates without emotion, bias, or personal ambition, the intelligence behind human actions can be driven by the darker aspects of human nature.

 – After Caitlin Johnstone, “Another Massacre” (2024)

jf giraffe

CHOICES (HAIKU) 

I love my dress shoes. 

I hate to wear my school shoes. 

Everyday a fight. 

MAKING IT EASIER (HAIKU)

I had two best friends.

They made school a better place.

We shared good and bad. 

Ellyn Maybe

THE ROPE DANCE (HAIKU) 

School is double dutch

on a flat asphalt playground. 

My natural gift.

FANTASTIC FLYING (HAIKU)

I wore special shoes.

I had magical powers.

I flew into view.

THE PAIN OF WISDOM (HAIKU) 

School is a moment

that carries you through the world.

Sweet and sour tears.

Radomir Vojtech Luza

Empty Cups

On the floor

Next to my bed

Looking at them

God is dead

No orange juice

No rhyme

No whiskey

No time

My life is a shallow river

Red, bled and misled

Who am I?

Where am I going?

Beautiful symphony has given way to

A grotesque opera

Young butterfly

A feeble hen

Aged bodies

All in a row

Nimbly dancing with the crow

Spending the day

Staring at faded gray

Nothing between them

And the end

Except a hollow bend

Where there once was a friend

Now only school shoes that do not trend

Blue Rain

A mere stain on the windowpane

Just isn't the same

Causing this much pain

In the margarine lane

Oh, maker above

Please send love

So, we know we are not stone

But skin and bone

On an island alone

Blue rain

Driving me insane

Like a fountain in the

Courtyard of the lame

Turquoise tongue

Sleeping young

Like a shower run

When life has lost its fun

Please oh, great orb

Wonder not about the end

But the sweet beginning

And how it rusted

Into being

Eating faces

Without places

Time braces for plastic gazes

Blue rain

Pockmarked bane

On a Gibraltar of gain

Dreaming of school

Like an old fool

On a metro train

Carl Stilwell AKA CaLokie

A Poem about a Pomegranate Tree in Paradise

I meant to write a poem about an apple tree in Eden. 

But I found out it was probably a pomegranate Adam 

and Eve ate because they didn’t grow apples then.

I wanted to make Eve real sexy…Big boobs, blue eyes, 

long blonde hair flowing to the back of her butt…

Sex stuff gets a lot of laughs at poetry readings.

However, I learned Myth Eve, the one who according to 

Genesis 3:20 was named Eve because she was 

the mother of our species, wasn’t bio-Eve. 

According to scientists—those nasty fellows who revealed 

earth revolved around sun, not vice versa— Mitochondrial Eve, 

also known as mt-Eve, was the woman from whom ALL 

humans descended in an unbroken line through their mothers 

and the mothers of those mothers, back until all lines converge 

on one woman who was born and lived around 200,000 years ago 

in a region around Lake Victoria which is Africa’s largest lake 

and whose waters flow into the Mediterranean Sea 

through our planet’s longest river, the Nile.

When I attended Bob Jones University, I believed evolution was 

a myth and the first three chapters of Genesis history.

It never occurred to me then why a narrative of a talking snake 

with legs, belonged more to a fairy tale than a history book.

Nor did I see it as a contradiction that during the six days 

of creation, both wild and domesticated animals were 

created on the same day, the sixth which coincidentally 

was the same day God created humans in his image.

But as time passed and more fossil evidence was discovered

confirming the theory of evolution while telescopes showed that 

the farthest stars in the universe were billions of light years away, 

not thousands as fundamentalists who believed the world 

was created close to 10,000 years ago, it became harder 

and harder to hold on to the faith of my Bible Belt fathers.

My Systematic Theology teacher at Fuller Theological Seminary was no 

young earth creationist like my science teacher at Bob Jones.

He said the disobedience of Adam and Eve to God’s forbidden 

fruit prohibition was a fall into history.

Just because a story is fiction doesn’t mean it never happened, right?

And Aristotle told us that art is a lie that tells the truth.

Joel Baden, Yale Professor of the Hebrew Bible, said original sin 

does not exist in Genesis.

The whole story of Genesis 2 & 3 is not to focus on the paradise 

which was lost but on the reality we see around us.

Why is it that we have to work the ground to get food?

Why is there pain in childbirth?

Why don’t we live forever?

Dr. Baden also said that according to archeological 

and historical evidence, the Israelites were not slaves in Egypt 

nor was there an Exodus and conquest.

But maybe Exodus fell into history also when after escaping 

slavery, Harriet Tubman (or "Moses", as she was called) made 

some 13 missions to rescue approximately 70 slaves, including 

her family and friends by using the network of antislavery activists 

with safe houses they called the Underground Railroad.

But what do I know?

I am only a Bible Belt born and bred teacher who taught 

an 8th grade U.S. History class in a Los Angeles middle 

school before retiring over 20 years ago and becoming 

a Bible Belt born and bred poet.

One thing I know for damn sure—pomegranate seeds 

in my oatmeal are a hell of a lot juicer than sliced apples.

Alex S Johnson

Fits of a Fortunate Son

The schoolboy put

his shoes

on

stiff and new

as they

were

They hurt his feet. He missed

the old, comfy, scuffed

oxfords that

he mucked around in

While hazarding the slings and

yarrow stalk bastards of

schoolmates in the pent up

frenzy of childhood. Up till

Now he was 

comfortable in

his own hide

The skin sloughed off. The boy 

stretched into

something new and 

odd. His vision 

blurred from

Too many nights alight with the flame

of 

reading

Seeding the desire to place

words

in front of

words

in front of

Verbs

Nouns

Adjectives

Pronouns...

He internalized the rules

at least the ones that

mattered. He even mastered the conceptual,

such terms as

caesura

and

salad days

His craze for 

Hunter T. and William S.B. 

accompanied

crusted

jeans

and

other

Slippery

shower 

accidents.

He leaned in at night to his

radio and learned 

the ways of

jazz and

rock and roll

The beat went on

He grew his hair long,

disdainful of the hoots and hollers

shoved in the mud

bloodied some

He kept his 

adolescent 

eyes 

On 

far skies.

One day

to make it

unpacking his word horde

before

The 

World

No matter what it took.

School days are over for

this one.

A Mile in My Shoes 

Cool shoes

cruel shoes

tried and true shoes

Goody two

timing 

bitch 

wait that was bitter and threw off my

metrics.

Hold on, let me regroup.

Tie my thoughts together

make the

double

loop 

Ok I'm back

swiftly striding the sidewalks of

London

Paris

New Orleans

Virginia Beach

Los Vegas

Los Angeles

New York City

Oslo, Norway 

Atlanta

Daytona Beach

Sacramento

San Francisco

I probably missed one or two

Unlike Prufrock, eager and 

prepared to

eat that

Peach

with juices running

down my cheeks 

(Never a complaint from the ladies)

and do I dare disturb the universe?

Fuck yeah

I dare indeed

Hoofing it powered by

Athena Nike 

Until disability

brought me to my knees

I can still lurch along

in my own way

To the beat of my own drummer

humming an original song

A real sexy Gregor Samsa

with a yen for forever fun

The book has not been written yet

the journey's but begun. 

Joe Grieco

THE NEW KID

 

The Interviewer,

speaking in confessional tones,

asked Who do I miss?

and What I miss about them?

 

I miss,

with his heart pulled down around his ankles,

the new kid

the kid they pantsed at recess

 

It wasn’t allowed: no tennis shoes

No tennis shoes at St. Anselm’s School

You had to wear hard soles

Hard souls

You had to wear hard sole shoes

 

I miss him holding back tears

I miss his thick skin

 

David Fewster

RED KEDS

Every year at the end of August

mom and I would drive the 20-odd miles

to the big city to buy me

my "school clothes" for the term

so I could look nice when they pried

my broken body out of the rubble

after the russkies had bombed us

and all the survivors would know

I had a mother who cared.

Even though I was from the hick town of

Ontario, NY, I felt I had an advantage

over those idiot kids I saw on newsreels

crouched under their desks in broad daylight

totally exposed to deadly radiation--not us!

WE were herded into the boiler room of

the 1895 brick monstrosity that was

Wayne Primary School to sit in the gloom with

the spider webs & mouse turds & Norman Bates' dead mother,

where, in our fortified comfort, we could totally see ourselves

emerging unscathed from the blast and eager

to begin recess on the newly-formed post-apocalyptic

fields of nuclear rubble. But I digress.

Trying on clothes was my least favorite thing in the world,

but it was still exciting to be in the megalopolis 

that was Rochester with its fancy JC Penney store,

where, in the shoe department, a middle-aged guy

in a white shirt and tie would come out 

and wait on you even if you were 4 years-old

and measure your foot with a silver and black contraption

called the Brannock Device (invented in 1925),

which looked so scientific and technical that you knew

that the guy wielding such an instrument must be

a highly-trained professional whose job you could only aspire to

by working hard in your classes and being

a Clean American Boy.

Anyhow, for the last couple years running

(or, about half my lifetime to that point)

I had been begging mom to buy me

a pair of Red Keds, easily the most

aggressively advertised sneaker in the universe,

strategically placed for my demographic as

commercial breaks during the 8 Man cartoon show.

The first half of this one-minute Madison Ave. classic

featured Kedso, a creepy and annoying animated clown,

who leads us in a sing-a-long of the company jingle

("If you want shoes with lots of pep / Get Keds, kids, Keds

With bounce and zoom in every step /Get Keds, kids, Keds")

followed, in a marvel of cinematic wizardry,

by a live action/animation hybrid where Kedso is joined by

two milk-fed freckle-faced apple-cheeked

buzz-cutted fascists, obviously brothers,

who enthused over the Ubermensch footwear

which would enable them to run faster

and jump further and get over-sized badges

with the word "Champ" emblazoned in large letters.

And Kelso wasn't just bullshitting us, nosireebob!

He was totally transparent about the special features

that produced these super powers, such as the "shock-proof arches"

and being made of genuine "United States Rubber,"

the very stuff that had made us

the greatest country in the world and gave us

the edge over those commie kids whose gym shoes

were made of folded-up copies of Pravda and used chewing gum.

And yet, every year I would end up with

an inferior, cheaper brand of sneaker that did

absolutely nothing to enhance my natural abilities

(which, to be frank, were nothing to write home about)

until finally, just before the start of 3rd grade,

mom was broken down by my incessant wheedling

and plunked down a couple bucks over

her carefully-wrought budget just to shut me up.

For the entire trip home I cradled the shoebox on my lap,

frequently lifting the lid to gaze at the splendor of

the crimson canvas and admire

the blue and white "US KEDS" logo at the heel

(notice how they subtly incorporated the colors of

the great flag of our nation in the design.)

Arriving home, I made a beeline to our basement rec/family room

to get some privacy, and, with tremblling fingers

laced the stiff new shoes. Now, our basement

had a cement floor covered with a thin, all-weather carpet

meant for outdoor use (because of the seasonal flooding),

the point being it was a hard floor, without any give.

Gingerly, I stomped both feet on the ground--no noticeable difference.

My eyes lit on the circular white naugahyde hassock,

about 18" high, in the middle of the room

(this was my favorite piece of furniture, which I would often

tip on its side and drape myself over,

rocking back and forth while watching tv

and feeling strangely comforted in

my prepubescent genital area in a manner

recently brought back into fashion by JD Vance,

but again, I digress...)

Leaping over the hassock easily, I hit the floor--

WHAM! BOING!

Holy crap, it was like a trampoline! Shot like a bullet,

I ran around the perimeter of the room,

gathering momentum at such a fiendish pace

that I was nothing but a blur

with a red line at the bottom--

Just like the Flash!

Centrifugal force soon had me running up the walls

like Donald O'Connor in "Singing in the Rain"

and thanks to the traction of US Rubber

I was defying the physical laws of gravity

and actually dancing on the ceiling like in

that Fred Astaire movie that no one

remembers the name of or watches

except for the part where he dances on the ceiling.

Returning to the floor in a somersault triple lutz toe loop

double axel pirouette that I invented on the spot,

I braced my legs to cushion the landing and knew

I was ready for the first day of school tomorrow.

So, Kedso, perhaps you could explain to me why I was

STILL THE LAST KID CHOSEN WHEN THEY

DREW UP SIDES FOR THE DODGEBALL TEAMS

for yet another entire year?

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

In the Green Onion Fields

In the green onion fields

Children too poor to go to school 

Get their education 

Work under the sun 

Dirt on their faces

Dirt on their fingernails 

Dirt on their clothes 

The schooling is harsh

Their wages are low 

The employer gets rich

Sends his kids to private school 

Clean clothes, new shoes 

Clean faces, clean fingernails 

Take every diced onion 

Out of their scrambled eggs 

Stepping Out 

There is nothing sadder

than wearing the clothes

you wore when you were

once in love. Dying

inside you think of her

as you remove your

socks, pants, underwear,

and shirt. Stepping out

of your shoes you feel 

like a new person,

but just for a moment.

Not At All Insignificant 

The church bell could be heard

from Temple to Broadway, like

the belching could be heard from

the same distance. He won a trophy

in college for that and the feat was

not at all insignificant. He beat out

dozens of belchers in a contest for 

the ages. Capitalism did not take

kindly to his talent. His eyes are sad

looking. Each teardrop from his eyes

are worth a thousand smiles for death,

which seeks to take his existence 

away. He will never be rich. He has

lived a hard life. Someone else is 

living his dream. Someone else is

living an easier life or at least it appears

like they are. So many years have 

passed. He is not a servant to this

life, not even a guest, he is more like 

a doormat. The church bell wakes him

and his prayers are never answered.

His best years were wasted more or

less.  Life is beautiful, isn’t it? This is

what he thinks to himself. This is what

he believes. He failed at so many things.

All he ever longed for was love. In

the streets he sleeps. His dream is

still alive. He remembers the face

of the love he lost. He often thinks of

her. The church’s gargoyle is his lone

confidant. Nothing he shares with it

will be repeated. Things get better 

now and then. He is in need of new

shoes and a pair of socks. Someone 

will help him. Someone who cares.

Life was supposed to be different 

before everything changed. He was

born for greater things. He knows

he was someone once. He is now

someone else and that can still change.

Lorelei Kay

GOODYEAR GURU   

             

My doctor says I’m shrinking. 

Alarmingly, the measuring stick agrees. 

But here inside, where a lifetime of memories reside,

I’m quite the same I’ve been for umpteen years.

 

So where on this round earth, could

an inch and a half of me have disappeared?

Did particles wear away as I paced down the halls

on dark sleepless nights with babes in my arms?

 

Or drop off while walking my daughters to school?

Could I have lost more of me as we traipsed

through large malls in search of the dress

for each high school prom?

 

Did I wear farther down as I hiked mountain trails,

or line danced on high-polished floors?

Could increments have ground away

as I pruned and plucked red roses from

 

the garden patch I tend near my front door?

Perhaps if I would climb a lofty mountain top,

a Guru there would whisper in my ear,

and say, “You’re One Big Ring of Tread—

 

like a Goodyear tire rolling through the years,

leaving parts of you, bit by bit, behind. 

The farther you go, the more miles you rove,

the more of you wears thin.”

 

If so—are there footpaths I’ve imprinted,

with the tread pattern called my life,

weaving through my twists and turns of days

for me to check to tell, if I am wearing well?

Lynn White

Shoes

You can see them here

blocked together in a town square,

laid out symbolically in rows.

Empty shoes.

Rows upon rows of them

that once contained the toddlers

or school children

now dead,

killed by bombs

and bullets.

See here,

empty shoes.

Rows and rows of them.

Sandals that will never play on a beach,

school shoes that will never see a school,

all those shoes that will never contain feet.

Shoes of children and peaceful people,

our children.

our people 

spanning place and time without end.

School Shoes

I loved the pond near my auntie’s.

Just a short walk from the village.

I could get right up close 

and peer into the water.

That was how I saw the frogs.

They were not easy to catch but

I managed it eventually, one at a time.

I kissed each carefully

to make sure they were real frogs,

didn’t want one of those prince things.

Then I put them in my shoe and placed

my other shoe on top

so that they couldn’t jump out.

I walked back barefoot 

over the rough ground

and the village street.

I discovered that my mother and auntie

were afraid of frogs.

Perhaps they would have preferred princes.

They didn’t like the barefoot walk either.

My dirty feet would show them up, 

they said.

And worse! They were my school shoes,

which were also my only shoes

and now they were smelly with pond water

and frogs!

But my uncle was cool

said they were good for the garden.

So I watched them leapfrog through his garden.

I hoped they’d be happy there.

He told me they were,

but I never saw them again.

Miss Pass

My first best friend was Susan.

We were inseparable.

Soon we would be starting school.

Starting at the same school.

It shouldn’t be a problem.

But Susan was three months older

and this was a problem.

She must start earlier

and we would be parted.

Unthinkable!!

Such concern from our parents.

But all was well.

It wouldn’t be a problem.

And all thanks to Miss Pass,

the headmistress,

a wonderful woman

who understood the feelings 

of small children.

We could start together

and in the same class.

She was a shining example 

to teachers everywhere.

We knew it as we hung our coats

on pegs next to each other in the cloakroom

and unlaced our school shoes.

But a few days later 

when we had settled in,

disaster struck.

We were to be in different classes.

Such tears and trauma

as we hugged and kissed

and said goodbye at our pegs

in the cloakroom

each morning and afternoon.

And all because of Miss Pass,

the headmistress,

a stupid woman

who had no idea about the feelings

of small children

and should never have been allowed

to be a teacher anywhere.

We knew it as we hung our coats

on pegs next to each other in the cloakroom

and unlaced our school shoes.

Jackie Chou

A Ghazal of Privilege 

I cannot think of new shoes

When children go without school shoes

Rhinestone-studded, patent leather, three-inch heels

I've had my share of cool shoes

From Doc Martins to stilettos

Store windows display make-me-drool shoes

Some snooty shoppers stare down 

At my cheap flip-flops, my pool shoes

So I, Jackie, ask you my reader

To walk awhile in my no-fool shoes

Robert Fleming

the 1997 Walt Disney movie Flubber remake of the 1961 Absent-Minded Professor Philip Brainard invents Flubber

Tommy time for bed say your prayers

yes mamma

 

dear mamma buy me Nike basketball shoes

please allowance buy me Play-Doh

our daily bread roll into tube snakes

deliver ten tubers into blender

thy will’s blend ten seconds shall be done

kingdom paste slime goo onto my shoe soles

forgive my trespasses Flubber

 

as in heaven, coach’s whistle blows on the basketball court

deliver me from coach’s palm tosses jump ball

give me the power to bounce up ten-feet

the glory to fly from half-court to the hoop

tempt me to launch ball above the rim

for ever and ever dunk ball in the hoop

 

Tommy lights out

coach lead me to the basketball first-string

father Flubber be in my Superman lunchbox tomorrow

amen

Mary Mayer Shapiro

GLASS SLIPPER

The glass slipper placed

Upon the cushion

Left by an unknown person

In a flight 

To return home

The glass was sturdy

Would not bend, expand

Or break

Only fit a foot of

Miniature size

The winner would marry

The prince

Eventually become

Queen

The footmen went

From house to house

Where each girl tried

To shrink her foot

When inserted in the shoe

Disaster struck when

The glass slipper fell

And broke

In pieces

The winner

Produced the 

Other shoe

And easily slid

It on her foot

Is this the only

Qualification to

Be Queen?

If the shoe fits!

SCHOOL REMINDS ME OF LIFE

Each passing day

I spend within its four walls,

My life seems to bring forth meaning.

 

The steps

Have a symbolic meaning

in themselves.

There are seventeen steps

leading to the front door.

Followed

By a little walk.

The eighteenth step

is right before the door.

These steps

Represent years

of our life,

Years of our education.

The first step

indicates the beginning,

The introduction

Of a new way of life

Learning.

Kindergarten

Teaches us how

To control ourselves and

To get along with others.

From then on,

Our first year

To the last

Year of college, we gain knowledge,

Not only of education itself,

But also

That which is beneficial to us in our surroundings.

The eighteenth step

Signifies our existence, the combination of all we have

Acquired--our livelihood.

 

The building

Consisting of brick,

Stone,

And cement

As its foundation,

Means security

A home, the structure means a sturdy way of life.

Holding us up

Against ignorance. Its durability

Anchors us from illiteracy.

Its robust manner

Keeps us jovial

And wants us to acquire all the knowledge we can.

The room also implies a meaning.

As we go

From day to day,

Year to year,

We venture forth from room to room/

As we ascend

From one room to another,

We leave behind the past year,

But bring its learning

into the new year.

The windows symbolize the future.

For as one looks out

They cannot see all that is before them.

With our compression

Of all we have

Learned,

We are able to seek our goal.

Yes,

School does remind me of life.

RUNNING SHOES

Passing the shoe store

Window display

Spied running shoes

Fit for a king

Tried it on

Sole of my feet

Sole of the shoe

Immediate connection

Individual shape of my feet

Mechanics of stride

Light weight, supple

Can run on payment

Or dirt, track obstacle course

Fastest time

Qualifying

Winning doesn't matter

Only runners high

Running daily

Or racing

3k, 5k, 10k

Marathons

Sole to sole

A routine

Has to come to an end

Shoes and feet wear out

Cast of the feet

Inserted into

Bronze shoes

Placed on the mantel 

Soulmates 

Forever