Barefoot With Shoes

I’ve been scanning old (hard-copy) writings of mine from non-compatible computer files and whatnot.  In so doing, I came across a poem I wrote about summer and childhood and what we lose as we grow.  Perhaps because I so long for summer this year, perhaps because in my (biased) opinion, it’s pretty darned good for a maiden effort at poetry, here it is for you:

English: A depiction of the natural dry terrai...

Greeley, Colorado, my childhood home. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


Barefoot With Shoes

Dirt Road

Nubbled, sharp, squishy
Powder dust between the toes
Walk along, little girl

There now — the road turns
Dust-sifted corn leads left-handed
Noon-time summer smells
Dry, salt-sweat, must, sun



Sweet, heavy honeysuckle
Hot rubber
Baked steel


The stretched snap of the screen door
The slow creak of the tire swing
The lazy cackle of the Rhode Island hen

A dog barks into a whiteyellow blaze of sun

Stop then
Change dust footing
For prickly grass, sudden shade

A breeze lifts the hair
And chills the sweat

Now —

A meadowlark
And a tightness in the throat

So much to feel, smell, hear


–Don’t forget–


Reach the hot green apple
Let the tart juices
Sharpen dirt-dulled mouth


Summer that never was

I see it so clear

Smell it
Hear it
Taste it
Feel it so clear

I could walk barefoot into it



Walk out of here into there
Walk out of now into then

Barefoot, chewing a green stalk of wheat


I am so grown now

No matter how I walk
I am still here

Still now

No matter how I walk
I am not there

Not then

Oh summer
Summer that never was

Even barefoot
I still wear shoes


Apple Tree

Apple Tree (Photo credit: Rovanto)

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3 responses

  1. Unfortunately, poetry isn’t my thing, at least for writing. I think it’s good, but that’s kind of like asking a pastry chef to rate someone’s neurosurgery skills. Again, for me, it’s evocative and the imagery is excellent. It sounds like summer.

  2. Pingback: Barefoot With Shoes | Woman With A Pen

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