Ode to My Boots

Exif_JPEG_PICTURE

[An older poem from a suite of Domestic Odes, inspired by Pablo Neruda’s famous Odes. The boot in the photo is of course not the like the ones in the poem, much too new…]

Ode to My Boots

scuffed like buggery,
paint speckled
like some fairy tale bird
in the Amazons
of the imagination

your elastic sides
firmly and softly
contain my ankles
like a lucky baby

my feet freely bound
moving a little more
in your supple warmths
as you most gracefully
age into the autumnal
beauty of a mellowed red,
the useful, a mountain
peasant’s face, Van Gogh
or the time I saw dead
Boyd’s battered old shoes
still under his studio chair
at Bundanon

the dead cow you were
now strides the farm,
bookshops, shire,
walks itself into poems,
gentle mullings, soapbox
invectives that hopelessly seek
to boot the merchants
from the planet’s temple

even flew to Germany
to bury a father
whose boots
I’ll never fill

now like mine
your soul
is loosening
from the front
letting in water
from bogs or dewy grass

you’ll soon be mourned
as you’re moved like life
from rack to bin
and the sweet moulds,
winds, weather,
forgetting, poetry
return you
to the place
we came

Advertisements

~ by Peter Lach-Newinsky on August 24, 2014.

2 Responses to “Ode to My Boots”

  1. too cool…i regard my boots the same way !

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: