I wrote this in less than eighteen minutes, a bit of a record, even for me and I wasn’t even sitting in a dentists waiting room. Most of my poetry occurs in waiting rooms — you can probably tell! I use the term poetry very loosely, it’s more a brain work out for the other stuff. I know, W.B would turn in his grave, but it’s never going to be something that I’ll do too seriously anyway, so does it count?
I think some things are just for fun. See below, the eighteen minute poem, as a result, ignore the obvious spelling/grammar problems!
Every soul has a story,
Maybe, these old boots have earned their glory,
In sun and sand and wind and flood,
The boots may have been caked in mud.
Their journey soon, it’s end in sight,
For time’s long friend there appears no flight.
Perhaps today they came to pass,
A long awaited rest, lush meadow grass.
And there, three soliders sat to rest,
Left bags, and hats and boots possessed
Of years and miles of service good
To stand close by while in the darkened wood.
While weary travellers took a soak
In cool clement waters beneath the oak.
Their tired bodies, cleaned and rested,
They lay on grass now infested
With soft black slugs and hungry beetles
Nesting in their boots, not leathal.
But sore as hell and slurpy too,
What’s a man to do, but throw off his shoe.
So now you see the boots there drying,
Taking from the water implying
Days and days of long hard work
No, these boot just went beserk.
Creative Writing Ink Prompt May 22nd