I wear my heart in my shoes

Home is where the heart is,
I probably carry mine in my shoes,
Shoes of leather, sturdy, used & worn,
covered in mud.

The British countryside,
All Hills and bumps
and wide open fields,
Muddy & Wet,
Dotted with quaint little towns,
Rivers Runny Through.

Home is where the heart is,
My home is between my stinking socks,
and my leather sole.
If home is where my heart is,
I tread on it everyday,
I probably wear it in my shoes.

poem by Sam Seymour
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Great, for just a moment in time

Fire in my belly,
Inspiration had struck,
like a lightning bolt in the desert,
From the Clouds onto the sand,
A moment until the dust settles.

My Eyes, they are widened,
To see all, that surrounds me,
I grab Pen, I grab Pad,
and I write, and I scribble, and I draw large sketches,
And let my belly fire grow and devastate,
The fire becomes similar to a bush fire,
my pencil or pen writes across the pages of my pad,
and the ink and lead consume the lines and blank spaces.
And make creations of those in my mind.

A lion you become, Part of a bohemian Pride,
looking down upon your art with a great flowing mane,
and a roar of pride as you claw a title across the top.

[...] Read more

poem by Sam Seymour
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!