For the 2021 Summer Muses’ Gallery, Highland Park Poetry asked poets to tell us everything they know about shoes. This includes all kinds of footwear – from sandals to boots, from slippers to sneakers. Shoes are a fundamental part of every step we take in life. Shoes protect our feet. Shoes can also chafe and produce blisters. Shoes give us confidence in our step. Shoes can trip us up. Shoes are cultural icons and a few are even featured in classic fairy tales. Shoes may represent wealth, status, caste, class, profession, age. What do the shoes we wear reveal about us and why are we so obsessed with them? Read on and find out.
The poems in this footwear focused anthology are organized into four sections: Working Shoes, Comfort and Fit, A Closet Full, and Fashion Statement. We hope you’ll try several on for size and discover some verses that suit you.
Many thanks to all of the poets who shared their writing with us.
Enjoy!
Mary Beth Bretzlauf Jennifer Dotson
Co-Editor Co-Editor & Founder
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| Section 1 - Working Shoes |
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| Gail Denham, Photographer |
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Tricia Knoll
Williston, Vermont
Empty Boots
The dog walker thought I might laugh,
at his passing pun about sole-less / soul-less
though they weren’t, those intact hiking
boots once bogged in Louisiana bayou,
later dusted up the Trail of Tears,
crunching gravel.
These worn-out boots sit out front
standing vigil with sandals and sneakers
lined up for local victims of gun violence.
One pair for each person this month.
My sign says empty shoes
for the shot deads.
Storms wash off mud.
Sandal toes curl.
The laces on the right boot
come undone.
Winter rain kept the left one
ever full of water.
| Cynthia Gallaher
Chicago, Illinois
Sesame and Flaxseed Fandango
On toe shoes shaped like sesame seeds,
the ballet dancer performs a series of relevés,
then spins her shoes into tahini.
Tahini pushes between clean, bare toes,
to the envy and applause of hummus,
halvah and baba ghanoush, meanwhile,
Flaxseed spills as prolifically as Niagara Falls
from stage to orchestra pit, the tuba gets clogged,
but there’s not a dry eye in the house.
Flaxseed oils lubricate complexions,
eyes, bones and joints of audience members
dressed head-to-toe in linen, as well as dancers
In umber and ochre tulle.
Throughout the theater, high heels,
oxfords, Mary Janes and loafers,
Become pestles to the
mortar of earthy, nutty
choreography.
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| Jen "Pen" Richards, Photographer |
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Gail Denham
Sunriver, Oregon
Dedicated to Footwear
Better wear galoshes, Mom told Vera Sue
when snow and cold dogged our town.
Thoughts of clunking down school hallways
in heavy rubber shoe covers gave Vera Sue
nightmares, so she waded to school in black
flats, discarding sox when Mom left for work.
Vera Sue always envied Linda Rae’s cowboy
boots she wore every day, rain or snow. No
way anybody would poke fun at Linda Rae’s
country footwear, even if her boots had
morning chore leavings stuck to the sides.
No laughter from boys who never wore galoshes,
but sported laced English Brogues with taps,
White Bucks, or saddle shoes, wet halfway up.
No one ever challenged Linda Rae, with her
reputation of sheering five sheep an hour,
and once tossing a mean old mama pig over
the fence cuz’ the old sow charged her, all
before Linda Rae was fourteen years old.
Nobody noticed the boots, since Linda Rae
had long brown ringlets that hung
to her waist and a face clear as my
porcelain doll I called Gracie.
| Paul Jamar
Mountain View, Missouri
Shoe Holes
I whistle every day though there be holes in my shoes,
content am I as if I were a drunk on booze.
For the holes in my shoes are my mark of humility,
I wear them with honor and without sensitivity.
For my money I spend on others I truly love,
and my shoes look fine when viewed from above.
But my secret I carry hidden below me every day,
just as a reminder that I am living the right way.
Sure, when you have holes in your shoes you have to be discreet,
you must avoid puddles and crossing your legs showing your feet.
I thought that I was the only one in my family this way,
until I heard Grandfather had shoe holes during the depression days.
My dear Grandfather gave up the shoe coupons to the women,
and made do the best he could by stuffing some cardboard in them.
I guess family traditions are truly passed on and on,
and I am proud of my holes even though they are not shown.
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| "A Sad Case Before the Bench," by Thomas Protheroe (1891) |
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Nick Sweet
Shepherd, Texas
The Cobbler
I was lost when I entered the cobbler’s. I knew not where I was nor why
I said, Could you tell me the time sir? He gave a confusing reply
Next you’ll expect the weather report, and where to seek lodging nearby
That’s cheap, neat, not obsolete with an unhindered view of the sky.
Can’t you see, continued the leather smith, your questions are answered the same
Time, weather, sleep don’t occur, I think it’s a damnable shame.
A heinous injustice that here in this stinking shop I’ll always remain.
It would be nice to catch a quick nap and stroll in the morning rain
I’d be overjoyed if I could distinguish midnight from mid-afternoon.
But that train departed, I’m destined to sit in the stench of this leather-soaked room.
This insolent man then broke into sobs. He shook so hard I retreated.
I reached for the door but found it was locked. He slumped in his chair quite defeated.
I didn’t plan to stay, I joked. Nor did I, His voice made me queasy.
Please unlock the door, I said, and he sneered, I wish it was truly that easy.
He lowered his gaze to my weather-scarred boots and spoke in a tone flat and cold.
I’ll repair your toes and rebuild your heels, but I cannot save your sole.
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| Image from creative commons |
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| Hinda Cole
Portland, Oregon
A World in Horse Shoes
Horse shoes clicking on cobblestones in the old city
Galloping in the meadow amid the wild flowers
Staying somewhat still while a master adjusts
coverings on equine feet
Awaiting young people who come for riding lessons.
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Linda Imbler
Wichita, Kansas
Ada’s Shoes
Ada learned when young
to feel the music of love.
To wear the shoes of a hero.
She memorized, when a child,
the sequences and patterns of steps toward forgiveness.
She discovered, as a teen, the connections
made between dancing and dreaming.
She became very adept at both.
She knows how to dance the moment
with angels as partners.
Dancing her own dance
as tap or two-step.
Sharing her dance as waltz or tango.
Learning the dance of another, (stepping into their shoes?)
the sways, the paces,
the turns and bends.
She keeps her dance floor large.
No narrow vision, no narrow-mindedness.
She keeps her dance card full,
with lots of friends,
and many styles of shoes.
and a smile for everyone.
These shoes,
never to be filled by another,
unless one follows the exact path
she followed, to obtain
the best of what the cosmos has to offer.
| Caroline Johnson
Willow Springs, Illinois
Blue Shoes
Who was the soldier walking in these shoes?
Was it Persephone as she descended to Hades
each winter to wash her prince’s dishes, clothes,
then sit on a dark throne?
Or was it Demeter, baking a feast from
the harvest of motherhood, fraught
with worry despite the pregnant
moon of her womb.
Did Venus triumph with these shoes?
Shoulder to shoulder on the dance floor,
pressing her bordello body next to each man,
hungry for more.
Hermes could fly back and forth to Hell,
but not with these wingless shoes. Even
Athena wept at the sight of their soles,
ones that no one would claim.
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| Image from creative commons |
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Alwyn Gornall
Sunnyside, Newcastle Upon Tyne, United Kingdom
The Mystery of Bill’s Black Shoes!
Bill’s shiny black shoes were just the thing
for my part in our play, Little Women.
I was sure I’d returned them safe and sound
but alas, they were lost, nowhere to be found.
After nine months frantically searching,
turning things upside down and lots of cursing,
I made a startling revelation,
about Bill’s black shoes and their long vacation.
They were in the vestry in a plastic bag
when Anne, our verger, showed them to the lad,
This is very timely indeed, he said,
because my old shoes have lost their tread,
It must surely be fate or the hand of God,
that brought these shoes when I need to be re-shod.
And so, to my relief, the shoes have been found,
walking in church on holy ground.
Bill’s black shoes, all shiny and neat.
Now all that remains is to remove them …
from the Curate’s feet!
| W. R. Rodriguez
Madison, Wisconsin
the bootblack
the bootblack
neither
creates the shoe
nor kills the cow
has no theories
but the preservation
of leather
and the soul’s thin hide
burnishes a small
part of the world
pounding wonder
from the mundane
clodhoppers
loafers
wingtips
combat boots
the legendary
puerto rican fence climbers
pumps and
police brogues
reality is unique
as a world worn foot
these walking streets
are beautiful
from concrete pastures of the beautiful bronx, 2008
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| Dotson Family Archive |
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Idella Pearl Edwards
Marion, Illinois
The Ballerina
What is the essential part of the wardrobe?
It won’t be hard to guess.
The ballerina’s shoes are so much more
Important than the dress.
Dancing on the toes is not only unique,
But fascinating to see.
Each step is full of grace and charm,
So elegant and free.
When a ballerina dances, she gives the illusion
Of gracefully floating on air.
Magically dancing on the tips of her toes,
A sight with which none can compare.
| Joan Leotta
Calabash, North Carolina
Shoes from Two Dance Classes
Click Clack, clickety.
Tap shoesbeat out a soft
tattoo along the stone
floor of grandma’s
porch and our kitchen
inoleum.
I tried to love the
soft satin pink
ballet slippers
from my other class,
but they were so
aloof, never speaking
always tsk tsking
me to tighten them
so we could silently
glide wherever.
Sigh. I’m a click clack,
tap, tap kind of girl.
I gave away those
ballet slippers,
very lightly worn,
but kept the tap shoes
until only my hands
could fit in them,
and click clack
them on the floor.
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| Image from creative commons |
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| Lakshmy Nair
Vernon Hills, Illinois
First Walk
On that day in nineteen sixty-nine
in dim sunlight, one small step
for a man became one big
leap for a moonboot engineered
flawlessly for the moonwalk
etched on the lunar soil, an inch deep
gray marks, dusty, rounded toes
and heel, the bottom filled with lines
like rungs of a ladder.
The historic shoe print looks down
and smiles, reminding us
the most celebrated walk is
not on this earth, it’s on the moon
the walk that left a permanent
shoe print on the moon’s silvery bosom
waiting for us to be explored.
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Dominique Galiano
Des Plaines, Illinois
Shoe Guru
I know a store with slews of shoes
a store that sells to kangaroos
The owner self-described avant-garde
regards his kicks as works of art
He has a knack for unusual shoes
an eye for feet bending the rules
Species from around the world
heard he made sandals for a myna bird
Created a pair for a cockatoo
a strapless flat in peacock blue
Families of geese and moose replied
giraffes tall order picked up curbside
Black patent leather knee high boots
criss cross lace to impress the ewes
Who purchased a sling back kitten heel
for an upcoming party gender reveal
Sir Rhino called in a pair for his cruise
black and white oxfords the size of canoes
Then one day on the third of May
a crocodile strolled in and was heard to say
My feet hurt your shoes don’t fit
the owner knew with a sigh they were counterfeit
My dear Mrs. Croc these are not from my shop
Try these waterproof clogs with holes on top
Oh how she loved her most comfortable shoes
like walking on sponge every toe rescued
The owner smiled and began to work
on a little project with a great big perk
Windfall endeavor near the end of the year
winter proof boots for nine special reindeer
| Nancy Hepner Goodman
Highland Park, Illinois
In second grade, the pediatrician noticed my pronated feet, which lead to a prescription for corrective shoes.
Shoes of a “corrective” nature are a curse, ask anyone who has worn them, they will not hesitate to tell you.
You are forced to select between shoes that are ugly or really ugly.
Ugly then spreads like a rash all the way up your legs. Legs that everyone notices as turning inward.
Inward you feel shunned for being different, when all you want to do is fit in.
In sixth grade a miracle happened when I bought a new corrective style; saddle shoes.
Shoes (saddle shoes that is), also worn by the popular kids, meant time passed quickly, as it does when you feel acceptable.
Acceptable was the word the pediatrician proclaimed when my legs stopped growing, and my “correction” finished.
Finished with grade school, I moved on to another awkward stage, junior high, and boys a part of those emotional roller coaster years.
Years later (thirteen to be exact), while hiking Multnomah Falls, in front of the misty spray, my date pointed out my pronated feet, right to my face.
Face it, I told myself, everyone notices, but then he added, I find it endearing.
Endearing is an odd word to describe it.
It threw me off balance, so I laughed like I didn’t care, and willed myself to believe that I was beyond those years when I wore corrective shoes.
[1] Corrective Shoes is a word wrap poem in the last word in a line is also the first word in the following line.
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| Chris Chandler, Photographer |
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Chris Chandler
Highland Park, New Jersey
Bottle Cap Tap Shoes
I question why
bottle cap tap shoes must tap
for well-heeled heritors
from a garden district
in-which the down trodden
will never trod.
Folding dollar bills
dampen the sound of silver coins
bojangling
a shoe box.
Without-which,
shoe-less danseurs
would never glimpse the wing-tipped world
and the wing-tipped world would never witness
the wizardry
unleashed from a pair of
bottle cap tap shoes.
| Wilda Morris
Bolingbrook, Illinois
Shoeshine in El Jardin, San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
In tight, coal-black slacks, black shirt
and ebony tie, the shoeshine man
rubs a sheen into his own black leather shoes.
A young caballero in blue jeans,
cowboy jacket, hat and boots,
struts into El Jardin,
sits on the elevated chair,
boots on the footrest.
The shoeshine man, flat brush in hand,
flecks off particles of dust and dirt
collected from fields and cobblestones.
In choreographed silence,
he brightens brown shafts
with handled brush, renews leather toes,
blackens outer edges of heel and sole.
The caballero’s eyes follow
a slender dark-haired señorita in tight jeans
as she sashays across the street.
Quickly he draws a roll of bills from his pocket,
pays, follows her down the dusty calle.
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Diane Wlezien
Woodstock, Illinois
Hard Work
How I wanted those shoes,
Black suede with a fancy silver buckle and three inch heel.
Everyone would notice me,
they would stand back
as I walked by.
My mother said I had to pay for them myself.
So I shuffled along in worn gym shoes
while working at the fast food drive thru.
No one noticed the dark circles under my eyes after I obtained my prize.
All eyes were on those three inch heels.
| Fiona M. Campbell
Aberdeen, Scotland
Wellies
Arthur Wellesley
Inaugural Duke of Wellington
Instructed his shoemaker
To make some boots
Calfskin with wax
to make them waterproof
Soldiers protected
in battle and war
Farmers trudged
through muddy fields
Fishermen waded
in trout filled rivers
Gardeners weeded
their fancy flowerbeds
And the little ones in
a kaleidoscope of colour
splashed in puddles
stomped in snow
Versatile, reliable
Wellington boots
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| Diane Wlezien, Photographer |
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Mary Beth Bretzlauf
Waukegan, Illinois
Confessions of an Old Shoe Dog*
Being an old shoe dog, you can tell who we are – we have shoe horns
tucked in pockets, attached to key chains or belt loops;
there is a faint trace of shoe polish under our fingernails.
We carry a stack of shoe boxes with one hand
so you know you have a plethora to choose from
We’ve stretched leather, made room for bunions
offered “genuine pleather” to the pickiest of customers
and solved problems for the narrowest of heels and widest of feet
don’t worry, we’ve got your size,
when a customer announces she is an eleven and half AA,
and she wants a navy and white spectator pump,
the gauntlet has been tossed and we shoe dogs are on a mission!
From Hush Puppies and Florsheim, to Nunn Bush and Dexter,
we’ve kept men’s feet protected and stylish.
Women have several shoe needs – one of each in every color.
Pumps, flats, loafers and oxfords, mules and clogs, open toe sling backs,
Stilettos and wedges, kit kat heels and Cubans, too.
We brandished our Brannock devices, but could measure a foot
with our expert eye, and thanked the gods the x-ray machine was gone.
We straightened stock and fixed displays, took inventory and
wrestled rambunctious kids for that thumb’s width of room at the toe
all day long just waiting for our turn on the sales floor and make that sale.
*An endearing term used by other old shoe dogs (at least where I worked)
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| Section 2 - Comfort & Fit |
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| Lynn West, Photographer |
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William Marr
Downers Grove, Illinois
Shoes New and Old
with every step
the pretentious
new shoes
jeer
at the memory
of
the old
| Charlotte Digregorio
Winnetka, Illinois
haiku
Good Friday …
walking to confession
in worn shoes
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Julie Sheldon
Derbyshire, United Kingdom
New Shoes
Imagine if a centipede went shopping for new shoes
Would he buy fifty matching pairs.... or mixed ones would he choose?
He might end up lopsided if he went for different styles
But if he chose some walking boots.... he then could walk for miles
Imagine how much time he’d take to lace them up in bows
I wonder how he’d manage with no fingers and no toes
Perhaps he’d choose a slip on style to save a bit of time
Would he prefer matt leather ones or patent ones that shine?
Where would he put his shoes each night when he lay down his head?
Perhaps he’d line them up beneath his ‘centipaedic’ bed
As time passed by and it became the time to clean them all
He'd start them in the Summertime and finish in the Fall
Imagine if a centipede could catch Covid19....
He'd put his 'best feet forward'.... and he'd kick it off the scene!
| Isadora Esson
West End, Australia
A Woman in Comfortable Shoes
I wear Birkenstocks.
All year long.
They hold me when I walk.
They force me to contract my toes.
Their cork footbed conforms to my foot exactly.
Even when my daughter steals them, they remain mine.
They will never fit anyone else so perfectly.
People say they are ugly.
Sometimes I wear Doc Martens.
Tall and black.
I lace them up.
I roll my jeans to expose my boots in all their glory.
They are my dancing shoes.
I wear them to concerts and have no fear of being stepped on.
I feel safe in them.
People say they are ugly.
Nowadays, I wear big blue New Balance sneakers.
They have expensive orthotics inside them.
They are a size larger than all of my other shoes.
I can walk in the city or the bush without my feet hurting.
They are ugly.
I have never been one for heels or platforms.
I have always been a woman in comfortable shoes.
But I’ve never worn shoes I thought were ugly before.
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| Jen "Pen" Richards, Photographer |
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Lynn West
Highland Park, Illinois
Measuring Up
I walk in my mother’s shoes but never quite fill them
Her tall silhouette stands in the shadow of memory
like a statue, chiseled edge against a pallet of vivid hues,
colors that brush across my path
I walk in my mother’s shoes with loose memories tied
I trip, unraveling lacy edges of yesterday
I spin like a ballerina on point...holding focus on a spot in the distance
I walk and walk and wait for the time
my footprints take flight in a breeze
and walk their way to heaven
| Bob McNeil
New York, New York
Walking to Our Lives’ Next Dimension
We always
travel
through time
in strings
or slip-ons,
never requiring
a machine.
We trample
through time,
and our shoes
lose their soles
and acquire black holes.
We travel
the past
and the present
while footing
towards the future
and use ourselves
to uselessness.
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| Dotson Family Archive |
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Christine Swanberg
Rockford, Illinois
Perfect Fit
Once I bought an expensive pair of walking shoes,
white with cushioned soles to uplift my older gait.
They felt perfect in the store.
I loved the little bounce they gave.
But when I wore them grocery shopping
or just for a little walk, I paid for it the next day:
sore feet, low back ache, and all-around misalignment.
When I took them back,
the shoe mistress said,
These shoes are teaching your body proper posture,
which is fine and well
if your body is young enough to be taught,
and not seventy and set in its ways.
The good shoes could not be exchanged.
Nor did attempts to sell online produce a single offer.
In the end they went to Carpenter’s Place,
a homeless shelter in my town.
I had a good and generous thought:
This is where they were meant to be,
if shoes had destinies,
and briefly wondered about the will of God.
I have never been a cheerful giver, yet
imagining someone in those shoes warmed me.
Whoever wears those shoes today,
I hope your body is young enough to learn new ways.
I hope you walk into a better life.
I hope they fit you perfectly.
First published in River City Review.
| Marjorie Rissman
Highland Park, Illinois
Do It
they pave the way escaping potholes
in the winter-weary roads and lead me on
to greener grounds, sundrenched with
dandelions and violets, with dog poop and
geese shit left over from warmer days.
they pave the way for better days
marching for an end to troubles
too numerous to remember, for the dead
that should be marching too, not shoeless
and soulless underground remembered
by bullet holes in their backs, their heads
or in their sleep filled beds remembered not
by those who had never known them but by
all in need of justice and universal love.
these are the shoes that carry on until the end:
to end the war, to end brutality, to end guns,
to end hatred, to make demands for equality.
these are the shoes of angels of peace that
show us the way.
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| Silvia Morgan, Photographer |
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Silvia Morgan
San Pedro, California
haiku
basking in the sun
a pair of dirty shoes waits
on the welcome mat!
| Daniel J. Fitzgerald
Pontiac, Illinois
Benefit
I walked a mile
in another man’s shoe,
wondering why my feet didn’t hurt.
Of course they won’t,
you silly person.
He broke them in for you.
You are just reaping
the benefits of his journey.
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| Marie Samuel, Artist |
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Marie Samuel
Carterville, Illinois
Worn Out Sandals
1960 Graduation from high school
I most recall fear my white sandals
Would break as I climbed the steps
To receive the diploma on the stage
The heels held though a cobbler
Could have had his way with them
In past days we resoled, reheeled,
Restitched and rebuilt all leather
Shoes for men, women and children
Remade boots for work and play
Of course all made here in the USA
Jobs to make and repair careers
Too, but what if my old high heels
Had disrupted a slow procession
Would it have been best to limp
Or take those old heels off to walk
Forward toward my destiny to find
Other paths and degrees to claim
Without fear of a shameful stumble
Perhaps a shoe god saved that day.
| Jessica Weyer Bentley
Northwest Ohio
Southern Moccasin
My budget oxfords covered in clay,
carry me away from the domestic cruelty,
down to the meadow to play beneath the shading willows.
The stained canvas grips the river rocks,
my socks soak up the Kentucky rain.
My protection hours away-
now dead,
hope dismantled by a Chevy Suburban.
I have been failed in every way but not by my constant companions,
taking them off to dry in the sun,
toes bare and legs bruised.
You must have realized to your dismay,
taking in your last breath,
leaving your likeness unprotected,
no way back from your catafalque.
A thought I dare to stay upon.
The canvas takes in the warmth.
I peer toward the four rooms painted with lead.
He is calling,
with fear in my throat,
I tie the spattered laces and bound for the door.
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| Image from creative commons |
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Cassandra McGovern
Gurnee, Illinois
Golden Lotus
My husband comes to me when
he needs erotic pleasures.
Watches me walk in tiny
steps when he calls me to him,
taking off my shoes slowly.
The only toe not broken
was my largest, the others
wrapped under it to fit in
three inch long satin shoes....
Occasionally, he brings
a new pair of shoes, places
them on the bed, fills basin
with water, flowers, washes
my feet, traces with his tongue
how the other toes folded
so well underneath, nearly
embedded into each sole.
He kisses each foot, gently
tucks them in elfin slippers,
while his breath quickens and he
swoops me to the bed. Last week
he stayed two nights, presenting
on second evening a black
velvet pair, lined in crimson
silk, tiny rosebud flowers
embroidered in purples, blues,
yellows, cascading on each
side down to the pointed tips.
How lovely you are, Fan. Your
mother did fine work for me.
| Yvonne Zipter
Chicago, Illinois
Interlacing Lessons
I can almost remember my mother crouching,
or perhaps she was kneeling, bringing herself
to my eye level. She would have been twenty-two,
maybe twenty-three, hair pulled back in a ponytail,
bangs curling like a tiara from temple to temple,
teaching me to tie my shoes. In each of her hands,
a lace looped like bunny ears. From then on, I tied my shoes
exactly the way she taught me, from gym shoes to yellow
high-top Adidas and leopard-spotted Doc Marten boots.
My wife, well into our cohabitation, observed, not unkindly,
You tie your shoes like a kindergartener. Then she knelt
beside my feet and demonstrated how to knot my laces
with a single loop and a twist. The part of my mother
I carry with me lost another modest strand. But new hands
were here, showing me the art of staying secure.
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Teresa Harris
Makanda, Illinois
Each Night I Leave You
When we go out I need you so
We keep our profile nice and low
On these occasions how lovely you can be
Light and balanced if I need to flee
A good sole mate can be hard to find
But each night I leave you far behind
| R M Yager
Deerfield, Illinois
A Short on Shoes
The Old tired Lady who lived in a shoe
Gave her freeloading children the boot
Knew it was what she just had to do
They ate all her broth and left her no bread
Spent all her money, broke all the beds
She closed all the shutters, turned off the lights
Shouted, At last I am free,
and to all a Good Night.
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| Image from creative commons |
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Terry Loncaric
Hampshire, Illinois
How I Loved My Earth Shoes!
Odd-shaped,
not very feminine,
but the moment
I slid my feet
into those
puppies,
my feet grew
wings.
If a pair of clogs
had met some
lonely loafers,
this would be
their love child --
my college
Earth Shoes,
free, hip,
oddly comforting,
like a surprise
date, perhaps
a little dorky,
but oh-so-sweet
when they kissed
your feet.
In the lift
of these heavenly
arches, I felt like
I could fly, glide,
stride.
Is it possible
I grew an inch
of confidence
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in my spiffy
'70s Earth
Shoes?
I remember
all of the places
we roamed through
the quaint
college town:
the downtown
shops, the jazz
concerts, the
foreign film house,
where I saw my first bawdy
Fellini flick,
the coffee joint,
where I enjoyed
intense talks,
occasionally met
mysterious strangers.
Before I plunged
full throttle into
the minutiae of life,
I had miles to travel,
a satchel of dreams,
and my faithful
Earth Shoes
to give me flight.
How I miss them!
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Susan McClellan
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Not Just a Shoe
Never is a shoe
Just a shoe
So much more than protection for your feet.
So many in this world
Do not own a single pair of shoes.
I remember my elderly Grandma
Walking practically everywhere in her bare feet.
She had one pair of worn shoes
That were not attached to her confidence or her status.
Her shoes were for fundamental protection
And to guide her through her long life.
Grandma passed when she was 92
Be grateful for shoes for just one pair,
Can mean the world to someone.
| Lori Wall-Holloway
Pasadena, California
haiku
first day back at school
in the afternoon kids fill up car
sweaty feet kick off shoes
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| Kay Thomas, Artist |
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Janz Duncan
Lake District National Park, United Kingdom
Father
I went back home when Father died.
And saw his shoes and slippers by the door:
the latter were his go-to pair; the leathers worn only to work or church,
their purposes prematurely curtailed by one of Life’s cruellest cuts:
cancer!
Fifty-seven. He was only 57.
The previous year I’d nursed him between studies and flown numerous flights home:
kept him company and played mother to him who was my father.
What more could I have done to save him?
I’d already remonstrated with his oncologist who’d incorrectly diagnosed his illness.
His was a contrary enemy: a non-smoker’s cancer which’d attacked his lungs.
He, the inveterate smoker
who’d indulged outside much to Mother’s chagrin or smoked in toilets,
all the time with those same slippers on his feet, ugly turd-brown plastic forms
that reminded me of our garden’s pocked brown toads.
His orchids were the culprits. Or rather, his tender loving care for them.
Spray’s up!, I’d yell
when Father in his plastic slippers lifted his sprayer to disperse killer droplets –
venom to protect his orchids . . . and, if only he’d known,
to kill himself.
__________________
Pastor led the funeral service in our front hall.
On Father’s feet, his polished black shoes shone burnished bright as if to light the way
for his forever journey.
His plastic slippers stayed behind, sad reminders of a life curtailed.
He’d have enjoyed his grandsons.
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William T. Carey
Glencoe, Illinois
Step Into Them
Dad died recently, so filling his shoes is a venture
foreign to me as his new territory is to him.
A peddler, he smilingly called himself
long after his next (investment) career began.
His leather brogues race-walked through blistering years.
At last, the mental melt-down forced his gnarled feet into
Velcro tennies to shuffle housebound.
My busted bicep tendon and bulging disc say maybe I’m ready
for those home shoes but not the psychic hiking boots
of this big salesman filling angels’ ears with some old wheeze.
Much of him’s in me, so matching that prime stride
should stroll with ease, but I feel more the harpy sister than Cinderella:
the slipper, at least for now, is a tight squeeze.
| Cindy Madara
Mullica Hill, New Jersey
Lost Art
disintegrated threads
a shoemaker’s talent revealed
in the evenly spaced
awl holes
along the bottom of
the leather upper
separated from
the 100-year-old sole
embedded
in the black moist soil
I dug up bottle digging
dirt rubbed away
the chestnut stained hide
remains pliable and sturdy
after miles and years
the farmer must have labored across his land
now discarded footwear
on the farm
all that is left of a shoemaker’s daily wage
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| Section 3 - A Closet Full |
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| Michael Escoubas, Photographer |
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Michael Escoubas
Bloomington, Illinois
About Your Shoes…
I owe you an apology
for calling them land mines
that could kill a person . . .
I might trip over them
scattered in the kitchen
lurking inside doorways
sitting sidewise on stairs
hiding half-out, half-under
the couch, cast askew
in the hall and at the end
of the landing . . .
all of this tells me something
I’ve been missing all along . . .
you are here and nowhere else
you are with me and no one else
your hand still fits in mine
your breath is warm and fresh
so I guess
you may scatter your shoes
from here to Timbuktu . . .
all I care about is you.
| Karen Fried
Carmel, Indiana
Shoes
Old frayed well-worn shoes line my closet shelf
waiting to be tossed or polished up
High heels sit stoically knowing they’ve past there time
to be worn
Brightly colored pumps sit idly waiting
for an event so they can come out of the closet
Tennis shoes however are worn almost daily
always ready to go for a run
Summer sandals sidle next to me saying it’s time
Some uncomfortable shoes that never should have
been bought sit alone, forlorn never to be worn
Beautiful boots however get lots of wear, black and burgundy
with a glossy sheen, share the job of keeping feet warm
Nothing compares with Uggs, toasty warm
soft like butter and never out of style
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| Gail Denham, Photographer |
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Alice Marcus Solovy
Highland Park, Illinois
Shoes
I’ve saved
My tiny toe shoes,
Custom made
For my
Little girl feet.
Even though
I haven’t
Danced
In them
For decades.
I’ve saved
My wedding shoes
They made several
Moves with me
Even though they
Were worn
Only once.
I’ve saved
The shoes
I wore
At my
Daughters’
Weddings.
If shoes
Could talk
Instead of walk
These shoes
Would tell
Happy tales.
Some things
Are worth
Saving.
| Judith MK Kaufman
Highland Park, Illinois
Shoes of a Lifetime
Don't waste your money on a new set of speakers,
You get more mileage from a cheap pair of sneakers.
-- Billy Joel, from Movin’ On
Baby Booties: the hand-knitted gift of a loving aunt;
one was always lost.
Mary Janes: single straps securing shiny black patent leather,
the shine mirroring my smile as I fastened them.
Saddle shoes: boxy, bi-colored brown and white,
healthy but heavy,
ponderous platforms for play.
Sneakers: no Adidas or Jordans, but Keds were for kids,
for running, rope-jumping, and ultimately
an obstacle for adults in the living room.
Penny Loafers: black, cordovan and navy blue,
as comfortable as an old habit;
I never left home without them.
Little Heels: training wheels for pumps;
getting ready for growing up.
I was very sophisticated!
High Heels: young ladies wore them,
two-inch, three-inch, whichever
you could dance in gracefully.
And now … I’m back to sneakers.
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Michael P. Wright
Highwood, Illinois
Shoes Versatility
Flawless and sparkling were those ethnic heels
Kicks and smudges on my Frye Boots
A pair of Florsheims, a gift from Santa
Tornados, and downpours, mud depreciated my working shoes
My coordination guided my new shoes to fruition
Genuinely happy, fit to be tied
There was an innocent romance from a Nike Town shoes girl in 1992
Shoes are the catalyst of it all
Read and write, a decent foot of shoes takes all of the credit
My pedaled love engineered by my glorious and fashionable shoes
From dancing to ditch digging, shoes are so precious
My first kiss wearing slippers to a defensive rain-soaked football struggle wearing cleats
From a playground penny to the Swiss Alps, shoes got you there
From Pennsylvania Avenue to the Sunset Strip, shoes made the difference
Creaky shoes made the difference to the investigator
Shoes, the wonderful and logical foot relaxer for the ages.
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| Adrian McRobb, Photographer |
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Mark Hudson
Evanston, Illinois
Stolen Shoes
When I was a kid, I had a friend, who was poor,
and he saw a pair of my shoes on the floor.
He said to me, May I borrow these?
Trying to be generous, I said, Go ahead, please!
My mother immediately noticed they were gone,
and told me to get them back before long.
I asked the person to give the shoes back,
When I’m good and ready! he gave a wisecrack.
He rubbed it in that my shoes he had,
I was starting to feel this friend was bad!
So my mother said, Let’s go to his home,
and get the shoes that he thinks he owns.
I happened to remember where he was living,
although I wanted to sound forgiving.
I knocked on the back door, there he stood,
with my shoes on, and his little brother so good.
I said, Could my shoes now be returned?
You remembered where I live? he said with concern!
He didn’t think to his house I would stop,
he was probably scared, because his dad was a cop!
So he gave me the shoes back, without hesitation,
he wasn’t expecting that sudden visitation!
But the moral of the story really isn’t known,
because since then, my feet have totally grown!
My feet get bigger, stronger, needing shoe’s replacement,
but I recall getting the shoes from the kid’s basement!
| Adrian McRobb
Cramlington, United Kingdom
Shoes
Heel and toe on our pavements almost every day
we wear them for work and we wear them for play
there’s brogues and two-tones and golf ones too
our status reflected in leather cut into a shoe
marching with armies and flying in planes
or dancing and tripping to Irish refrains
slip ons’ and lace ups depending on taste
they save our feet and increase our haste
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| Julie Isaacson, Photographer |
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Julie Isaacson
Highland Park, Illinois
As the Danube Flows
Budapest. A land of opposites.
Where breathtaking beauty and grim memories of hatred
share a border.
We remember.
We will always remember.
How the Arrow Cross tormented you,
Taunted you. Haunted you.
Robbed you of possessions, and then your lives.
The soles of your shoes held more value
Than the souls breathing within you.
Leave your lovely leather, then take leave of this earth.
Flushed into the waves and ripples of the Danube.
You were other…no matter, that you were a mother
You were defiled, even as a child
You are a man, with a loathsome brand.
Goodbye, András, Magy, László
József, Hanna, Luca, Lili
How brilliant you were
If I listen I can hear the sound of your laugh,
I imagine the sparkle of your smile,
We pray for you, Bensi, Dacso, Elek, Ilona
We remember. Remember.
Your much loved shoes. Your much loved souls.
| Judith Stern Friedman
Highland Park, Illinois
Shoe Truths
Leather hugging my toes and feet,
Laces snug, soles strong.
My shoes are protectors, propellers, props
For guiding me through muddied life.
I grew up labeled “Goody Two-Shoes,”
Others calling me wrong for doing right.
But I stood my ground and built my grit,
True to myself, keeping values close.
If the shoe fits, wear it, some have said.
A back-handed compliment
That I’ve mis-stepped.
Acknowledge, accept that I am flawed.
Do it on a shoestring budget, they demand.
Satisfy all the expectations
With none of the appropriations.
Humbled to accomplish a lot with little.
Is anyone there to fill my shoes?
Do my duty, raise my bar?
I want to think I am one-of-a-kind,
But everyone can be replaced.
Through life, I’m told to walk a mile
In someone else’s shoes.
Feel their pain, try their troubles.
Live with empathy, caring, concern.
My shoes are my compass for walking the path,
Side-stepping snags, moving through moments,
Jumping hurdles, dancing through dreams,
And simply for standing grounded and still.
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| Judith Stern Friedman, Photographer |
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Michael Maul
Glenview, Illinois
Sackafice
I’m not askin you to sackafice nothin,
dad used to say to mom.
But of course, there is always sackafice
when there’s too little meat on the bone.
Yet there were also stories of their great passion,
how after a tiff, he would shine her shoes at night
while she slept, him always claiming
a miracle in the morning light.
Which made her, who knew better,
and we small kids (who did not)
all feel chosen
and never alone.
| Kay Thomas
Highland Park, Illinois
haiku
never enough
all styles and colors
shoes, shoes, shoes
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Nila Bartley
Chilicothe, Ohio
Shoes and What They Would Say
What would shoes say if they could talk?
Would they laugh as they pinch my feet as I walk
Would they tell on me?
Would they say, She doesn't wear socks of that there is no guarantee.
Would they say, Her feet sweat at times. And she wears no socks---this is but one of her crimes.
Would they say, She takes us traipsing through the woods.
Mud and debris all over us, as if she is reliving not just one but many childhoods.
Would the shoes say, The next thing she will do is splash in a puddle.
'Tis proof her brain is in a muddle.
Would the shoes say, She takes us over rugged terrain.
From this, she needs to refrain.
Would they say, After that she did the unthinkable.
She waded into a creek. Now we know we are not unsinkable.
Would they say, Next she did the unbelievable.
She took us into a cow pasture. After which we are irretrievable.
Would the shoes say, She left us in the cow pasture to rot
For new shoes she has now bought.
| Betsy Dolgin Katz
Highland Park, Illinois
The Evolution of Shoes in Life
In the beginning shoes were colorful,
Soft coverings for my feet
Then they were the home of an old woman
Whose children she would beat.
That shoe became a glass slipper
That changed Cinderella’s life
When the prince slipped it on her foot
She became a princess, his beautiful wife.
Later Dorothy and I found magic
Just by a clicking of the heels
Those sparkling red shoes taught us
How wonderful a good home feels.
In my teens there were more shoes
When I would tap dance or roller skate
Or play volleyball and basketball
Or get dressed up for a date.
Then when I was in college
I met a tall dark handsome man
He kneeled down before me
And gently took my hand.
I was staring at my shoes
When he asked me to be his wife
I immediately knew that with him
I’d share a shoe rack the rest of my life.
Shoes are always with us
We should know that right from the start
I did not suspect how important they would be
To my ever-evolving heart.
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| Gail Denham, Photographer |
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Jan Chronister
Maple, Wisconsin
My Husband’s Funeral Shoes
Big and black
they sit on the shelf
new with tags
still in tissue
wait to be worn.
His mother, last remaining
parent, approaches 99.
She may be the next to go
but you never know.
He’s the baby of four
so what are the odds?
Beyond that, to the next generation,
I can’t imagine.
| Joseph Kuhn Carey
Glencoe, Illinois
Lonely Shoe
Lonely shoe
in the corner
of a dusty closet
without a mate,
thinking back
to better times,
sunlight
and walking
with a friend,
so many sidewalks
and roads and
sandy beaches
embedded in soft
stitched leather memory,
faded now like
a folded-up old towel,
waiting to be found
and pulled back into
the soothing beams of
pure polished light
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| Silvia Morgan, Photographer |
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Miranda Stewart
Highland Park, Illinois
come ye faithful
i miss your shoes, salt-crusted laces dropping crystals like snow,
from when you walked on water in blind pursuit of salvation.
tongues singed from the eye of the Sun, golden-black threads
fluttering as you flew on wings of light.
your soles always smelled like nectar and juniper -- nature clung
to you. you gave the Earth life in your mossy steps, pomegranate seeds scattering
to the heavens when you ran.
three things cannot be long hidden:
i miss your shoes. i rue who took them. i am hopelessly lost.
how can mere men manage to fill the shoes of gods?
| Phyllis Patterson
Pittman, New Jersey
Moving On
A light flooded the closet as
worn, callused hands pulled the string to the bulb.
Arthritic fingers began to unbutton old shirts with worn collars,
broad ties and jackets. An outdated gray leisure suit
thrown into a box marked for trash. A frayed red baseball cap followed.
A white pair of grayed sneakers, soft fabric slippers,
brown dress shoes with rubber heels in good condition
tossed into a box marked keep.
A last item.
A pair of black leathers tarnished, scuffed from lack of polish,
scarred with a hole in the sole
destined for a discard container. He paused.
These were his wedding shoes he’d
polished with a soft cloth,
buffed with a horsehair brush to a glossy finish
on Saturday nights for Sunday church.
These were keepers.
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| Kay Thomas, Photographer |
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| Section 4 - Fashion Statement |
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| Lynn West, Photographer |
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Jackie Chou
Pico Rivera, California
Stilettos
Beware of stepping into my shoes
I’m the mermaid
Who trades her tail for feet
Dancing the tango
On a mountain of blades
Wishing for flip-flops
For life to turn into soft sands
The thumps of my heels
Echo in the city’s thoroughfare
Where I stop midstep
To admire the hydrangeas
Wait for the vinyl to soften
For my blisters to heal
| Lynn White
Wales, United Kingdom
My Old Blue Pumps
I kept them on,
my old blue pumps.
You see,
I could see a broad band
of sharp shells
and pebbles
and other flotsam
between me and the sea
so I kept them on,
my old blue pumps,
until I’d crossed over.
I eased them off carefully
but even so the sharp sand
grazed my heels.
Never mind,
the sea would soothe them,
wash away the pain
with the ingrained sand.
And it did
as I swam.
But at the end
they were no longer waiting for me
on the shoreline,
my old blue pumps.
No longer waiting when I emerged
healed and refreshed,
no longer waiting
but captured by the sea
and washed away with the rest.
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| Monica Cardestam, Artist |
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Indira Kylah Esson
West End, Australia
Today I Got Doc Martens
Today I got Doc Martens
And they do not look like cartons
I wore them once; I’ll wear them twice
Today I got Doc Martens
Bright and shiny, comfy but bulky
Today I got Doc Martens
They feel like a Mermaid swimming in the sea
Now I am taller than my Mommy
Today I got Doc Martens
They look amazing, so majestic and pretty
I always wear them in the city
Sometimes people think I’m witty
Today I got Doc Martens
They smell like cotton candy
There always fine and dandy
Today I got Doc Martens
Today I got Doc Martens
And they do not look like cartons
I wore them once; I’ll wear them twice
Today I got Doc Martens
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| Isadora Esson, Photographer |
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Rie Sheridan Rose
Austin, Texas
Lost Shoes
They sit upon the shore…
silver glitter and sand
seem to say someone
decided to swim away
from their worries…
but never returned.
Silver glitter and sand
sitting upon the shore
say someone said goodbye.
| Richard V. Kaufman
Highland Park, Illinois
Shoes
I've been around the world
to where people don't own shoes.
But in my travels the saddest parts
are all those places where people
have no hearts.
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| Rie Sheridan Rose, Photographer |
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Kate Hutchinson
Palatine, Illinois
How to Command Congress… or, It’s All About the Shoes
with appreciation for Nancy Pelosi
It helps if a parent is a politico, but if not,
fight for a job in D.C. and then get to work.
Learn quickly to smile, nod, and schmooze,
and pay close attention to your shoes.
None of those frumpy Mary Janes will do.
Start early with one-inch pumps and let your
calf muscles grow as strong and unyielding
as your heart. Grow your voice with your views.
By forty, you’ll be ready for the killer
four-inch stilettos you’ll need to own the room.
Walk down those cavernous, marbled halls
like they are yours – nodding at newshounds –
atop Achilles tendons of steel. Clench your
fists and your jaw when that must do. Wear
pantsuits with scarves and heels to match in
magenta, gray, kelly green, gunmetal blue,
and in the case of a pandemic, have matching
face masks, too. Lastly, pearls and pins
will top it off – flags, wings, an RBG or two.
At eighty, tower over them. All eyes are on you.
| Tina Cole
Near the Welsh border, United Kingdom
Black Leather School Shoes
I never polish shoes. The scuffed fronts
are a kind of badge and anyway kids feet
are not meant to be shiny.
My mum says, if you ruin them shoes
you will have to go to school in your slippers
and be sent home with a note from the Teacher.
I never polish shoes, it’s a matter of principle
but I do like the left right beat of the metal
heels, especially when I have to leg it.
My mum says, I was forbidden to step on the carpet
in my day, had to leave shoes in the entry,
if they weren’t clean your gran took the slipper to us.
My grandad only ever wore boots,
he died with his boots on my mum says
and I bet they weren’t clean.
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| Dotson Family Archive |
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Janea D. Harris
Highland Park, Illinois
Frumpy
Some say that I am frumpy, even suggesting it's a crime of fashion for me to be worn outside,
But once you slide your frigid foot down my toasty shaft, you are destined to understand why.
Crafted in an array of colors, endless versions from short to knee touching tall.
Capable of transcending seasons, being worn from winter through fall.
Allow me wrap your feet in luxurious warmth, even Chicago’s bone chilling wind fails to get through,
While some suggest that I am frumpy, I remain the most sought after shearling lined boot.
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| Photo poem formatted by Carl "Papa" Palmer; Previously published Reminisce Magazine, March 2017 |
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Janis Butler Holm
Los Angeles, California
If Paris Hilton Wrote Poetry
Shoes.
Shoes.
Cute.
Shoes.
Me.
Cute shoes.
Shoes. Shoes.
Me. Me.
Cute.
Cute.
Me.
| Michael Ethan Landau
Evanston, Illinois
New Shoes
My shoes will never walk
My shoes will never dance
My shoes will never run
My shoes will never bear weight
My shoes will never wear out
Even though
I wear them
Out
My shoes will never walk
The world they will see
But they will never carry me
What else is new?
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| Alexander McQueen Gym Shoes photographed by Jenene Ravesloot |
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| Connie Vitale, Photographer |
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Connie Vitale
Highland Park, Illinois
Transforming Shoes
To wax poetically about shoes
Strikes me as nigh to oxy-moronic
I yearn for the inspiration of a muse
More mystical and magical
Or at least less stinky
These days my mind wanders to that
Which causes my heart to swell
Art, music, literature, dance, especially tango
But shoes? How absurd!
Ohhhhh … but tango shoes (sigh)
Strappy stilettos, glittering in
Silver or sensual lipstick red
Classic black and white polka dotted
T-straps, stirring memories of 1940’s Paris
Glamour in little black dresses
These shoes transform
Teachers in comfy trainers, and
Lawyers in stiff black pumps, or
Moms in casual Birkenstocks, into
Mysterious, sensual sirens who mesmerize
No longer ordinary women, they who daily don
Sweatpants and denim.
Slipping into swishy dresses in shimmering fabrics
Or slender skirts slit up the side
Become goddesses who know secrets
| Ann Privateer
Davis, California
Window Shopping
With my granddaughter
We came upon some
Sneakers all jeweled
And shiny, just the thing
After wearing plain ones
For so many years, and so
We went inside to inquire
My heart skipped a beat
When I heard the price
A Thousand Dollars...
I’ll stick with my old
Fashion style.
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| Ann Privateer, Photographer |
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Monica Cardestam
Lake Forest, Illinois
My Pandemic Shoes
I never gave it any time or thought in the beginning
What would become my unplanned, go to, comfy Pandemic shoes
As the world shut down, activities stopped, and people stayed home
My family took walks to escape the confines of our home
Walks started with absentmindedly slipping on my Skechers
Time was spent pondering and discussing where to walk that day
Maybe a favorite path or some new adventure instead
We would walk along the rocky shores just north of the sand beach
Watching waves rhythmically lap onto the shore then retreat
The world may have changed but lake was still there and waves didn’t stop
Walks along the path through the tall trees of a nature preserve
Contentedly listening as birds chirped and fluttered above
The world may have changed but birds were still free and trees still gave shade
Walks on sidewalks in a myriad of pleasant neighborhoods
Sometimes nodding to another passing walker and smiling
The world may have changed but communities did still exist
Walks along many winding paths of a tall grass savannah
Where sunset was the most beautiful part of a walk that day
The world may have changed but the sun still rose, crossed the sky, and set
Walks by multiple shimmering ponds sometimes hidden by trees
Noisy frogs or geese unknowingly gave away their locale
The world may have changed but nature still existed, even thrived
Walks spurred conversation, camaraderie, contemplation
From fleeting insignificance to much deeper reflection
But it is only now my worn looking shoes become my muse
A simple but integral part of my long Pandemic year
Thief of a lot for so many and my chance to wear much else.
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| Monica Cardestam, Artist |
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Jennifer Dotson
Highland Park, Illinois
Pantoum for Mrs. Hardcastle
Putting on the costume changes the actress.
The black shoes with pointed toes and fluted heels
begin to alter my posture, my step, my gait.
The corset tightens, straightening my spine.
The black shoes with pointed toes and fluted heels
are suggestive of the eighteenth century.
The corset tightens, straightening my spine
to become Lady Hardcastle in She Stoops to Conquer,
Something suggestive of the eighteenth century.
The wig towers above my brow with sculpted, powdered curls
and I become Lady Hardcastle in She Stoops to Conquer.
Contours of shadow and light make my features visible.
The wig towering above my brow with sculpted, powdered curls,
and my speech transforms to her British syllables.
Contours of shadow and light make my features visible.
A critic said my voice could summon dogs from afar.
My speech transformed to her British syllables.
My being altered – my posture, my step, my gait –
a critic said my voice could summon dogs from afar.
Putting on the costume changes the actress.
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| Image from creative commons |
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2021 Daily Poem Archive - August
Chris Chandler, Victoria Crawford, Jennifer Dotson, J.K. Durick, Mardelle Fortier, John Grey, Janea D. Harris, Caroline Johnson, Richard V. Kaufman, Joan Leotta, Arlene Gay Levine, Terry Loncaric, Lennart Lundh, Jean McDonough,Sandeep Mishra Kumar, Carl "Papa" Palmer, René Parks, Jenene Ravesloot, Donita Ries, Alice Marcus Solovy, Nick Sweet, Curt Vevang, Lori Wall-Holloway, Lynn West, Court Williams, and Yvonne Zipter.
| 
Click to download Archive |
2021 Daily Poem Archive - July
Gary Beck, Daniel Cleary, Victoria Crawford, Jennifer Dotson, Maureen Flannery, Phil Flott, Mardelle Fortier, Dominique Galiano, John Grey, Paul Jamar, Richard V. Kaufman, Joan Leotta, Lennart Lundh, Bonnie Manion, William Marr, Jean McDonough, Silvia Morgan, Carl "Papa" Palmer, Marianne Peel, Marilyn Peretti, Jenene Ravesloot, Alice Marcus Solovy, Kay Thomas, Curt Vevang, and Lori Wall-Holloway.
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Click to download Archive |
2020 Daily Poem Archive - September
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2009 Fall
Muses' Gallery Archive
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