The sock undid me
just a little thing
soft and yellow and drowning in a puddle
I suppose it fell off when the soldiers came
and they ran for it
I wonder where the other one is
perhaps it is clinging to a tiny wriggling foot somewhere
I hope so

Lost my socks,
guessing while I was drunk.
In a car I placed them was,
looked again to see them gone.

Still new to me,
a long type I don't wear usually.
Black with white dots,
didn't cost a lot, but still hurts as much.

Kept my toes warm,
I kept them well, making sure no holes form.
I bought two pairs to compliment each other,
I guess now the other is alone.
They were like two lovers.

Though I have a spare,
my heart is still in two from losing that pair.

Goodbye my socks, I'll be sad about you.

We know there is an island for lost toys;
A chest for lost treasure;
Pandora's box for one last hope;
The morning brings lost dreams;
And the heart fills with lost loves.
For socks, we have a dryer.

Misplaced deliberations,
        oh where did  I leave you?

Like mislaid socks,
              I wear
mismatched thoughts

nicely fitting but not right.

I lose one sock every other washing.
The wisdom of the washer and dryer
says that God is stockpiling the lost one
to be reunited with the other in heaven.
Does that mean those with perfectly
mated, never separated pairs, are
doomed to the spin dry of eternal hell?
But then, it’s Smart of God, not letting me
hop around on one foot in my nakedness.

Socks are greater than love.  
They remind us that things
lost will eventually be found,
show the foolishness of looking
back to see what’s coming.
They are reminders that
rain is the reason clotheslines
have disappeared.

I'm the jewelery behind the cage
That nobody wants to buy
But catches your eye for a minute.
Shining because I was shined
Until within goes dark again,
They pull me out to be cleaned and grin
Then everyone goes home
But in the cages they leave the lights on
So while the rest sleep, my head still spins.

I'm the mismatched socks you don't wear,
Can't throw them out, so they stay there.
Piled under everything new to come
I've got a hole in my sole, threads undone.
You pull to stop the little bleed.
More and more string starts coming free.
Until I'm tangled and you're entangled in me.

I'm the poet that doesn't get read
But continues to write so he might go to bed

Socks and sandals a fashion faux pas?
I've been told that its an unspoken law.

Whether they're  thick or thin, woolen or silky.
As long as they hide feet so pale and milky.

Not only do they keep my toes toasty warm.
But cover those hideous and unsightly corns

Don’t allow grey skies to dampen your hair,
soak up your shirt,
seep into your
socks.

Let the tears fall if they brew under-lid,
saltwater
cleanses and
soothes.

Don’t stay up late ‘til the birds start to talk,
spreading secrets
you don’t need to
hear.

Smoke always rises and wind blows you sideways-
even gorse ****
has bright yellow
bloom.