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The lightest is to be barefooted.

Kashmiri proverbs
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The Barefooted Friar

I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain,
To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain;
But ne'er shall you find, should you search till you tire,
So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar.

Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career,
And is brought home at even-song bunny'd through with a spear;
I confess him in haste - for his lady desires
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's.

Your monarch? - Pshaw! many a prince has been known
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown,
But which of us e'er felt the idle desire
To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar!

The Friar has walk'd out, and where'er he has gone,
The land and its fatness is mark'd for his own;
He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires,
For every man's house is the Barefooted Friar's.

He's expected at noon, and no wight till he comes
May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums
For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire,
Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar.

He's expected at night, and the pasty's made hot,
They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot,
And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire,
Ere he lack'd a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar.

Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope,
The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope;
For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the briar,
Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar.

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The Barefooted Boys

I.

By the sword of St. Michael
The old dragon through;
By David his sling
And the giant he slew;
Let us write us a rhyme,
As a record to tell
How the South on a time
Stormed the ramparts of Hell
With her barefooted boys!

II.

Had the South in her border
A hero to spare,
Or a heart at her altar,
Lo! its life's blood was there!
And the black battle-grime
Might never disguise
The smile of the South
On the lips and the eyes
Of her barefooted boys!

III.

There's a grandeur in fight,
And a terror the while,
But none like the light
Of that terrible smile -
The smile of the South,
When the storm-cloud unrolls
The lightening that loosens
The wrath in the souls
Of her barefooted boys!

IV.

It withered the foe
Like the red light that runs
Through the dead forest leaves,
And he fled from his guns!
Grew the smile to a laugh,
Rose the laugh to a yell.
As the iron-clad hoofs
Clattered back into Hell
From our barefooted boys!

poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Troubadour. Canto 4

IT was a wild and untrain'd bower,
Enough to screen from April shower,
Or shelter from June's hotter hour,
Tapestried with starry jessamines,
The summer's gold and silver mines;
With a moss seat, and its turf set
With crowds of the white violet.
And close beside a fountain play'd,
Dim, cool, from its encircling shade;
And lemon trees grew round, as pale
As never yet to them the gale
Had brought a message from the sun
To say their summer task was done.
It was a very solitude
For love in its despairing mood,
With just enough of breath and bloom,
With just enough of calm and gloom,
To suit a heart where love has wrought
His wasting work, with saddest thought;
Where all its sickly fantasies
May call up suiting images:
With flowers like hopes that spring and fade
As only for a mockery made,
And shadows of the boughs that fall
Like sorrow drooping over all.

And LEILA , loveliest! can it be
Such destiny is made for thee?
Yes, it is written on thy brow
The all thy lip may not avow,--
All that in woman's heart can dwell,
Save by a blush unutterable.
Alas! that ever RAYMOND came
To light thy cheek and heart to flame,--
A hidden fire, but not the less
Consuming in its dark recess.

She had leant by his couch of pain,
When throbbing pulse and bursting vein
Fierce spoke the fever, when fate near
Rode on the tainted atmosphere;
And though that parch'd lip spoke alone
Of other love, in fondest tone,
And though the maiden knew that death
Might be upon his lightest breath,
Yet never by her lover's side
More fondly watch'd affianced bride,--
With pain or fear more anxious strove,
Than LEILA watch'd another's love.

[...] Read more

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Barefooted

I am walking barefooted and naked because,
I have my mind on you;
I am walking barefooted and naked because,
I have my love for you;
But Moab will wail fro Moab.
You are the one that i love and,
Naked and barefooted i do go about daily for you;
But gladness and joy will be taken away very soon from Moab.

Like a carved ivory, you are as fair as the moon;
Like the highlights of the mountains,
You are easily reached up in love than others;
So we need no war around us.

Life is as bright as the sun on the sweet bed of spices,
And true love is like the fragrance of Lebanon;
But like a carved ivory on your love,
This love is sweeter than wine!
A carved ivory,
Of our legs of love and the peace that it brings;
And like the harp of ten strings,
I am like the native green tree of love to your heart.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Barefooted

walking barefooted
on broken glass....
playing a flute;

listening, listening,
for the sound of
the Lover's voice....

waiting, for the familiar
touch, for the smell
of the last rose opening

as the wings of autumn
approach.... listening,
for the sound of my own heart,

or the sound of planets evolving;
waiting for the gift of emptiness,
and the dance of flesh on flesh....

walking barefooted
on broken glass....
whispering to the stillness!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Little Boy in the Morning

He will not come, and still I wait.
He whistles at another gate
Where angels listen. Ah I know
He will not come, yet if I go
How shall I know he did not pass
barefooted in the flowery grass?

The moon leans on one silver horn
Above the silhouettes of morn,
And from their nest-sills finches whistle
Or stooping pluck the downy thistle.
How is the morn so gay and fair
Without his whistling in its air?
The world is calling, I must go.
How shall I know he did not pass
Barefooted in the shining grass?

poem by Francis Ledwidge
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Rejection

The fear of rejection-
Despite the sunshine
And
California, dreams-
This place where snow never falls, and
The ocean exists just outside my back door-
This fear and aloneness
Not even a prayer would
Alleviate,
Although one day I met you
Walking barefooted in
The sunlight’s shadows –
A child of God you said you were and
That we are all God’s children-
Your hand outstretched
Reaching for mine- although
With some trepidation
I walked the path towards heaven
By your side as the rain fell-
Laughter was infectious,
I could feel my bare feet sinking into the
Muddy water, as we grew closer
Sharing the secrets of our wounded hearts,
Life, laughter and these peace filled moments had
Me believing I had found a friend in you-
It hardly mattered that the rain was falling hard
In this place where it hardly ever rained-
I would never be alone again…
Inside my small cracker box home
I would wait for your arrival, though
My thoughts, abruptly interrupted by
The harsh ringing of the telephone-
Life, laughter and peace-filled moments
Transformed to shattered hopes and phony expectations-
The God you had told me that answered everybody’s prayers-
Had different plans for you and I-
The hand that had so gratefully reached out to touch your soul
Took the wound of rejection, anger and deep disappointment -
The profuse bleeding was not the bleeding
From nails pounded into the hands of Christ crucified –
This God that you claimed had made so many promises, but
Was the bleeding of my wounded heart and wrist-
From that day on, I would never again repeat the words
“In God we trust” as
I had been betrayed by your false promises and
Forsaken by the God who walked with you-
I see blood in a puddle upon the
Kitchen floor,
Red contrasting rudely with the tile, stark white-
Hardly diluted by the tears of rejection

[...] Read more

poem by Claudia Krizay
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Stream Of Thought

Today is an
Idle sort of day
Autumn-like-
Almost
The foliage upon the trees outside is
Somewhat bashful yet, although
It was the summer that
I have always adored
It was a day like this day, that
I was taken away.
I am starting to remember now, that
During my favorite time of year- as
I am locked inside this tiny L-shaped room-
White walled and barren as I feel inside
Impassively staring out the window.
My thoughts are elsewhere-
Thinking back forty years, upon
The day I lost myself.
Screaming in terror and bewilderment on
The very day the world first fell out from under me-
I escaped to another place and time,
Thunderclouds, black as the fear raging in my gut,
Dark and dismal as that night my world caved in.
Lost, alone and screaming with fright…
Disconnected wires in my brain,
Cotton filled and twisted out of form
It was last night I believe
They took me away and brought me to this place.
In spite of the deluge and the devil’s voices in my head
I wish I were outside dancing in the rain barefooted,
With my long auburn hair
Tossed about by the wind
Crying and laughing at the same time
At the absurdity of it all,
And if lightning were to strike me dead
It would be the demon’s voices that brought me to this place,
Running scared, screaming out in fear
As fiendish voices commanded me to die.
It is a sultry, idle sort of day
But just like any other day
Something happened that made me forget where the flowers grew.
Shock was induced to
Those disconnected wires in my brain
That set my soul afire
Screaming out in terror and in pain
A kind of pain that I never will forget,
As if a cinder block wall was erected between the world, and myself
Even if I were dancing in the rain barefooted,
My long auburn hair
Tossed about in the wind,

[...] Read more

poem by Claudia Krizay
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A Carved Ivory

Walking naked and barefooted,
Moab will wail for Moab;
Naked and barefooted,
Gladness is taken away along with joy.

A Carved Ivory,
Fair as the moon with my mind on you;
To the heights of the mountains,
Bright as the sun with my mind on you;
To the bed of spices,
Love is like the fragrance of Lebanon!
To a Carved Ivory,
Our legs at war;
To a Carved Ivory,
Our toes for battle;
To a Carved Ivory,
Our bones so scattered;
Love is sweeter than wine.
prayers like incense,
Gladness is taken away along with joy;
Life is like a harp with ten strings where,
Wisdom is better than strength.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Poem For Myself

I was born in Mississippi;
I walked barefooted thru the mud.
Born black in Mississippi,
Walked barefooted thru the mud.
But, when I reached the age of twelve
I left that place for good.
My daddy chopped cotton
And he drank his liquor straight.
Said my daddy chopped cotton
And he drank his liquor straight.
When I left that Sunday morning
He was leaning on the barnyard gate.
Left my mama standing
With the sun shining in her eyes.
Left her standing in the yard
With the sun shining in her eyes.
And I headed North
As straight as the Wild Goose Flies,
I been to Detroit & Chicago
Been to New York city too.
I been to Detroit & Chicago
Been to New York city too.
Said I done strolled all those funky avenues
I'm still the same old black boy with the same old blues.
Going back to Mississippi
This time to stay for good
Going back to Mississippi
This time to stay for good-
Gonna be free in Mississippi
Or dead in the Mississippi mud.

poem by Etheridge Knight
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The Undying One- Canto III

'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?

If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!

'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!

'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Troubadour. Canto 2

THE first, the very first; oh! none
Can feel again as they have done;
In love, in war, in pride, in all
The planets of life's coronal,
However beautiful or bright,--
What can be like their first sweet light?

When will the youth feel as he felt,
When first at beauty's feet he knelt?

As if her least smile could confer
A kingdom on its worshipper;
Or ever care, or ever fear
Had cross'd love's morning hemisphere.
And the young bard, the first time praise
Sheds its spring sunlight o'er his lays,
Though loftier laurel, higher name,
May crown the minstrel's noontide fame,
They will not bring the deep content
Of his lure's first encouragement.
And where the glory that will yield
The flush and glow of his first field
To the young chief? Will RAYMOND ever
Feel as he now is feeling?--Never.

The sun wept down or ere they gain'd
The glen where the chief band remain'd.

It was a lone and secret shade,
As nature form'd an ambuscade
For the bird's nest and the deer's lair,
Though now less quiet guests were there.
On one side like a fortress stood
A mingled pine and chesnut wood;
Autumn was falling, but the pine
Seem'd as it mock'd all change; no sign
Of season on its leaf was seen,
The same dark gloom of changeless green.
But like the gorgeous Persian bands
'Mid the stern race of northern lands,
The chesnut boughs were bright with all
That gilds and mocks the autumn's fall.

Like stragglers from an army's rear
Gradual they grew, near and less near,
Till ample space was left to raise,
Amid the trees, the watch-fire's blaze;
And there, wrapt in their cloaks around,
The soldiers scatter'd o'er the ground.

[...] Read more

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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0304 Drawing space

See this whitish sheet - now mellowing to a shade
of precious ivory - gently revealing in the finest lines of silver-point
two lovers whose whole air of innocence
makes them angelic, as if their ardent gaze
joined souls not bodies;
though those bodies, beautiful, transparent,
she all gauze, her dress
moved by the lightest breath of air as if it would
return her to the air; her breasts, to innocence itself;
he, every muscle of proud chest under pleated jerkin
joining his dancing legs to ardent eyes
consumed in adoration for what he barely dares,
her beauty and its innocence

this silver-point might be from Botticelli, or
a well-trained student in the master’s mind
glancing over and across the studio
at what the master, the magician,
conjures out of space and out of mind;

the then white vacant sheet
undifferentiated space as if
it were Creation waiting the command
to be itself;
there’s magic still to come, and space itself
yet to be brought alive. See these lines;
they are not bounding bodies, but the space itself;
on one side of this line, the air alive with happening that’s invisible,
the other side, her space we call her body;
all her life enclosed in what the artist sees –
awakening of love; see in the space
between her outstretched hand and his,
about to join with lightest touch in dance,
- electricity - before mankind knew such a thing or named;
and in this space, there’s love divine.

and see the space between their eyes: why,
in that space, their lives, the present, past, the future;
their minds, their hearts, their souls
hover all expressed and yet invisible;

from emptiness the artist has found space;
from space, from line, drawn as the first time, love.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Queen Mab: Part I.

HOW wonderful is Death,
Death, and his brother Sleep!
One, pale as yonder waning moon
With lips of lurid blue;
The other, rosy as the morn
When throned on ocean's wave
It blushes o'er the world;
Yet both so passing wonderful!

Hath then the gloomy Power
Whose reign is in the tainted sepulchres
Seized on her sinless soul?
Must then that peerless form
Which love and admiration cannot view
Without a beating heart, those azure veins
Which steal like streams along a field of snow,
That lovely outline which is fair
As breathing marble, perish?
Must putrefaction's breath
Leave nothing of this heavenly sight
But loathsomeness and ruin?
Spare nothing but a gloomy theme,
On which the lightest heart might moralize?
Or is it only a sweet slumber
Stealing o'er sensation,
Which the breath of roseate morning
Chaseth into darkness?
Will Ianthe wake again,
And give that faithful bosom joy
Whose sleepless spirit waits to catch
Light, life and rapture, from her smile?

Yes! she will wake again,
Although her glowing limbs are motionless,
And silent those sweet lips,
Once breathing eloquence
That might have soothed a tiger's rage
Or thawed the cold heart of a conqueror.
Her dewy eyes are closed,
And on their lids, whose texture fine
Scarce hides the dark blue orbs beneath,
The baby Sleep is pillowed;
Her golden tresses shade
The bosom's stainless pride,
Curling like tendrils of the parasite
Around a marble column.

Hark! whence that rushing sound?
'T is like the wondrous strain
That round a lonely ruin swells,

[...] Read more

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Rose’s rose rose

Rose’s rose rose
In the light of the day
While the wind blows
Round its flowers of the lightest rosé.
Rose’s rose rose
In a way Rose may
When she grows
As her rose
Shows
How it grows
And by the end of the day
When her rose’s flowers’d close
And its head would sway
In the wind, Rose would say:
“My rose, as you rose
In the light of the day
Did you notice those,
The sounds of your stay?
Not only those of the day,
But, too, the ones of the dark, rose,
The ones of the dark and the moon in its pose.
Did you notice those, rose?
Did you notice those? ”
And the rose would know
What Rose would want to say
And it would sleep
With its flowers of the lightest rosé.

poem by Sarah Jay
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Barefooted folk shouldna tread on thorns.

Scottish proverbs
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It's as hard to see a woman crying as it is to see a barefooted duck.

Irish proverbs
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The mare of the smith and the children of the shoemaker, allways goes barefooted.

Scanian proverbs
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Little girls and boys, barefooted, walked up and down between the endless rows of spindles, reaching thin little hands into the machinery to repair snapped threads.

quote by Mary Harris Jones
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You Are Seen Everywhere

Your laughter have turned to mourning and your joy to grief,
Because inpleasure and in self-indulgence you left your lover;
And today you are seen everywhere barefooted.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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