It's just poetry, it won't bite


Here’s your prompt! Submit poem responses to: And if you have a photo or piece of artwork you took that you’d like us to consider as a Prompts image, send that as well! 


Still Remember
By Laura Zucca-Scott

My running shoes
Were royal blue and cardinal red
Just a little too big at first
Running when you were twelve
You owned the streets
The asphalt felt old
Worn and battered
Smelling of wisdom and life

If you ran fast enough
All your troubles would vanish
Power in being so tired
You could fall asleep on the bus
Or on your grandma’s chair
Those were days of hope
My shoes still remember
How it felt to be free

Running Shoes
By Lynn White

some things
become more than
Become iconic.
Seek to represent us.
So even running shoes can
make a statement
about ourselves,
about who we are
or want to be.
Simple pumps,
designer trainers
both attach a label to us
to represent ourselves
to ourselves.
How we were,
how we are,
what we have


displayed for all to see.

But still
it’s not all.
Somethings still are hidden.
The wheres and whys,
somethings are still
in the running.
towards a greeting.
Faster and faster
turning the labels to dust.

Happy Feet
By Anna Sanders

My closet is full of smiles
all lined up in pairs
waiting for their next adventure

High tops, low tops, lace ups, and slip ons
colors ranging from somber hues to rainbow pastels
a prized collection of past and present designs

Each pair boasting a distinct personality
intended to complement any fashion choice
with a special touch of bold frivolity

Once selected and fitted on my feet
I check my reflection with care
confident that my day will unfold
with the help of my cherished footwear

As I walk along with a jaunty stride
others often stop and stare
unable to hide with much success
their expressions of amused delight.

Yes, a shoe is just a shoe
unless branded with a “star”
symbolizing a legacy of winning
for proud heroes on the court.

But for those like me
It’s not all about sports
our passion is about image and fun.
The shoes we wear bring smiles to our lips
and welcomed comfort to our very happy feet.

By Nathan Gunter

The soft slap of sole on asphalt
the basso echo of cadenced breath
down the skin, tracks of salt
at my back, whispering death.

You’re not gonna catch me today.

The cheat-death chant of every gasp
the can’t-stop rhythm of the road
the veil here thin, the west stained glass
the place I’m safe, moving alone.

You’re not gonna catch me today.

My doctor happy, my family happy,
but they’re not out here where I am.
The soft slap of sole, the road my friend
I outrun death while I still can.

You’re not gonna catch me today.