Oh man alive, at sixty five
I’ve something to confess:
I never thought I’d find myself
such a befuddled mess.
It started out so innocent
inviting her to lunch;
the convo stayed mostly on track,
but then it swerved a bunch.
See, feeling coy, this stupid boy
thought he’d get cute and flirt.
From winsome one to two left feet,
a face plant in the dirt.
As I hit send, the doubt set in:
were those the proper words?
Whoever thought I’d be like this?
A grown man, how absurd!
The seconds pass like hours
as frets bloom full regret;
she’ll likely think the worst of me,
what do you want to bet?
And so, confused, I sit and stew,
increasingly perplexed.
But wait! I hear a joyful noise:
in came another text!
It doesn’t matter what it says;
she ended with a smile!
Thank goodness, I‘m still in the clear,
‘least for a little while!
Technology has done much good,
but can’t cure the common cold,
it can keep you looking young,
but not from growing old.
'Let your fingers do the walking,'
used to be the plan,
nowadays, it's all thumbs and emojis,
as smart phones dumb down man.
When online, doing a search,
no matter what I type,
the 'engine' always knows best
and 'corrects' my text to the current hype.
Mostly, I'm so tired of being asked,
by AI, 'How did we do?'
when, in the end, I did all the work,
now, how about you?
When things don't work, I panic
I call the plumber or the mechanic
the electrician, or appliance repairman
without them I would despair, Man.
I can't fix my bike when it blows a tire
To be competent is a dream to which I aspire
But I was born all thumbs, and though I read tomes
When it comes to troubleshooting, I'm no Sherlock Holmes.
So I respect the people who make things work
But I wonder if in our government such people lurk.
Could politicians change a light bulb, fix a car?
splice a broken wire, get my bike to go far?
Could I trust my mayor as a babysitter
Or for that matter, a sweater knitter?
Can a college student clean a dorm?
Are mindless slogans the new norm?
When the power goes out, and it gets cold
Will we find a bill of goods that we've been sold?
Do we use the same criteria to trust an orator
That we do when hiring someone to wallpaper a corridor?
My Dad was told I'd make a good soldier, because I looked strong
My Dad winced and said "Sir, you got that wrong"
Maybe I could be a writer, or maybe wash the floor
Can someone shoe me how to mop? for help I must implore.
Hand in hand two sprites on a magic flight
with wings of crystal glass and fairy light
they flew, inside an abstract sky of white
wing to wing, one was nimble one was bright
Wearing taffet gowns of silky swishes
they were often flourishing their wishes
blessing all with benign hugs and squishes
tiny pixies, no bigger than mom's dishes
They were sent to baby rooms and wee ones
they shone like light from fifty golden suns
but every now and then they goofed all thumbs
and landed in a cabbage patch, oh crumbs !
they flew like Peter Pan and Tinker Bell
with magic wands to cast a spell, pell-mell
they scurried this way that and then oh well
they crazed it up and then they cast a spell.
Feb 26, 2023
Sponsor Eve Roper
Contest Name Nursery Rhyme
Porgie George, Little Jack Horner
Kissed a girl off in a corner
They were all thumbs and made her cry
Offed in prison, absent mourners.
Peter Piper, Peter Peter
Killed a girl and tried to eat her.
The cops dispatched each with a shell;
They help Charon, Limbo’s greeters.
The world, unnoticed, passes by:
Their noses in the screens.
Real-life, in acts, before their eyes,
Obscured by smaller scenes.
All thumbs, rough-shod communiques,
Emojis in between;
Their messaging into the void,
To faceless ends, unseen.
Unmoored from simple face-to-face,
The pleasantries are lost,
For harsh, uncaring words are sent
With no concern for cost.
How marvelous, technology
That spans the great divide,
And yet instead of bridging them,
The gaps grow ever wide.
----------
This is probably a ballad sans refrain, don't really suppose it matters though.
Boom boxes can help you to share
Whatever comes over the air
But Milton hates drums
So don't be all thumbs
Or you'll learn why life is not fair!
Oh, how I long to touch you
it’s just that “I’m all thumbs”
and you deserve much more than just
a few remaining crumbs!
“An arm and a leg”, I would give
for one more chance, you see
But then again, if that's the case,
just where would we be?
You know that “I’m all ears”
for any thoughts you’d share
But for a man “all thumbs and ears"
just why would you care?
“It’s as plain as the nose on your face!”
I need “all hands on deck”
But with my lips, (I just have two!)
I could kiss your neck
“Ants in my pants” I hear you say
But just what would you know
As you’re the one here “all dressed up
with nowhere to go!”
“If all that glitters is not gold”
and I’m “all talk and no action“
Take off the makeup and go tp sleep
We’ll get no satisfaction!
So effortlessly do musicians play
Concerts at night, rehearsals by day
Woodwinds, strings, brass or drums
Why, when I try, do I come up all thumbs
There once was a sailor from Saskatoon
Who recklessly wielded his new harpoon
He impaled himself
Accusing an elf
Crew replaced him by a smarter baboon
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on August 11, 2019 for contest A LIMERICK, OLD OR NEW: YOUR PERSONAL FAVORITE sponsored by ANDREA DIETRICH - RANKED 6TH
She could not be less than my Love, my Friend,
She broke open each fiction I’d believed,
She touched my hands like Time would never end,
And, in the end, we were the more deceived.
She was the radiant hope of humble fellow,
She saw each gift, unseen, and made it blossom,
She knew that God would one Day, make her well,
And, in the end, her Victory was my loss.
She rose, after she died, and blessed bright Heaven!
She smiles, and still I feel the glow that comes
She poured her life out, that She might pour Leaven
Upon the humble us, who fumble, all thumbs…
She married me in nineteen-ninety-two,
And eighteen months ago, my Love, Friend… flew.
1/17/2019
Between Velcro
And touch screen
We are losing touching
Feeling and doing
Thumbs made us
All thumbs we will be
***
I went up river in a canoe.
I had no paddles. I was all thumbs.
I scuttled her in the foothills;
the valley air chokes me.
I tried to drown but was too
resilient. I foraged for food.
I made water from jumble ice
in my seasoned stygian skillet.
I tried to sleep through it all
but became resistive to the valerian
root. I’m no Rip Van Winkle.
I’ve lived this way for 1,080 days. . .
I live this way still. . .
They're all here,
the last one arrived,
company's assembled;
sisters, sons, in-laws, grandmas.
Heartfelt hugs all around.
handshakes, back-slaps,
worn-out platitudes
exchanged.
I love the sound of it,
now that I'm standing
in Mother's shoes.
She's here, but at 88,
she's my guest now,
feted by three generations.
In the gathering room
they stood,
sniffing.
Impossible to move freely.
Last minute preparations bungled.
I'm all thumbs,
burning the yams,
spilling lemonade,
forgetting napkins.
I want to shout,
"Vamoose, get lost,
this is my kitchen."
How did she put up with us
All those years?
It's a short fat sub that I'll grab to bite
Where the juice runs down my gums
As the flavour pools upon my tongue
and my grip becomes all thumbs
And I start to chew while breaking peppers
As the juice explodes and cools
While the taste seems strong and lasts forever
that my corner lips still drools
With a bun made warm to comfort me
Squeezed firmly in my gums
Then ripped and torn for pleasure
While the table fills with crumbs
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