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All Thumbs Poem
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Awaking blithe each morning,
with eyes upon the World,
I wonder, are we mourning
with ebon flags unfurled -
or are they but a warning,
some draped like snakes and curled,
stark stars and stripes adorning,
sent from the netherworld.
I wander through the garden
with nothing on my mind
and say 'I beg your pardon'
alarmed at what I find
as winds begin to harden
and sounds begin to grind.
Confused, I watch my neighbours,
they're wide-eyed, unafraid
to halt all useful labours
and join the death brigade;
the ritters rattle sabres,
the frail and fragile fade,
morticians tap on tabors
while potentates parade.
The military blesses
(in tunics somewhat browned)
its crimson-stained successes,
hell bent and heaven bound;
such scenes don't dare distress us:
a bloody battleground,
dissevered heads with tresses
and arms and legs abound;
the fourth estate suppresses
that bodies have been found
(collateral excesses
discarded in a mound).
Society regresses,
now living by the sword,
with torture and its stresses
upon a waterboard;
a captive kid confesses,
his innocence ignored -
fallacious facts and guesses,
the guts of justice gored!
With canting vindication
a top brass bully brags
(pale pearls of perspiration
and swollen tongue that gags)
of third world subjugation
for gelt and oily swags,
of human rights' castration...
and on and on it drags.
The manifold migration
of refugees in rags
while searching for salvation
soon finds compassion lags;
uprooted populations
are fleeing from their flags
else dying of starvation
as piercing hunger nags.
Atomic timepiece ticking
until the Reaper comes
when Geiger counters clicking
drown out the droning drums;
wild trump card's politicking
with little hands, all thumbs,
and sends the Mad Dog siccing -
insane! my soul succumbs...
Cast out for not conforming,
I wander day by day
and find the earth deforming
as nature wastes away,
with bees no longer swarming
deceased in poison spray,
and ocean depths transforming
with plastic underlay.
With CO2 performing
the climate's led astray,
the atmosphere's been warming
the grass now ashen gray,
eternal tempest's storming
while permafrosts decay,
and ozone holes are forming
in deadly disarray.
The people profiteering
descend a slip'ry slope
destroying, never fearing
of running out of rope;
instead they're cheer'fly cheering
that wealth's our only hope.
Now Armageddon's nearing,
it's doubtful that we'll cope
for Mother Nature's jeering,
she's mapped our horoscope:
we'll soon be disappearing...
like whale and antelope.
Epitaph
The storms around me rumble,
my back's against the wall,
I take a step and stumble
but find no place to fall,
my knees begin to crumble
but I refuse to crawl,
nobody hears me mumble,
for no one's there at all.
Date: 2/14/2017
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2017
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All Thumbs Poem
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Try try with all our might
This time may we get it right
Another day does come
Still we are all thumbs
Is getting this done right
Really going to be our blight
Another chance is all we ask
Leave other tries in the past
Stop wait are we going to fast
Another let down have we cast
Oh my what a beautiful sight
Finally we learn to fly a kite
Gwendolen Rix contest
Lets Go Fly A Kite
Poem was written: 09/08/2006
Copyright © Carol Sunshine Brown | Year Posted 2012
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Mrs. Lightfoot had taught music at Talbot Elementary School for years.
A couple of her pupils excelled in music but most became engineers.
She sat at her desk to muse upon the past after another trying day,
Recalling events that had contributed to the 'dyeing' of her hair gray!
She remembered concerts when the cacophonous din made her wince,
And Mrs. Lightfoot approached such musicals with foreboding ever since.
But beaming parents saw their prodigies destined for musical acclaim.
(Only one she knew strummed a banjo at the VFW with a modicum of fame!)
Tubby Aruba wrestled with his tuba, ever out of step in the marching band.
Sissie Pyaner tried to emulate Liberace but she battered the concert grand.
For some reason one of the valves on Clyde Crumpet's trumpet always stuck,
And the trombone players could never harmonize - such was their bad luck!
Pat Claret could never adjust her clarinet reeds to eliminate the squeaks.
'Tyke' Biddle fiddled with the bull fiddle but never mastered its techniques.
Hubie Crums thought he was Gene Krupa and went crazy on the drums.
And when it came to playing the French horn, Sydney Corne was all thumbs!
Many times Mrs. Lightfoot thought she'd chosen the wrong speciality path,
And oft' wondered if she should have majored in history or maybe math.
In a couple of years she could lay down her baton one last time and retire,
To reminisce about fatal concerts, bleating horns and inharmonious choir!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2014
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A famed thinker , Voltaire, he observed and proclaimed,
Man is born free but everywhere he’s chains.
A simple enough statement but the truthfulness in it,
Is so profound and so relevant till to this modern day.
Early this week, a local minister just facebook posted his glee,
Malaysians can safely pursue the vape business restrictions free.
In fact he was all thumbs up for the vape flavoring entrepreneurs,
Proudly professing his hopes of Malaysians frontlining such business ventures.
Exultantly he posted, “Good news for vapers, vaper brewers and vape merchants,
The cabinet today decided not to ban the use of vape…TQ to…the government.
For understanding the aspirations of the youth.” What a impossible post from a leader,
I wonder, the Malaysian youth, what are their aspirations going by this minister?
One would surely think, aspirations are lofty targets to strive for and to achieve,
That in itself implies respectable professions and not controversial ones as in this vape business.
Voltaire, may the famed thinker rest in peace, would never have imagined,
Here in Malaysia, his immortal lines of wisdom would be a mental thing.
Just as all drug addicts are desperate in craving for every regular fix,
Most, if not all, cigarette smokers too are desperate in certain hours of need.
Drugs or cigarettes, or drugs and cigarettes, they are like two sides of a coin,
Addictive and destructive, two habits that any healthy society sought hard to discard.
Youths today have all the freedom, to choose and to decide, amidst wondrous luxury items,
One wonders why some will choose to shackle themselves to drugs, cigarettes and their kinds.
Now, into this repulsive battleground for the minds and souls of addicts and smokers,
E cigarettes and vape smoking are getting serious, more ominous that it sounds.
The vape habit, often featuring a fanciful electronic gadget and varied flavours of colored liquids,
Is big business for Malaysian entrepreneurs, exporting to the huge Chinese and Indonesian markets.
Bigger nations then ours have seen the wisdom in banning this burgeoning industry,
Cool heads must prevail in deciding proper restrictions to insulate the community.
It is so saddening to know the youth of today are being hooked on a new habitual behavior,
That is obviously costly and unsettling, save for those who are actively profiteering.
Ideally we should all share responsibility to keep our environment free and clean..
We need to be unshackled mentally to be living free!
Copyright © KENG CHUAN SENG | Year Posted 2015
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Einstein Rolls the Dice
the paparazzi were all over Einstein
after he said make sure where the rope leads
before you kick over the chair
he wrote his own scripts now
Further Adventures in Archaeo-astronomy
tonight the constellation Vertigo
a place of no equilibrium
a hell of uterine contractions
even though his head was elfin
a little bone crushing ceremony
and you are out on bail
in an adorable subjective objective ruse
the beginning of a tale of envy and betrayal
you think science is pretty don't you
I didn't mean to hurt anyone went the 911 call
they finally brought him down with magnets
the meters were going purple
only minutes away from a fatal lap dance
that could blacken the portals of infinity
wizard artists awakened from a long sleep
out of the closet for the thousandth time
an army of derelict stockbrokers tried to stop them
but the obsidian blade plunged like a fang
and 73 virgin inflatable sex dolls
made obnoxious leaking air sounds
until all that was left was a talking skull
divulging sacrilege and anathema
flip the law of averages
and you are in the citadel
paradise being a system of payoffs
if existence has a face we're it
on the other side of the lens
the light is tricky in there
images fall feebly on the screen
but you can't have art without surprise
Al's life was now a gravitational anomaly
no plot no narrative no story
he was ready to sack a city
his Igor hissed let's asteroid the planet
but the mouse pad Ouija opened a channel
to the vortex of utter charm
and he stamped and splashed singing
through the sewers of humiliation
wearing his going to hell pants
with only a mother's love for protection
and thanks to the exponential growth rate
of his informative deformities
managed to lose all his pencils
somewhere between hand and ledger
unleashing pandemonium in all its ardor
being that his hands were missing fingers
most of them actually
lost in a departmental budget cut
left him all thumbs
it was a close shave but Earth was saved
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Copyright © Walter Alter | Year Posted 2016
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Each day I spend a little time with my friend Sisyphus in the morning,
He tries his best to give me advice or at least to offer up a warning.
He can tell by the way I work that sometimes I spin my wheels,
Trying hard to get somewhere and he knows exactly how it feels.
The harder you push to get something done the bigger the task becomes,
Until it’s nearly impossible to get it right and you feel like you’re all thumbs.
He tells me just to do my best and to keep my nose pressed to the stone,
And try to remember that there’re others in the race and I am not alone.
Then he wishes me well and tells me he has an uphill battle to fight,
And as long as he isn’t flattened by the rock he thinks he’ll be alright.
Sometimes I listen to him and to the things that he has to say,
But other times I stop to think that there must be a better way.
Because if all there is to living is to go to work and each day grow a little older,
Then you’ve missed the point and you’ve already been flattened by the boulder.
So I look for things that bring me joy and add them to my day,
And eventually those little bits of color block out the shades of gray.
Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011
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Tumbelina was all.in.
all thumbs
Trying to be friends
in a church of One
planted when barely
a young and tender seed
the switch made magic
so the Lady could conceive
”...lay this here…”
so the child can receive
”...and keep this clear…”
into make believe.
silent in the cradle
and peaceful in her sleep
the walnut rocks
to a timeless beat
then out of shadow
and into the mist
an old toad came
stealing Lady’s wish
the tiny maiden fair
was to Spoon, the Dish
but…
she was saved
by the butterfly
a slightly coy fish
she drifted on a lily
making new a wish
and then…
through a field of cush
the May bug flew
crying Tumble!
I’ve seen ya!
It’s true! It’s true!
”... it’s in her new name…”
but discard her he did
when his friends cried
“shame!”
she was desperate now
through Winter’s cold claim
taking shelter with Mice
no understanding her way
”...be kind to the neighbor
marry the Mole…” he’d say
repulsed at the thought
swallowing hard one day
she escaped the dark night
and ran herself aWay
”... I like your crazy pants…”
hidden in the roses
a fairy Prince enchants
”... you’re just my size…”
he said
and so began
their bit of romance.
He kissed her on the eyes
...Maia…
he whispered
it’s been a sureprize!
”... and all became fair
in their living true lives…”
Copyright © Izzy Gumbo | Year Posted 2010
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All Thumbs Poem
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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?
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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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
Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2014
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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. . .
Copyright © Stephen Barry | Year Posted 2015
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A Voyage Where Adventure Must Invite:
Off Mega-Hurts (MHz) - - - - thru Giga-Bites (Gbyte)
And Reboots, Resets and Reduced – Sites
… into CyberSpace’s Secret – Flight…
An Inner Sanctum – Leaving from A Void
of Dreamless Drones or Disposable Droids
whose Mechanical Moves are quite Paranoid
Poised to Replace Super-Hero-Humanoids…
… and their CyberSpace Secrets…
of Convertible – Virtuals – Rushing like Jets
Suggestible – Intellectual – hasn’t Arched Yet
Yes, that’s Conjectural, even a Lamentable Retrospect
… so let’s… get into our CyberSpace’s Secrets-Chest
into Circuitry of Micro-Chips and The Matrix’s Breast
where Modem and Mainframe can Process Trip and Test
and View Monitored Progress and onward Press…
… The Auto Pilot… Tho’ We Should Not Forget
Manual Conversion, is better, when used to Connect
Real People, Who File-by with Knowledge and Respect
Programmed Codes of CyberSpace – Specs
… So May I Journey Into Your CyberSpace?
Let me Scan and Search Thru – Your Data Base
I want more than Information… I Want Interface!
And A Fusion of Feelings and Facts, Fast-Paced!
… Oh, The Complexity, The Intensity, Ingenuity and Affinity…
The Enormity of The Capacity for Sensitivity or Voracity
The Trajectory and Congruency, makes A Sweet CyberSpace Symmetry
Your Beauty and Ability, I must ask, “Boy, Who’s Your D-a-d-d-y!
See, I’m Dropping Crumbs; like Hansel and Gretel
See, I’m All Thumbs; at Gifs and Pixels, at This Level
Seems You’re Still Skipping On Blast-Off-Key (Launch) Pad Missiles
Too Far Away to Hear – My Wavelength, Wonder Whistles…
Come Back! Help me Lift this Artificial-Escape Lid!
Are You ‘Lost In Space’ – Gone Off The Grid?
The Heart of Dark-Matter – ‘Where Have You Hid…
…Your CyberSpace Secrets Amid?...
… What Vector, What Sector, What Intranet
What Satellite, What Planet, Which Parapet?
What Sequence, Star System, Radius, Apex…
Oh, Signal Me From Your CyberSpace Trek!
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
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Mr Hyde
As usual mr Hyde
escaped from inside
and insulted you
of course he says i've lied
but men are men
and sometimes then
inappropiate too true
sorry
Don
For the ladies i've managed to insult :(
ps you know us men all thumbs
and then without our trousers
with foot in mouth we make amends
if lady sweet allows us
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011
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Get well Carolyn D (got it right now:( )
Ask for Carolyn this exception
May her health return today
Karmic load ease imperfection
Light an health return I say
Ask her friends to ask the Lord
See his face is when you pray
Give Carolyn new direction
Give her health and strength today
All who care for Carolyn
Will help her in their way
Make her jolly well and fine
Carolyn be well I say!
Don
ps you know us men all thumbs
and then without our trousers
with foot in mouth we make amends
if lady sweet allows us
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011