Best Digit Poems
The difference in saying you,
a great big unseen pointed finger, or we.
I didn’t know. Some figurines
wave while others scrutinize with wizened eyes.
The analytic panics, hairs raised by static.
The simple leans in to catch butterflies. One is cynical.
The other sensuous. One slaps your hand away.
One squeezes it. Personality
like the word itself broken in pieces, a flotilla.
In the storm the words like jigsaw waves.
In placidity, the sun’s too hot or doldrum’s ebb and flow.
We will make it!
Still, even in this exchange, coarse sand,
a castle with a moat. Your motives sought - there I go again
“Y O U R…”
Sisterly size-up. Am I trying to win? I didn’t know
we were preparing to arm wrestle. I’m unshaped,
neither the flat piece of a puzzle or linked.
The dreamy sky from the beach. Salt in the air,
eyes on the horizon, lap of the waves —
the same lift I feel when swinging high and higher.
The excitement of adventure, no one’s judging
my every word. I’m breathless…it’s breathtaking
when my feet float above the ground.
There I’m in the arms of love. There I point
and God answers with his digit reaching out, touching mine.
I am reborn by the finger of God.
We will make it!
12/19/2020
RODIN’S NEW ICON
Should Rodin live today would he be inspired
To sculpt a marble sequel to THE THINKER
Modern ethos means fresh image is required
To become an old to new generation linker
[Perhaps in stone less pale, a little pinker!]
He might witness casts of posture stereotypical
And find there inspiration for his art
With perceptive focussed eye and viewpoint quizzical
An image would develop in his heart
Of a body bowed, head inclined toward hand sinister
While index digit stabs from aspect dexter
Then with his hands he’d clay or stone administer
To create a new iconic symbol; and name it: THE TEXTER
I’m sick of hearing from old Bill that I’m a whimpish sort of bloke,
Because I don’t care for rodeo’s and can’t relate to outback folk,
That I prefer to travel in a car, when I go from A to B,
When I should be riding horses like Billy does you see.
I’ve never been upon a horse; in fact I’ve never patted one,
But at times I’ve been a victim from the damage that they’ve done,
When they’ve thundered down a racetrack with double-digit odds,
To leave my pockets empty and the good luck with the Gods.
So it was just a whim and foolishness that struck me at a guess,
That could have left me comatosed and in an awful mess,
When in a flush of inspiration of adrenaline attack,
Without a lesson or experience, I climbed upon a horse’s back.
I threw one foot in the stirrup and threw the other one to straddle
The horse’s back now that I’m on, while sitting in the saddle,
But with the motion of a gallop at a steady rhythmic pace,
I started slipping from the saddle and I quickly lost me place.
In fear I’m grabbing for the mane, but I couldn’t get a grip,
So I threw me hands around its neck, but then began to slip,
And I could see the ground below me was aiming at me head,
So I grabbed its nose to stop it, but it bucked on me instead.
It was futile hanging on now so I made a desperate move to jump,
But instead of reaching safety, me body lurched and I went thump,
For me foot’s caught in the stirrup so I’m bouncing in the fray,
With the horses pounding hooves close to just a foot away.
Now limply hanging upside down from the battering I took,
In me haze of consciousness I saw a crowd had formed to look,
Then me missus ran to save me when she took off like a rocket,
Over there at K-mart where, she ripped the plug out of the socket.
My New Years resolution is not to make any more New Years resolutions!
I've made 'em in the past but they died on the craggy shoals of the Aleutians!
I'd swear to ease up on the vittles but I caught those scales lyin' to me.
I tried to curb my cussin' by usin' terms like gosh, darn and golly gee!
I resolved to be more courteous to other drivers and not flex my middle digit,
And be more patient with my kids when they wanted to squirm and fidget!
I vowed to take my dentist's advice and floss my choppers each and every day.
I flossed religiously but lost my religion leavin' my teeth prone to decay!
I promised myself that I'd exercise regularly in order to keep fit and trim,
But preferred lollin' in my LazyBoy with a beer sans goin' to the gym!
'Tis obvious when it comes to keepin' resolutions I ain't got much fortitude,
So I reckon I'll take my chances and not lock-in on any inane platitude!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
“I never travel without my diary,
One should have something sensational to read”
5-4-11: I never knew about the above quote of Wilde
But an event in life taught me to keep one.
4-23-94: Let me start with the initial jotting
A local doctor said it’s just cough, a thing seasonal
5-5-94: No cure, consulted again after two weeks
Advised to consult an ENT specialist attached to
A Medical College Hospital.
5-8-94: Diagnosed cancer of the vocal chords
5-10-94: But preferred to have a second opinion
Confirmed the first opinion and advised radiation.
The word spread in the University Campus town
In the Bohemians circle that a Wicket (Cricket) down
Heard from many mouths the fate of the tobacco chewer.
5-15-94: A friend of my son came to see me on hearing the news
He had the disease of the same type and category 10 years back
He took the radiation and there he was a positive case.
7-4-94: Started the radiation therapy of six weeks
Resigning 4 months earlier than the regular retirement.
Along with the radiation started the nature cure therapy
And the greatest of all therapies, the rosary with HIS name.
8-12-94 the radiation machine, only one in my State went off
Consulted the Cancer Hospital at Mumbai
Got the reply appointment after six months.
8-22-94: Luckily the treatment restarted after 10 days
9-2-94: And completed the radiation course.
12-5-94: Retested and was declared cancer free.
Thus the history of trials, tribulations, tests and tobacco taste.
5-4-11: The habit is still with me even to-day.
Oh, the digit 5 could be a lucky number for me.
******************
*The dates and events taken from my diary are real*. I have written
two poems on the event
1. What Gods there were
2. Butterfly Counts not months but moments.
Thanks, Constance, for sensational refreshing of my memories.
Dr. Ram Mehta
==============================================
Second place win in :
Contest: The Diary sponsored by Constance La France-A Rambling poet
Unlike the number one which stands as one straight line,
the number I am thinking of supports three other lines on top of it,
and these three other lines are also straight.
We see no curving lines like which appear in numbers
zero, two, three, five , nine, and in double-bubble eight!
Number seven has one short line jutting from its tall leg,
but the number I am thinking of
on just one leg is balancing three lines of equal length,
which if you were to finish them off, would form a perfect square.
Fair and square, this number means stability.
It’s safety, security and strength.
How strong is its foundation to offer the calmness
we would find inside the walls of our own homes!
Embodying the number of those things we most depend on -
our seasons, our directons, and the elements -
how special is this number I describe.
A number of spirituality too, it stands unique among
the single-digit numbers.
Feb. 10, 2020
For Juliet Ligon's What's in a Number Poetry Contest
The rib of Eve is fashion's price
A sadistic trap of six-inch heels
Some masochist's torture device
Or for added bust appeal
To wrap the torso so austere
And lift upon bands of steel
The French grandly name the brassiere
Paris, an exacting Madame
Wielding her whip of sharp cashmere
No slouching, suck in that diaphragm!
A lady glides on blistered feet
Starved to belong, sweet tooth be damned
No sweat allowed in any heat
Only single digit sizes impress
Shunning all those more than petite
Sisters, what happened to progress?
Our feminist freedoms manifold
We deserve to be a mess!
Gray is lovelier than gold...
4/12/19
For Quirky Tercets contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
recklessness attacks ego
fury attacks soul
adrenaline attacks viscera
middle digit attacks upward
foot attacks accelerator
vehicle attacks vehicle
hand attacks pistol
lead attacks flesh
remorse attacks fury
gavel attacks sound block
inmate attacks inmate
revelation of revelations!
an ordinary morning til..
discovery of discoveries
brittle chrysalis
upside down, branching
breathing, pulsing
I pause and
inspect the
pupa’s fortress
tight and hard as
childhood memories of
milkweed pods
splaying, splitting, dropping
fragments into the
pungent soil beneath
My birth sac
splits apart
Baptismal waters
run down my legs
he’s going to be a
football player the
doctor predicts.
one last push
spills my babe
onto linen’s
glaring whiteness.
oops, he’s a she
and so beautiful.
A parallel universe
repeats, reflects, completes
an ever changing
life cycle
sunshine dries
black and orange panes
tiny filaments of gossamer
wings shimmer silky white
against the opaque sun
Dad’s car delivers
mom and babe home
their newborn squalls.
her tiny fingers
curl in a tight fist.
each digit is a
prayer bead
chanting its presence.
I gaze in amazement
my mind awhirl
wings and elbows,
antennae and toes
displace space now that
seconds before was
unknown. unclaimed.
O foolish Amerikan klan,
who hath Klux bewitched thee with pale poof?
Kluless to the celestial truth,
Love immutable is infinity grand
Children of the Aryan band,
what doth the dark star say unsooth?
Thy divided house is quaking from the foundation to the roof,
as incantations of hatred are caste by thine hand
Stir madly the black cauldron with thy ladle iron brand ...
knowest not, thou Jim Crow vows are dove uncouth?
Universal love is the relativity proof,
yet thine mathematical impurity will cancel thy hexed land
Inverted cloud 9 chanting brings triple digit reign; slow death quicksand,
cursed cause invoked by thou warlock heirs of John Wilkes Booth
Mix the enamel pox potion from thy bittersweet Cain rotten tooth,
let angry spirits from boiling brew be vomit spilt upon thy Endora strands
Thus, the mirror of time will show the cold reflection of thy fool’s errand;
ought not all ayes idol-ly stand by, and watch thy seance plight aloof?
A world in need of spiritual balm
Many have lost the way,
Your faith may give you a lift
When from the truth you start to drift
The prophets have told us of the times to come
Where beastly motives will prevail,
A new world order to mark the times,
And a 3 digit number will rule the day
Economies ruled by a beastly mark
No cash or card needed at the register,
Raise your hand, get it scanned
It's time to check out!
5-22-2023
The Power of the Tron
Said the Big Computer to the Human Computee:
“Without me, sir, you must concur,
Wherever would you be?
I tally all your numbers, and I even give advice,
Unlike you, I’m objective and predictably precise.
‘Way down my epicenter, I’ve a calculating brain
That can compile, compute, compound, expound, explore, explain.
Oh, don’t you wish you had my wits, if only an iota,
For I’ve more news than I can use -
I'm programmed to my quota.”
And on and on it carried on, continuing to scoff,
Until the Human Computee reached down and turned it OFF.
And now The Big Computer sits there idle all the day,
Without a boasting, bragging, calculating thing to say,
While on the chair, beside it there, the Human Factor lingers,
Computing trig and calculus by counting on its fingers,
And when its used its fingers up, it can simply transpose
And still deduce, deduct, add up, by counting on its toes!
Take heed, you Mighty IBMs, and other pedigrees,
Before you get too taken with your capabilities –
You may have stores of knowledge;
You may be an Alpha Tron,
But it’s the Human Digit
Ultimately
Turns
You
ON.
Waiting waiting waiting - but to whom?
For the dark, nights groom?
For the sleep or to night-
Or waiting for a new bright?
The lazy dreams are walking aline,
They are common, not to thy.
Then what? What the thing?
If anything , calling to thy-
Hide in shade of dark, waiting to my.
Dark to Darker, silence meets her,
Birds digit also visits,
But am rude guy, nothing nor my!
Tomorrow office, have to go, but waiting to sleep, on the row!
Oh! See the leaf, breaking down, may for it
Wake in alone!
Or the Guard sleeping at night, may for being
Hero of right?
May the moonshing asks to me,
For a visit, with you ' fairy '!
Just the tale, nothing more,
Really the night flips me more!
If I slept, passed the night,
Wake in morning, feeling bright.
But alone here on tha bay,
Betrays me everyday,
If the dark, got the Queen,
to me and from the marine!
But the mystery of the night,
Spoil mine one more bright.
Again I know, will be here,
but calling the tone, not fragrance air,
It's the solve and it is bare!
Midnight boom town streets have this allure
imagining an uncanny venture
eavesdrop veil surround but dark as coal
how I love my after hours stroll
Secret worlds unfold their impish plot
mesmerised entanglement a tiered whatnot
black crush velvet sky we must extol
how I love my after hours stroll
Gilt fantasies that float across each lane way
fluorescent gremlin from some ghostly parking bay
gust on salt ice pier might buttonhole
how I love my after hours stroll
Snow clad mall whistler gaffe prone
while wandering the ink hue urban zone
a chapter lift and snatch from begging bowl
how I love my after hours stroll
Traffic signals stellar stoic stance
heartbeat of nocturnal moonlight dance
frozen digit signage reeks of twinkling North Pole
how I love my after hours stroll
The little hand, the big hand,
The numbers all o'clock;
The way the seconds move
With every tick and every tock.
Explaining the positions
Showing 30 on its face,
A knowledge that no digit-flashing
Timepiece can replace.
I guess it's as old-fashioned
As when teaching kids to spell,
But there's value in those lessons,
Least as far as I can tell.