Best Thumb Poems
Do not take revenge, my friends,
but leave room for God’s wrath,
for it is written: “It is mine to avenge.
I will repay,” says the Lord.
Romans 12:19 Bible NIV
WHY THUMB YOUR NOSE AT GOD
sins will be dealt with
why thumb your nose at God
with wiggling fingers
the itch of such
wanting to right all wrongs
and you believe
you’re writing your own song
but does this magic trick
of disappearing napkins
sawing boxes in half
contradict
one day you will be laid in a box
your history sorted through
that napkin will dab the eyes
of what you thought was true
surely on bended knee
the God of eternity
can better sort
out our affairs
7/15/2020
There once was a cougar named Rose
who kept the young men on their toes.
Working in her garden
they'd say "beg your pardon
I'll bet you could use a good hose!"
for Bawdy Limericks Two contest
sponsored by Roy Jerden
Thumb screws its way walking a straight line down the middle of the road hitching a ride on a new page no road kill here life’s a breeze surfing open minds along the torturous wake with all the sweet things
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Shuggie Otis
(A Shadow Sonnet)
Earth mother, now return to Mother Earth
for time has taken what you were born for.
Listen for its call, oh dear one, listen,
and answer, before it pulls both thee and
me. As rain washes earth's green over me,
I remember your thumb, stained green as I.
Sun brightened the hue, rain chased the sun.
hands tilled the soil, but dirt clung on hands
to flake from green fingertips, and thus to
spread the seed; bring back life to deathlike spread,
"green up" our world as your spade cast forth green,
too singled in purpose to compass two
who work together— as partners will— who
eye the same plot of land with reaper's eye.
Gardening pursuits
A green and healthy income
Seeds into flowers
She has magic hands,
Persephone's touch.
Everything she plants,
thrives vigorously.
I recall the time
she unwittingly produced
blossoms from dead limbs.
Wish I could do that!
She stuck the twigs,
broken off a nearby tree,
in dirt to mark the spots
where she planted seeds.
In Spring, peach trees
sprang up like JohnnyJump-ups,
eager to do my mother's bidding.
"I don't need those any more,"
she said. as she pulled
the markers out of the ground.
The sticks had taken root.
They soon became trees,
thriving in my yard,
blooming white in summer.
Writing a poem with only my thumbs
Opposable digits are A-number one
Will autocorrect fix the words I write wrong?
Not all words are lucky as I coax them along
My phone keyboard clicking as I’m typing the words
Now back to correct my fast-thumb-spelling turds
How long can I go with these poor thumbs of mine?
Most likely for hours, they’re typing sublime-ly
For they are the only thing in-shape on me
Covid has made my waist grow large times three!
For my thumbs are as sleek as an antelope
Compared to my waist, more a cantaloupe
The rhyme meter changed like an isotope
A variant bridge like a song I wrote
But back to the meter my thumbs they did strive
Worried I might go along for a drive
Now I will end this, my thumb-written poem
And hope you enjoyed it since it isn’t a tome
--All my writings are at mraymus.medium.com
Thumbs hold first-string
position in the hand.
They send messages
everyone understands.
Thumbs up say,
“You did it.
Go get it!”
Thumbs down say,
“You blew it.
You’ll regret it!”
Thumbs out signal,
“Get ‘outta’ here,
please disappear.”
Thumbs forward coax,
“Come here,
gimme a hug.”
Arms form columns,
but thumbs speak volumes.
Your middle finger
speaks its own language.
Tom Thumb, with split ears and abscess,
came to us on an autumn night.
A feline atlas with alley hard shoulders,
but a calm, cool warrior nonetheless.
Named for his Hemingway mittens,
an irony of bulk to literary lore,
for he surely would make a short meal
of a murine steed fit for a King’s jester.
His years of wrangling had earned him,
A craggy pelt of scars under a crooked halo,
all wrapped up in a ripe orange hirsute fleece.
There was something about that gnarled old pumpkin,
that found our hearts warm and happy to have him.
Though his life had been hard, he was quick to find
my Mother’s lap to be a very restful place.
Dear Tom spent the better part of a decade in our home.
The years of ease softened his shoulders,
and hastened his purr, though he still had *****.
The leaves of autumn learned to be weary of old Tom,
for he would shred on sight, the first leaf to fall.
As the years passed, the warmth of the sun,
found more often, Tom sitting with closed eyes,
enjoying the feel of his crimson fur.
Until an afternoon, late in the harvest season,
poor old Tom had been sick.
He sat proud in the sun for one last long sun bath,
warm as our hearts between his apricot strips.
Bast came for her brother the very next day,
to fetch him off to the land that never forgets.
“Fare-the-well dear Tom and may the autumn leaves,
suffer your claws for as long as the sun never sets.”
Hum Drum Thumb
Has a person ever put or placed a ban
On those putting marbles in their tin can
And after suffering much more bad news
All of his marbles he would loose.
More than likely what happened after that
Is some marbles had eyes looking like a cat
And after his hair out he started tearing,
Magic marble had become a big ball bearing.
Then for a longer while I will have waited
Discovered what started out soon equated
With what turned out to be a circle of events
Shoot marble wondering about consequences.
By my magic marble habit I had been overcome
Not only that sore became my right thumb
While shooting my marble through the clover
To my left thumb decided to change over.
I became dexthumbtherehes.
Jim Horn
One day just like that she began. A little smudge no bigger than God's thumb.
Forgetting old bones and scarred memories she was born one early March.
A lion in a baby carriage roaring and carrying on as if she had just been
flapped to the moon. The old perambulator squeaked as two strong hands
clutched the bar and rocked up and down. Moms cherry red lips whispered
in the winter wind as the snow fell softly all around.
The angels created origami wings and fluttering them around her
like white sail boat masts, entertained her to no end as the sun
shone down with all its strength.
Was the world ready for a super-girl filled with superpowers of delusional dimensions? Where they ready for her free-will descension?
The Earth winked at the stars and the sun cradled the moon. V was propelled to a palladium planet by an introspective God who watched from heaven's big screen as a tiny by-product of a dismantled placenta, a backlash of an Infinite Spirit's creation, a clairvoyant child with a good dose of E.S.P. , was suddenly back on Planet B .
God rolling up the parchment scroll gave out a sigh of relief.
It took as many years for her to mature as a fig on a southern tree.
But grow up she did and oh the things she achieved, who knew ?
to be continued...
Exposing its face—
The thumb of a hitchhiker
The thumb stops a car
And the traveler gets in—
Another story begins!
I do
work for
you, and I know
what you seek to build,
you merchant, you creditor,
you money-man. I know because you
made us all the way we are, weak.You made
me into some monster to do your dirty work, some
Golem. but I am wise to you, you ugly vulture, I'll not pull stone
for you more. You seek to build a masouleum, a glorious tribute to
you and your school of thought. But you are not soveriegn of the Nile, and
we are not your slaves. When this ugly ziggurat is pulled down, no man will be buried
within a bloody mountain. We will all be equal, unified by the embrace of silicates and
stones.
Bought myself a cactus plant
With flower on the top,
Such a dazzling orange
It seems phony, like a prop.
Set it on my windowsill
So light and air will fill it;
Wonder how long it’ll take
Before I start to kill it.
moving one thumb over another - it is important
like
butoh
one
knee
up
two
elbows
down
turn
slowly
out
of
car
four
friends
fire-brigade
to
curb
sidewalk
met
sharply
on
my
way
to
urine
screaming
wheel
chair
waiting
which
room
panhandling
veteren
scavenger
for
cigarrettes
says
welcome
home