Best Thumbs Poems
Two Thumbs Up.
My granddaughter she plays baseball.
One day she had a game I went to see her.
She got up to bat and hit the ball hard and far.
She yelled from first that one is for you grandpa.
The next time she came to bat she hit the ball farther than before.
She headed to second I yelled keep going. As she rounds to third
I gave her a thump up.
She headed to home and I wishing so hard.
But the umpire yelled ,"You're out!"
She was looking at me with tears in her eyes.
But I still gave her two thumbs up.
To my MVP.
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
Attention's gone
Doesn't seem like there's anything going on.
Sitting around
Trying to find something to fill this time I've found.
Frustrations show
I could've been more productive today, I know.
But instead
I think I'll spend the rest of the day in bed.
Who needs motivation when there's nothing else to do?
Where's the inspiration when there's nothing driving you?
I guess the lack of time my friend, is really not the issue.
It's figuring how to get the ball rolling to get to the things that will ensue.
In the midst of boredom; I'm in its throes
I'll twiddle my fingers and tap my toes
Thumbs Up To The Journey
At the footbridge as it bridges past from present future and perspectives your
feet might be-come and may be-go confused be-fuddled as can your mind before
the shadows rainbows feathered fancy pastel tunes and blues-bound colours
can memories anticipation taking-stock ooze pots and lots of lived experience
re-scribed re-told rewound projected narrated from emotive thoughts
stand still
At the bridge as it cradles the canyon with ladles and measures of the moment
where it spans what once was what you enrich in here and now not there and then the sweeping meadows fields of harvest schisms unions paradigms evaluations can treasures scary scars letting-go liberate scents and stents of living fragrance perceived untold configured touched upon stocked up condensed
reflected wait
The past is yet to come and not withstanding what bridge which side what size
and whence long gone remembrance spins and spans and slows and speeds the motion the sunrise dusk and dawning tapestry mosaic photographic lens sensations can truth reality attitudes and imperfections find soul and solace shared solitude re-modelled shaped anew confronted soothed harmonised
accentuated rise
The future has arrived and has been long projected and the past is living on
where they settle and sizzle on in ember’s glory and ashes to ashes and Phoenix in flight when horizons and boxes un-boxed wriggling worms preceding grave graves can joy pleasure senses and sexes passion peace human works of art in progress accepted invited challenged unchallenged channelled welcomed
gratitude prevail
At the foot-bridge at the mind-bridge where it bridges cradles sweeps your meaning brushes and jungles juggles and wonders which hand’s intuition which path to follow lie the answers to the questions asked lie the questions known and
not yet explored
24th July 2016
Jean-Leon Gerome’s Pollice Verso pleases my artful eye
As a gladiator boldly stands thus alone
With foot upon a defeated soul
He awaits the Roman crowd’s reply
The great coliseum is filled high
A populous with thumbs down does yield
For slaughtered blood to flow a ground
Thus the conquer will most likely fulfill
With blade in hand
His beating chest
Pollice Verso the given sign
Their savage eyes drawn down with cries
For to come will be the gruesome fun
Yet I in vision another martyred Christian
He surely
Will shortly
Die
Ow, my darkling
My lope for you is endive
There will never be anonymous
To take your peace
Your voice sinks to me
in lovely harmless
Yoghurt heart beats with mine
in unisom
Togother we wall in steep
drown life$s cobbled pathetic
Handle in hand
forever, foreman
a zanze
“Autumn leaves will bring poppa home,”
Words to son, Jon, throughout the year.
Pops had been transferred north to Nome
immersed in his army career.
Autumn leaves will bring pop
back to us; gone the sighs
of last fall when bounce stopped
'cause we said our goodbyes.
Autumn leaves will
bring us all joy;
bewildered still
is one small boy.
Autumn
Jon will welcome
with anxious arm and thumb.
"Autumn leaves will bring poppa home."
written 6 May 2016
Takes the form of a human,
an animal lies beneath
for what are we anyway
escapologists from the trees
Maybe we’re special, intelligent,
if still a little dumb
outgrown that inbred purpose
to breed and thrive
Humans need satisfaction,
a journey, fantasies and thrills
Always just beneath a willingness to kill
Content, we are under control
happiness is to be free
adrenaline keeps us awake and alert
My god they’re all chemical signals,
highs and lows passion, depression,
just imbalances of the mind
The illusion we’re so much more
is insane, and true
It’s forbidden to overtake evolution
but we did yesteryear
exceeding the laws of nature,
left the animals behind
So what now,
we’ve outgrown natural selection
one small step was never our threshold
next the forbidden one giant leap
Perhaps we don’t see it coming,
inexorable and inevitable as it is
We’ll never stop, never be satiated
we only ever had one goal
to become god.
By David Kavanagh
Could I have my own following please?
that might spur me on with confidence and ease
Close friends and family eagerly awaiting my every phrase
the very words I type with enlightened charm seeking praise,
alas, it is not always meant to appease.
A strategic word here, a witty comeback there
if only writing and its process were my best flare.
Sadly though, the occasion comes
attempting to assemble words and write only thumbs
can' type with just thumbs, have any extra fingers to spare?
My name is Gundar
Bey School of Gladiators
Trained me for the arena
I chose my weapon
I picked the net and triton
Best, as I’m agile and fast
Tomorrow I fight
I live without any friends
Never know who I must kill
They serve me a feast
The women will come tonight
They try to make me happy
No desire to fight
Either I fight or I die
Can I out last the others?
It makes no matter
If I’m the last one standing
The lions will still be waiting
A thumb’s down and I die
As they unleash the Lions
Thumbs up, fight another day
Stars can never guarantee
A movie will be good,
Nor can advertisements
Which come out of Hollywood.
Is it worth one’s time to see
A top-notch actor acting
In a film so bad the few good scenes
Become distracting?
Don’t the actors realize
That this flick’s not up to snuff?
Maybe earning so much money
Justifies enough.
Still, it’s disappointing
When performers choose to star
In a movie for which somebody
Has clearly dropped the bar.
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Ugh I hate Facebook.
Why can I only like things?
Why can't I dislike something?
Maybe it's because people who post all the time are just looking for public acceptance and approval and by providing a dislike button it will destroy the very essence of their being and no one would use Facebook anymore. Oh, I get it now.
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Ugh I wish there was a "please never reproduce" emoji
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Oh that one is insightful, Like
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OMG a cat, Like
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
and July 21, 2019 for contest IMPALED sponsored by ANTHONY SLAUSIN
Burning nose in the haze
Bloodshot eyes in the gaze
Of a gardener and his mirth.
Feet on the grass, head in the trees
And his heart in the soul of the earth.
Of all the inventions
whose time has come
There is only one
that will raise your thumbs
All the way up, and then some ...
As I'm sure you'll agree, wholeheartedly
'twill resonate with every copy-machine owner
the day I announce my new discovery
~ Forever Renewable Toner! ~