Best Two Fingers Poems
By David Kavanagh
On second thoughts
When instinct becomes
an educated guess
And improvisation
demands quick redress
Like thinking on one’s feet
if too drunk to stand
Be found all at sea
throwing up on dry land
Twisted situations
we find ourselves in
When bundles of joy
reek original sin
Smack on the butt
for showing a bit of cheek
Do everything perfect
get labelled a freak
Gestures, signals,
often appear to confuse
High five or fist bump
sweaty handshake defused
One or two fingers:
the bird a sign of peace
Kneel with respect
submissive purr on a leash
Diversions, promises,
never black and white
Passive aggression
silent treatment for slight
Jack in the box, ripper
jumps out with a knife
Break a leg, for the
performance of his life
Police warning: never
mess around with guns
Gut reaction sparks a
stampede, or the runs
Playing it very cool,
whilst feeling much heat
Praying devoutly,
burnt at stake for deceit
Sticking out one’s tongue
in contempt, no a kiss!
Sigh of relief
they were just taking the piss
Such is living, such is death
come friend or foe
On second thoughts
syllabic verse, or sh!tshow
By David Kavanagh
hms
I’m living in anticipation
With other cigarettes who are also growing impatient
We’re waiting
Praying
To be the next chosen one
Now, the door opens and we’re soaked by the light of the sun
Screams of “PICK ME!, PICK ME!”
She plucks me from the bunch; I’ve never felt so free
Straight from the prison she sticks my butt in her mouth, which is odd
Now, she puts a flame in my face and sets me on fire, OH MY GOD!
But hold the phone, this feels great
I wish I could tell the fellas back in the pack their fate
She takes me out of her mouth and holds me with two fingers
She blows my smoke in the air where, for a couple seconds, it lingers
She taps my back, a feeling so good it might be a sin
Some embers of mine fall to the ground and disappear with the wind
After 5 minutes of pure bliss
She once again pulls my butt off her lips
Smoke, as usual, flows into the daylight
I’m waiting for the taps and for the embers to take flight
But instead, she suddenly flicks me away without a sound
I fly through the air, drop, and crash on the ground
No big deal, It was certainly an accident
At least I’m still lit
Then as I look up I see the sole of her shoe driving down
All I can do is stare and frown
She crushes me on the asphalt
Then smears me around; sprinkling the wound with salt
I disintegrate to ash
How could she just treat me like trash?
I thought that feeling would last forever
But I guess you decided, for no evident reason, it was time to sever
I’ve been betrayed
Alone I wither and decay.
This day to celebrate the supreme sacrifice
of the ancient prophet Abraham
This day to ponder and reminisce
that divine substitution of Ismail for a ram!
This Quranic and biblical factual story
shall never diminish in its age-old glory
That superb reliance on and compliance with the will of God
eternally for man to learn from and applaud.
Upon his awesome trust in the unseen, let his kind marvel
and of submission, devotion to God bestow him a laurel
And now for the sake of mutual unity and festivity
first let all of humanity
release their doves of peace
and let them fly freely, unprovoked, unrestrained
with olive branches in their beaks
such that when angels who predicted
forever feuding humans
look down they see instead
6 billion or more two fingers up
in a huge mass of humanity
signalling for and meaning to keep the peace!
But mind you, world peace is to be everybody's goal
so let no one leave space for any loop-hole.
EID GREETINGS everybody.
Standing at the plate there is no doubt
The pitcher is determined to strike me out
He squints to see the catcher's glove
Then spins and swings his arms above
The ball scorches a path across the plate
I feebly swing six days too late
The umpire acts like he's having fun
When he bellowed out, "STRIKE ONE!"
Again the pitcher stares at the dish
While I silently make a wish
Not a big request at all
I only want to hit the ball
The pitcher rears back and throws a curve
The ball starts over there and then begins to swerve
I miss so badly I hit the ground
I can hear people laughing all the way back in town
The umpire is having a belly laugh too
As he holds up two fingers and shouts, "STRIKE TWO!"
The pitcher is doing a cocky dance
While behind the mound hiking up his pants
He looks smug and I hear the catcher say,
"Give it up boy, he's putting you away."
The pitcher shakes off signs 1,2,3
He's saving a special pitch just for me
He peeks out over the top of his glove
I can tell that this strikeout he already loves
He winds up like a crazy corkscrew
Slinging a pitch he has never threw
I close my eyes and jerk the bat
Somehow the bat finds where the ball is at
The crack was the loudest ever heard
Nowhere in this stadium can you hear a word
You can hear a pin drop in this place
Nary a smile on any face
You would think that ball was launched into outer space
But alas, it is just a dribbler to first base
I feel I should get out of town
When I saw the other team high-fiving on the mound
Dad said, "Don't worry son, we'll get them next time champ."
After all it was just my first bat at Little League camp!
Under her guidance, we stood at attention
Like a row of young soldiers, reciting the anthem
"Oh Say, Can You See?".. was a warbled contusion,
that could shatter your glasses, disturb other classes
out of tune, out of rhythm, but with avid enthusiasm
it could rattle the rafters of our little school
And with childish delusions, we thought we were cool!
As we stood in the room
she would move down the line
with a frown in the depth
of her leathery brow. She would bow
till her ear matched our voice
and her hand would be poised
with two fingers that cued,
keeping time with the tune.
She would grit all her teeth
bite the inside of cheeks
Such a serious task!
it was all that she asked
that we please.."DO YOUR BEST!"
When we mastered, at last
She would gasp, then exclaim
as we sang each refrain,
mixed with tears, she would clap
I remember it now...
Here I stand in this row
with my hand on my heart
as the first strain imparts
Yes, I know those old words...
they'll remain part of me
'til the day that I die
"O Say, Can You See?"...still familiar to me
But no..............I can't see....
with fresh tears in my eyes...
_________________________________________________
A quiet teenager named Tina
Had bullies use words to demean her
But my memory lingers
cos she stuck up two fingers
then pushed them into the marina!
3/20/18
I must admit that I ain't very handy with hammer and nails,
And am hopelessly at sea when figurin' technical details.
As to fixin' things with fancy tools, I haven't a clue,
But I'm a whiz at usin' duct tape, balin' wire and super glue!
Tho' it's somewhat unwieldly and it sure ain't too ornate,
Balin' wire can be used in an emergency as hinges for a gate!
'Tis perfect for securin' the droopin' bumper on my automobile,
And for supportin' the saggin' muffler, balin' wire is ideal!
No doubt you'll bond at least two fingers together, 'tis true,
But, Oh! The myriad of things to be fixed with super glue!
'Tis good for repairin' artificial teeth when in a pinch,
And for mendin' broken shards and earrings, 'tis a cinch!
How can we ever thank the feller who invented duct tape enough!
It holds the universe together! Life without it would be tough!
It'll patch anything, gag a spouse, keep a man's toupee in place;
Why! It was even used to repair Apollo 13 in outer space!
With these marvels of the modern age I can tackle any situation,
Fixin' things with simple application and heady innovation.
Why should I be thwarted usin' nails, screws, staples and such,
When duct tape, super glue and balin' wire are my sturdy crutch!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
I
A spark is shot
Deftly, from between two fingers.
It sits, wavering on its bed
Like a lone star
Against the black,
Cold coals.
Chuckling, a candle flame shows
Its little golden head.
Sleepily, it reaches for its mother
And she, flickering, crackles her tongue
As the scorching hand upon her breast grows
And spreads.
Curious and hungry,
flamma explorat.
II
A fire is mature, suddenly
Superior. Its arms extend,
It works, briskly it burns.
Like a tiger
It inhabits its cage.
Laughing, a blaze rises
To greet a brittle friend.
For another
And another
Blaze yearns.
Alas! Any tears would hiss
If the glowing cheeks reminisced a kiss.
It is Love The Fuel on which its life depends.
Selfish and beautiful,
flamma vivat!
III
The embers sift, tenderly
Nursing the staggering
Foolish old flame
Who must be coaxed to nibble and feed.
No light livens the hearth, haunted now,
Merely shadows.
In faded fame, amidst dusty fortune
The patient lies.
And it ponders as all its dazzle dies
Who taught me to hate?
Was it lack of love or lack of life
That finally dampened my fanciful play?
Slowly,
Painfully,
The gargoyle face is smothered in ash,
The soft powder of its parents fate.
And death waits
Eerily
Still
Until another is born in the grate.
Tired and lonely,
flamma extinguet.
When instinct becomes
an educated guess
And improvisation
demands quick redress
Like thinking on one’s feet
if too drunk to stand
Be found all at sea
throwing up on dry land
Twisted situations
we find ourselves in
When bundles of joy
reek original sin
Smack on the butt
for showing a bit of cheek
Do everything perfect
be labelled a freak
Gestures, signals,
often appear to confuse
High five, fist bump
a sweaty handshake defused
One or two fingers:
the bird a sign of peace
Kneel with respect
submissive purr on a leash
Diversions, promises,
never black and white
Passive aggression
silent treatment for slight
Jack in the box, ripper
jumps out with a knife
Break a leg, for the
performance of his life
Police warning: never
mess around with guns
Gut reaction sparks a
stampede, or the runs
Playing it very cool,
whilst feeling much heat
Praying devoutly,
burnt at stake for deceit
Sticking out one’s tongue
in contempt, no a kiss!
Sigh of relief
they were just taking the piss
Such is living, such is death
come friend or foe
On second thoughts
syllabic verse, or sh!tshow
By David Kavanagh
hms
You’re too old to feel this shy he says
Looking into my soul with those chocolate brown eyes
He slides two fingers in and I look away
My body begins to shake, my mouth begins to dry
Sex is normal they say…
All I can see now is his face
How he looked at me like I was everything
And nothing all at once
I can’t help but miss him even though he took all my shame
All he would do was take, take, and take
All I feel for him now is regret
And I realize that sex should not feel this way…
I close my eyes and try to forget his face
You did not break me, I think
There are many heartbreaks to come and tears to shed
One day I will look in the mirror and the person I will be able to see is a delighted me
People around have started to finally listen
Don’t lose your virginity to him if you’re not ready
Others begin to say that it’s just sex…
I see him naked with his beautiful, dark, and toned body in my bed
He starts to kiss me like he’s searching for answers, but in the wrong place
I feel the trembling in my body, the overload of heat
I don’t know if it’s excitement or fear
I tell him to get off
This isn’t love
I am just a slim body for him to use and forget in a couple of months, maybe even weeks
He gets dressed and leaves, and I feel relief
I am still pure, yet feel so dirty
Months have passed
I can’t help but see his face
How do you call someone you felt everything for and they felt absolutely nothing?
That’s real heartbreak
You will learn from this they say
I look around and see men as something to be disgusted by
Teach me how to love
But do I even love myself?
Walking down Lehigh Ave in North Philadelphia where I used to play
Now I see teenagers playing with dirty syringes and caps of rock
Women strutting and screaming, "Hey," to the car slowing down to peak
Gotta get one more
And the mother cries as the police drag her son away
Cars with flats and smashed windshields litter the streets and gangsters
Old men walk fast and the litter races to keep up
Glass crunches underfoot as the junkie holds up his hand with two fingers
"Whatchou want old man?"
And the newspaper flies past swirling and the old man thinks it's the end
Police roll past and the thugmen walk casually in all directions
"Da Bien,"thugish screams and the dealers return
As she sticks the needle in her arm and pulls the blood through
She goes into a nod and her eyelids droop but a tear rolls on her freckled cheek
Its the tear that has power as her breath becomes close
She takes one last lungful and the tear rolls slow as the heroin takes her life
Pigtails, cowboy belts and new summer jeans.
A long ride to the lake. I can't wait to get fishin'!
I have to take Sis? Mooom . . . how mean!
Hurry up little sister, there's no time to lose.
Cut a new pole, dig a can of worms,
Run out on the dock and find your own place.
Pleading, with nose twisted,
A worm gingerly pinched between two fingers,
I finally agree to bait my pathetic sister's hook.
The day wears on and on, hot and quiet.
Shh, Sis, or you'll scare 'em away.
No, Sis, we can't go back, we haven't caught a fish yet.
Little sister just doesn't understand the fine art of fishing.
I said a little longer.
"But I'm hungry."
Just a little bit longer.
"But I have to gooo . . ."
Sis, please, it won't be long . . .
YES! . . . I caught one. Now you see!
Angry and tired and not impressed with my catch, she pulled in her worm,
And with a quick flick of the wrist, off the hook she did pluck it.
With hands on her hips, looking me square in the eye she declared,
Anyone, who would sit out here all day for that, is dumb enough to fish in a bucket!
The first time I had one
It really was not fun.
I called the doctor
and went right away.
I knew that, how is it hanging
was the first thing he would say.
And he did not let me down.
In fact he had me stand up.
OK drop your drawers
and as if that was not enough
for a fifteen year old,
lean across the table
I was told.
You have a good healthy hemorrhoid.
Take good care of it.
Hopefully you will be partners for life.
Yeah, you sure do not want it to see a knife.
Now stand up and turn around,
No, leave your shorts on the floor.
He placed two fingers in a most
delicate place.
Turn your head to the right and cough.
Then two fingers on the other side.
Now, turn the other way and cough.
Very good he said, they act just like
they are supposed to.
No, leave your drawers on the floor!
One more check he said.
I do not like that evil smile Doc.
What are you going to do.
Well, son I am going to check your prostate.
My pros what.
Your prostate. The thing that allows
you to have sex.
Who said I do that?
Well, you need a history of when it is healthy
to know when it starts to have a problem.
So bend over that table.
I really do not know what happened next
because in about ten seconds,
I passed out.
I know you ladies find this in poor taste. So- - -
To all the men, no matter when,
the FIRST TIME you had this done.
The Moon’s Yellow Eyes
After: The King in Yellow by Robert Chambers
Situations righted by the assassination in Sheepshead Bay (alibied with difficulty under earth’s single moon), I curl up on the windowsill hissing at the pallid orb. Oh how, I long for my planet, Carcosa. I lick the remaining human poison from my claws. Yes, man-made poison, but I, I am the one who delivers— population control.
Wilde, my mate, our transformed intermediary, brushes my coat. I purr. How oddly complacent Wilde has become. Once, he too walked on four legs. After our arrival on Earth and his change (We thought the change would regrow the ear I tore from him in his last life—) my mate became no more than a castrato. I do regret the torture which deprived him of two fingers on his right hand. (It made his job more difficult.) But, discipline was necessary.
the pestle crushes
poison white snakeroot:
yellow eyes shine
Well, why am I telling you this? To that I would say, why not? Who on earth would believe a cat could talk?
The feline form has advantages in espionage. A petted and pampered puss can lure the reticent, overhear the loud-mouthed, two-footed, earthly baboons—with cunning, obtain information no human in their right mind would divulge to an enemy. As valet, advisor, disciplinarian to Wilde (and he to the earthlings), my position abides, a mere slap and tickle from the throats of power. My teeth, neck piercing weapons of choice; my claws scimitars of death drip with the blood of masters.
One more night out. Wilde cat-like licks the scar on his damaged hand and stares at the invitation stamped with the Presidential seal. One more night, sweet puss and the reign of The Yellow King will begin.
Published by Illumen 2016
I am lost in a tangled wood
Reaching for a rope like thread
Two fingers balancing
One, two, three….
Like ballerina legs
Gliding along the tendril floor
Inching forward, halted
By a knotty carrefour
The dense foliage
Throwing shadows around the cracks
Guiding God’s fingers
Illuminating the furcate tracks
A judgment, God or Heart…
Trust or regret…
One path forward
One path back