I hate the feeling of my tongue on my teeth,
The way my breath hides underneath.
You think a smile is a sign,
To cross my boundaries, blur the line.
You reach for me, one by one;
Until my trust is overrun.
You twist my words into a game,
And somehow I'm the one to blame.
For you it was but a failed attempt,
But to me, it's thoughts I can't repent.
I sit here with a pit in my stomach;
While you move on, still living free.
You were nothing more than a friend to me,
I said that clearly, repeatedly.
You say something strange, I look away.
I change the subject; you laugh and stay.
I trusted you to respect my wishes,
But you turned my silence into permission.
You act as if I owe you touch,
When I never promised you that much.
Even now, I cannot help but think,
I replay each word you made me drink.
My voice is mine, my body too;
I owe no part of me to you.
Ruminating on Li??le Bo-Peep,
and sadly,
her badly-missing sheep,
the evidence will show,
in the time allotted,
to get all her ducks in a row,
she had not spotted
the reason they were lost.
It was because her t's were dotted
and their eyes were crossed.
With fingers crosed, we both come close
Calling positive vibrations!
Each bud will bloom into a rose
With fingers crossed we both come close.
Such great lovers, love won't lose
Destined couples...I envision
With fingers crossed, we both come close
Calling positive vibrations!
With Fingers crossed I sail alone
To find what now awaits for me
No net is there in the unknown
If failure comes, I will not be
To find what now awaits for me
I go where I've not gone before
If failure comes, I will not be
If I cannot in life endure
I go where I've not gone before
To find a place where I can build
If I cannot in life endure
I hope at least to have a shield
To find a place where I can build
Something that stands both time and test
I hope at least to have a shield
To finish now life's silent quest
Something that stands both time and test
No net is there in the unknown
To finish now life's silent quest
With fingers crossed I sail alone
Wrote April 30 by Charles Reese for the This or That poetry contest
He sits, with fingers crossed, at dance floor's edge
as ever, he did this first Friday night
a boy too young to drink, too scared to pledge;
swirling skirts, exposed stocking tops, excite.
He’d seen it all before, mail-order books.
but never like this, the rhythm, beat, the heat
would she regard his suit of Brothers, Brooks?
The one his mother said that looked so neat.
He’d stolen perfume, left it on her porch.
She knew and would acknowledge with a glance;
which then, it would ignite the fiery torch
and so together they would dance, and dance.
He sits, with fingers crossed, at dance floor's edge
a boy who never danced, for fear the pledge.
an aching
silence abides
young love
b
e
c
k o n
i n g b a c k
once tenderness starved,
t
u
s s l e s t o
s
s
e
d
into
love’s brutal
apex
warping sting,
in bated
breath’s requited ring,
wished upon the same star
in
each other’s resolves
Her world has become suspiciously small,
mind walls are blocking margins of escape,
soon she’ll be discharged to fair Pania,*
and there perhaps elegant folderal
with a handsome man in landscape dreamscape
of enchantment beneath Urania,**
(never again to know infernal sins).
Is she trapped in the web of Aranea?***
Perhaps; perhaps not, but with hope agape,
and fingers crossed, she plunges deeper in-
to pools of mania!
* Greek, derived from papias, meaning "crown" or "guard of the Imperial Palace".
**goddess of love; counterpart of Greek Aphrodite
***an orb-weaving spider
With fingers crossed,
I embarked upon life's contests.
With fingers crossed,
I took the tests.
With fingers crossed,
I did my best.
With fingers crossed,
I truly confessed.
With fingers crossed,
Sometimes I protested.
With fingers crossed,
I always expect nothing less.
With fingers crossed,
I made an amazing request.
Without God's touch.
I am a mess.
With or without my fingers crossed,
I always know that I am blessed.
Hands behind my back
my fate is on the line cast
into the abyss
a hit or miss bite for me
on the fly, I sent to see.
Chance and choice entwined
a fragile bridge over doubt
serendipity
in cold empathy with fate
pressed tense, taut, fingers hard.
Criss-crossed with hope's twine,
I bargain with the unseen
with fate's mouth agape
waiting to see the outcome
of the Chinese finger cuffs.
Orange ball of fire
slips down sky
Igniting navy blue night
Like a kid sliding down
The sliding board
In slow motion
Stars seem to peek
As if watching me
Casting dreams upon
Silvery steam of their light
Watch them rinse repeat
Wishing upon stars bring peace
Wind seems to hold
Whims hopes goals
Like a kite against clouds
I feel solar energy warm
Yet cool like black breeze
Yesterday’s yellow bellied laugh
Purple psychosomatics of past
Optimistic views of one madd
Despite the pessimism in that
Embracing even chasing rainbows
Could shooting stars be my destiny
Transforming souls of gold
Fading into heaven’s horizon
As a story to be retold rewritten
Reinventing universe of light
So much more than mankind
With fingers crossed seeking to find
With fingers crossed
A glance, a smile, a dream I chase,
I walk these paths hoping to run into you.
How can one thought stay glued to my mind,
like searching for a needle in a field of hay?
I memorize your schedule in my head,
trying to find one minute that could change everything.
What I have been through, only you can fix.
I wait with fingers crossed, hoping you see me.
I would go to any length just for a look,
like two train tracks that run side by side,
longing to touch but never meeting.
Your voice pulls me closer every day.
I fall asleep with you still in my thoughts,
hoping that one day we can finally be real.
So I lay here with my fingers crossed,
praying you will see me, touch me, and stay,
until my love for you is finally enough.
Date [25 April 2026]
Title [With fingers crossed]
Sponsor [Edward Ibeh]
With fingers crossed, I live most every day
by thoughts, most often of my family.
With fingers crossed, along with how I pray,
have fervent hope they'll all live happily.
With fingers crossed, beseech unsteady fate
which often does what it thinks it should do,
and hope the chance that it will deviate
from bad decisions, planning to be true.
Therefore, I must rely on prayers to God
Who listens to us all, each one by one-
reshaping futures, often seen as flawed
to grant our wishes and declare them done.
With fingers crossed? Or hands held tight in prayer?
I do believe from fate, God's prayers will spare.
A child, when you first painfully surmised,
that love is something to be won or lost,
the victim of a winning player's lies,
when early on your youthful heart was crossed.
So, like many aspiring men before,
it would be your inevitable fate
in life and love, to try to pry a door,
by learning to scheme and manipulate.
Yet, strangely, the conquests you have enjoyed,
with each bittersweet passing victory,
are experiences empty and void.
The winner isn't really you, you see -
as, you've lost yourself, and incurred the cost,
in living, loving, with your fingers crossed.
Fingers crossed I pray each day we’ll wake up
To another blessed day, the two of us
The years have passed by at marathon speed
So many mountains climbed, me as cheerlead.
I don’t forget the day you came this way
When my world lit up with musical sway
We’ve survived many ups, numerous downs
Have ridden multiple merry-go-rounds.
It wasn’t easy, when your health issues appeared
And many days where spent in floods of tears
Struggling to carry on, with fear in heart
Hoping that we would walk out of the dark.
So I pray with fingers crossed every night
That we wake together and all is right.
With fingers crossed, he rewrites his disjointed plot,
the struggling novelist who edits as he prays.
Each character he births is and is not~
half ink, half ghost, half-truth he can’t quite phrase.
He pulls a thread of meaning; shadows lean,
waiting to see which version he’ll allow.
They move as if the margins intervene,
as if unwritten grace could shape them now.
Yet in his hands, the draft begins to breathe~
a fragile faith disguised as narrative.
He knows the lies his metaphors bequeathe,
the hopes his careful sentences outlive.
Something stirs and answers in the stilled air,
as if it’s God who leans in to meet his prayer
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