Left little finger — mocks old strident foes.
Left ring finger — wears pale imprint after love ups and goes.
Left middle — taps out the years between hugs.
Left index finger — points up high to the heavens above.
Left thumb — presses today's stamp on yesterday's late mail.
Right thumb — flips through faded pages of old diaries.
Right index finger — traces funny faces on misted window panes.
Right middle finger — catches tears way before they fall.
Right ring finger — encircles promises with gold bands of hope.
Right little finger — wiggles forlornly until another pinky wiggles back.
I conclude I was conceived hard-and-fast,
Misfortunes rain on my parade, downcast -
Bad Luck to date
Fickles my Fate,
I now bet on Hope, that they say, dies last!
GUY GAVE A ZINGER
SO TRUMP GAVE HIM THE FINGER
HIS ISSUES LINGER
I know my hair continues to grow
tho' not for long when I'm dead and gone
finger and toenails sprout out slow
but here's a thought to linger on
it's only a theory yet I have a query
when six feet down in hallowed ground
will wax still appear in both my ears
if I'm not here or no longer around?
Today holiday shopping’s a flick of the finger
~ Bargain basement memories barely linger
wedding ring on my finger ...
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
An ode to silent shouts
Standing alone
Thrust upward
In voiceless violence
Cursing the closure of confinement
A finger
...flipped in frustration
I dress my ring fingers fancy when I go out
A ring on each, or I hear my heart shout
During the day I garden, weed, hoe and rake
Ringless, I cook, knead, measure and bake
The second I plan a trip, these fingers squeal
I dress them up nicely when I meet friends for a meal
If I start to leave the house and they are not dressed
I stop the car and run back in; these fingers truly are blessed.
A wasp stung
my ring finger
Place of the ring!
My hand is double
Sharp acid pain
This is a sign
Oh, save me!
I am afraid!
Save me, Light!
I had one finger sandwich, one cracker with cheese...
but I was not satisfied, only with these,
so, on my way home I had a burger with fries,
and a couple of steaming hot cherry pies.
When I got home, I had one pizza, two burritos,
polished off with three bags of Cheetos.
I heard a voice that said, "Stop eating this slop",
but it was too late, because I could not stop.
The refrigerator was empty, so I ate up four chairs,
I ate the table, and I ate up the stairs.
Before you knew it, I'd eaten the whole house,
I didn't even spare that poor little mouse.
I started to cry because everything was gone,
but I felt much better when I ate the lawn.
My stomach was hurting. You might say I was reckless,
but I kept going and ate half of East Texas.
I ate up the earth, and I ate up the moon,
I ate up the sun with my hands, not a spoon.
I ate up all the stars, and I ate up the sky.
Nothing is left, so I bid you goodbye.
Splinter in finger
Hurting hot unhappy red
Needle probe nightmare
Infants begin
with closed fists—
white and red,
like the sun
about to rise.
They grow,
thumb resting in their mouth,
fingers curling around
the saree’s edge of the mother,
the sacred thread of the father—
building a small,
secure world.
A few months later,
with tiny movements,
gentle manners,
they reach for toys—
holding them close,
day and night,
whispering in their own language,
never alone.
A soft toy becomes a world.
Sometimes it is a spoon,
a cup,
a tumbler—
clutched for years
as a secret friend.
Sometimes a locket,
a ring,
a bracelet—
shining with unseen magic.
And now,
Doraemon walks beside them,
on TV,
on mobiles,
everywhere they go.
These bonds,
woven with innocence,
give strength,
bring laughter,
carry a quiet promise—
that joy will stay,
and life will be kind.
If it is written, so be it,
but who'll admit
to writing what was writ
when the fan is hit?
And, if, having inscribed,
the finger does proceed,
whose digit was it
when the words were decreed?
Yet, carved in stone,
or etched on glass,
who'll confess to pouring such concrete
when it comes to pass?
He was deeply worried,
A problem lay within,
Buried in the depths of his heart,
Countless slaves in his possession.
He wanted to control
All of them, he needed
A unique identity for each.
Suddenly, he struck upon
The idea of a fingerprint.
It's criminal what women'll do
to keep a man down on the farm
shed false tears strategy I fear
pull the wool turn on the charm
smiling all the while
trap him wrap him twist him
round her little finger
and insist it seems
should he linger longer than
appropriate she deems
for him to appreciate
'til he's tongue-tied up in knots
with all those forget-me-nots
keeping her the centre of his attention
not to mention the apple of his eye
starting with Eve it's now a far cry
from his ambition ever coming to fruition
should he cave in and comply
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.