You’re a whisper on my lips
The taste of my yearning
A feeling on my fingertips
A side I’m still learning
I’m out of my habitat
It’s got me so nervous
My heart still does acrobats
Whenever you surface
You linger like rain
Right after a storm
Your absence is pain
It’s now the new norm
You take me up higher
God hears me pray
Your love fuels my fire
I can’t stay away
You’re the beat in my chest
You’re the air that I breathe
I can’t lie I’m obsessed
Cuz you set my heart free
No matter the distance
No matter the time
I’ll fight the resistance
So you’ll always be mine
I can’t let you go
I won’t set you free
It’s time I let you know
The hold you have on me
Cuz you’re a whisper on my lips
The taste of my yearning
A fire at my fingertips
So let’s keep on burning..
Heard from a nerd, who did say,
'A programmer today,
with all that power
at his fingertips,
is the man of the hour
and, wallflowers or not,
we don't stand a chance
as, to the same algorithm
we all dance,
hands on the keyboard
all fingers no thumbs
it's only done
with zeros and ones
and I believe,
for what it's worth,
blessed is the geek
(not the meek)
for he shall inherit the earth.'
A warm embrace from little arms
Outstretched to reach my nose
She presses hers into mine
She holds her breath then blows
I feel the crinkle of a smile spill out the corners of her lips
She sneaks a cup of mama's coffee
Haughtily takes 3 sips
Belly ablaze she rumbles now
Uncontrollable and proud
The room starts to dance
At the sound
I watch in awe as the lights go in sync
With the twinkle in her eyes
She commands her audience
And calls home the prize
Pitter patter footsteps come up from behind
Gently pulls my sweater
As if i'd ever mind
Sweet hushes of morning's first breath
Fall on my waking ears
Faint hellos
Dancing across the room
In tip toes
They wrap their fingertips finding a home in the other
This my hearts yearn
To be a mother
"it realizes that we're no longer just fingertips apart?"
This illusion of love seems a parody within my heart.
Line 1 inspired by (Jenna Logan) (Just fingertips apart) (Posted in 2023)
Our unusual and unique identifying marks spiraled on our fingertips
What is prayer?
Do we need a fingertip to feel
our inner God?
Perhaps a beautiful picture
of any sex of our choice?
To whom are we comminating with?
Some Greater Being
or to our own Greater Self?
Both are true,
though that truth maybe hidden from us.
If beautiful images
are all we desire to touch
then we are a fingertip
away from the One,
First we must become
our own beautiful answer,
our own prayer.
These rugby-playing girls -
or women, should I say? -
are so rough and ready,
dashing down that field,
conveying that oval ball
from this end to that,
gritting their teeth.
Oh, what might! Such a sight!
Or do I not prefer
to behold delicate white frocks
on ladies whose fairylike fingertips
hold their tiny needles,
sewing and crocheting,
or simply sitting in silence and smiling
as we fawn on and fancy their fine, fine faces?
Yet would I not receive a slap around my head
for even daring to dawdle on such thoughts?
It is so easy to spend so much time pondering
before I wake in fright:
which sight might I hold tight in my sleeping eyes
moments before I rise - and rise some more?
(19 May 2023)
Passion fades from failing fingertips.
Cold calmly captures crimson lips.
Emerald eyes emanate enduring love,
Desiring destiny’s descending Dove.
Each step I take along the way is more than I can endure
and every curve in the lonesome road becomes a detour
back to you because movin' on is somethin' I just can't do,
not if movin' on means no longer will I be with you
I can't explain what I hear when you don't say a thing
But my heart dances to every word of the songs you sing
I feel an ache so bittersweet when with a ragged breath
I whisper and you're not here. Juliet dies another death
I can't rewrite history, but if I could I'd steal time from stars
All I can do is pencil in, "I loved you" on pages of memoirs
When dying embers of us become ash without a spark
I'll be lost without love in my life, wandering in the dark
Emptiness is a painful emotion no dictionary can explain
A chorus of 'What could've beens' I'll echo in sad refrain.
But what can I possibly say to console my broken heart
when it realizes that we're no longer just fingertips apart?
each touch
of
your electric
fingertips
sears my flesh
with desires,
touch me
again,
remove
all of my
inhibitions
leave me
naked with
my memories.
Blind man's bluff braille
notes of a thousand pictures
keen lipped DNA
(The first song I heard by Little Stevie Wonder, early 60's.)
HIS FINGERTIPS
HIs fingertips brush over my shy cheek,
Softly plethoring an array of wordless sound
Into the unresisting ear.
We two no longer strangers meet
In a tactile encounter where
The way leads meandering
Through in pleasure
To an unashamed portrait of paradise.
"Come, taste and see that it is good",
Indeed the nectar of a thousand blooms
Will not be as thirst-quenching
As the hidden walled garden we inhabit
For ourselves alone - an abundance
Of colour and hue invading our senses.
We linger in the centre of things,
To draw our feet into the pools,
Dreaming of new dimensional space,
Where the supreme authority that reigns
In quiet power is what we know from moment
To sacred moment,
The knowledge we possess gives us
A gathered insight into the heart of
Love with no go-between or intermediary,
Love without ending or beginning,
Love that touches the hem of the eternal,
Becoming one with it,
Love that is love personified,
Complete in every way.
FIGURATIVE FINGERTIPS
a talent
to dabble
with
profligacy
in different styles
brilliant&
fluent
subtle&
muted palette
phase
of the
immediate
liberated
in a
suggestive
genre
an attractive
template
flitting between
subjects
never alighting
with a
tendency to
marginalise
artistic
encounters
&
to manipulate
scenery
of substance
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
She’s a poet with no name
A pseudonym her claim to fame.
Without sight she moves countless hearts
When with passion and panache
dusts off her mind,
Swamps the world with allegory
And tells it as it is and when
She touches the joy on cherished lips
Feels the warmth of our smile.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
So i need to explain
i body pop as in breaking
this is me trying to explain
when i get into a groove
and let go
so visual presentation
i will upload a tiktok
https://www.tiktok.com/@sudgett6/video/6832431985181396229?is_copy_url=1&is_from_webapp=v1&lang=en
of me dancing to
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLeBcdrtronPgrujr5vOkeH9_ePzOEQHvc&ab_channel=TrapandBass
now you can see what i mean
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