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.
In the rain shadow of Majave Desert I eat hot sand
I am singing with their Death Valley
I have allowed them to build my faith under a Joshua Tree
& I feel a pain in the little finger
leaning towards a withered language
I maintain the hollow of the dirty sky
I am split between the Great Basin & Province & the Sonoran Desert where the dark tower is a grave
from one hole to another I seal the capital of decaying with anesthesia
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
Dedicated to Stuart A. Staples
I want to break someone's little finger
In three places
Give me strings on a hollow wooden body
Crumpled suits and apprehension
The warbler, the jongleur
The slur, the trill, the quaver
I can only serenade in that way
Without drop z tuning
Barmonies and mashed taters
Send in the French horn
Alone in the living room
The air conditioner remote
Engrossed and enthralled in the music
The dog watching me
.
hern majora
whilst
i held mine
placidity
Quite by chance
I saw a single, small, white wildflower
amid a crush of grass and weeds
along the roadside, its presence crowded out
by seed heads and space hungry leaves
of species honed for survival.
This wildflower occupied an area
no larger than my little finger
and even then was bumped and bullied
by weedy neighbors. It fed
on the leftover light filtered down
through the tall grass.
I would like to think that in this sometimes
bleak universe there is a caring
and benevolent force that tries to preserve
such fragile beauty from the rampant
excesses of survival and greed, nudges
the odds to favor such a humble flower,
nurtures its seed.
CUPPA CHAR
When the world is spinning and all logic is gone
No sense of winning, and nothing to think upon
Then sit down for a rest, as it’s time for a brew
A cup of tea is the best, made proper and true
So warm up the pot, so it is good and ready
Swill water that’s hot, with a hand that’s steady
Then spoon in tea leaves, one each plus one
The strength one achieves, once it’s begun
Boiling water poured in, then give it a stir
Let the brewing begin, but too quick is a sin
A few minutes later, prepare cups with milk
Some prefer later, as with others of that ilk
A clear golden liquid, with a subtle scent
Lift the teapot lid and stir with good intent
Tea leaves now sunk, time to gently pour
Ready to be drunk, but slowly, it’s the law.
It’s best in a china cup, yet who knows why
Always drink it up, holding little finger high
One makes the tea in the way that’s directed
And sip it tastefully, in a manner so affected
I hung my heart upon the Christmas tree
Placed my hope in a love that came so free
Baby Jesus curled his little finger around mine
Said, I have given you my own bread and wine
Santa came rolling down with his secret gifts
Said, I think your face needs a little lift
Reached deep down into his big red bag
Pulled out some face cream that hides the sag
Snow bells and jingle bells began to ring
Rudolf in high notes began to sing
You don’t need to be sad this Christmas eve
Your tears you can wipe on my good old sleeve
My stockings he stuffed with mouth -watering goodies
The elves beneath the tree peeped from their hoodies
A sugar coated cookie slipped and fell below
Right into the hands of a cheeky little fellow
The snowflakes began to fall so lightly
Upon the decorations that were colored so brightly
Gold feathered angels sang with assiduous rapture
That Christmas eve my wounded heart was captured
Our fingers would endlessly be intertwined
My favorite sensation would be your breath on the back of my neck
That is if I was your love
But you are wrapped around her little finger
And when you breath fans me my blood runs cold
I would be breath taken by you beauty as nothing earthly compares
Sleeping softly as I knew you would dance across my dreams
That is if I was your love
But your not my beauty to behold
And my dreams of you are haunting
I would memorize every inch of your skin
Happiness only awarded by being by your side
That is if I was your love
But I’m tormented in wanting to know the unknown of you
And your welcomes burn me
Oh if I was your love
I could see,
Amidst the shadows swimming in our murky waters
The many different forms of goodness
That humanity could adorn itself of
These took the names of values, of good habits,
Of good intentions and of meritorious acts
So much that I chose to focus my attention solely on these
Stubbornly refusing to believe that shadows
Could someday
Win and take over the world!
And lifting up my little finger,
I imbibed myself of this goodness
That this world had to offer
Hoping,
Someday, to share it with the rest of the humans
So as to make them believe
In the positive notes that this world could vibe with!
Informal behaviour
Putting up the research by my
Only single little finger which Just
Touch My nose
Putting up respect by My real work infront of you people by many costumes
Is My insane
I pary for everyone does it mean i am not from this planet My struggle of part means
There was a time when teachers are called as a Guru and they gide now they change into grife
At least I have my nose thanks
Om
With love all
Jagdish bajantri
Many accept things just as are,
Where so fate ferries, there they are.
They look for boat nor yet for oar,
But search for a navigator.
Their life seem Arundhati* star—
In a star string Ursa Major,
Too faint to spot, farther than far,
They try all life with it to spar.
Holding ego’s little finger,
They lose, false promises when mar.
Believe me: you’ll stay as my star,
Long as our life’s journey goes far.
My trust not as much in a star
As in you, O my life’s Poll Star!
__________________________________
* Ursa Major is a constellation in the Northern hemisphere. It circles around the Poll Star and has seven stars representing seven sages. One of which is Vasishtha. Very close to it is a faint star representing his wife Arundhati. As is an old belief, if one can spot it with unaided eye, his eyesight is considered good.
Musings |14.12.2021| couplets
on wednesdays when you emerged from sadness
after taking anti-depressants
from all pharmacies in the neighborhood
something upset you?
I think they are the ghosts of your traumas
that won't let you sleep.
well your wrong things didn't bother me
or the insistence on always planning
an organized world with no place for me.
I've been away from these psychological wars,
my poisons and defensive weapons fit
on the tip of a dwarf's little finger.
maybe your ghosts are saying booooo.
but no matter what could have been,
it's much better without you.
She enchanted him with her smile
And soon wrapped him around her little finger
But her plan all the while,
To break his heart, make her memory linger
The innocence in her eyes belied a beguiling heart
She left broken hearts in her trail
Toying with their emotions from the start
Leaving hearts imprisoned without bail
She found her suitors guilty of loving her
And sentenced them to heartache all the time
No sense of compassion within her did stir
Love was not a passion, but a crime
Her suitors would come and go
But none ever got close to her heart,
From distant Venus there was no glow
And Cupid's arrow had fallen short
10-18-2021
Exposed Intelligence
Love where her head is at
Rolls off the tongue
and drips with intelligence
Whereby, I follow
where she's comin from.
Not talking sexual.
Definitely, innuendo
I wanna ride the messaging
of her mind and map
the very essence of her being.
Something like a soul whisperer
I wanna call her name
in soft, drawn out whimpers
Life resembles pinpointed
dreams and correlated destinations
Some say we're full of performance
but it's just me imagining
mingling with her poetry
and hanging onto every word
A little finger tracing, if you will
From her lips to my ears
I could fall in love
exposing her intelligence
but I'd rather
play with it instead
This hits deep. I think
I found a new way
to play Q and A
uncovering
nakedness
Intelligence exposed
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.