Long All thumbs Poems
Long All thumbs Poems. Below are the most popular long All thumbs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long All thumbs poems by poem length and keyword.
Try try with all our might
This time may we get it right
Another day does come
Still we are all thumbs
Is getting this done right
Really going to be our blight
Another chance is all we ask
Leave other tries in the past
Stop wait are we going to fast
Another let down have we cast
Oh my what a beautiful sight
Finally we learn to fly a kite
Gwendolen Rix contest
Lets Go Fly A Kite
Poem was written: 09/08/2006
Tumbelina was all.in.
all thumbs
Trying to be friends
in a church of One
planted when barely
a young and tender seed
the switch made magic
so the Lady could conceive
”...lay this here…”
so the child can receive
”...and keep this clear…”
into make believe.
silent in the cradle
and peaceful in her sleep
the walnut rocks
to a timeless beat
then out of shadow
and into the mist
an old toad came
stealing Lady’s wish
the tiny maiden fair
was to Spoon, the Dish
but…
she was saved
by the butterfly
a slightly coy fish
she drifted on a lily
making new a wish
and then…
through a field of cush
the May bug flew
crying Tumble!
I’ve seen ya!
It’s true! It’s true!
”... it’s in her new name…”
but discard her he did
when his friends cried
“shame!”
she was desperate now
through Winter’s cold claim
taking shelter with Mice
no understanding her way
”...be kind to the neighbor
marry the Mole…” he’d say
repulsed at the thought
swallowing hard one day
she escaped the dark night
and ran herself aWay
”... I like your crazy pants…”
hidden in the roses
a fairy Prince enchants
”... you’re just my size…”
he said
and so began
their bit of romance.
He kissed her on the eyes
...Maia…
he whispered
it’s been a sureprize!
”... and all became fair
in their living true lives…”
Form:
Some focus on hair, on legs, on muscles or on lips
on feet, on shoulders, on arms or on hips
Yet though you may think it a bit odd or dumb
my sole focus here will be on the thumb
Is the thumb worthy of a rigorous dissection like this?
I'll let you be the judge of that in the final analysis...
The thumb, of course, is what makes us primates
same as black and white stripes make men inmates
Speaking of distinction, the thumb's what babies suck
and just you try from a babe's mouth that thumb to pluck!
When gardening it sure pays to have a thumb that is green
while a handyman who's all thumbs is regularly demeaned
Then there are 'rules of thumb' based on real-life experience
casting out hypotheses, guesses, and other such interference
Remember 'Tom thumb,' the tiny man once swallowed by a cow?
King Arthur's favorite, he even tangled with giants - O, wow!
Such a graceful dancer was Hans Christian Anderson's 'Thumbelina'
He could just as well have made her into a prima ballerina
I mustn't leave out Little Jackie Horner who famously
stuck in his thumb and pulled out a plum!
And for those of you who like music some
Imagine a guitar strummed without a thumb
So, in closing, to conclude, to summarize, in summary, in sum
Just when was the last time your thumb went numb?!
Oh, how I long to touch you
it’s just that “I’m all thumbs”
and you deserve much more than just
a few remaining crumbs!
“An arm and a leg”, I would give
for one more chance, you see
But then again, if that's the case,
just where would we be?
You know that “I’m all ears”
for any thoughts you’d share
But for a man “all thumbs and ears"
just why would you care?
“It’s as plain as the nose on your face!”
I need “all hands on deck”
But with my lips, (I just have two!)
I could kiss your neck
“Ants in my pants” I hear you say
But just what would you know
As you’re the one here “all dressed up
with nowhere to go!”
“If all that glitters is not gold”
and I’m “all talk and no action“
Take off the makeup and go tp sleep
We’ll get no satisfaction!
Oh man alive, at sixty five
I’ve something to confess:
I never thought I’d find myself
such a befuddled mess.
It started out so innocent
inviting her to lunch;
the convo stayed mostly on track,
but then it swerved a bunch.
See, feeling coy, this stupid boy
thought he’d get cute and flirt.
From winsome one to two left feet,
a face plant in the dirt.
As I hit send, the doubt set in:
were those the proper words?
Whoever thought I’d be like this?
A grown man, how absurd!
The seconds pass like hours
as frets bloom full regret;
she’ll likely think the worst of me,
what do you want to bet?
And so, confused, I sit and stew,
increasingly perplexed.
But wait! I hear a joyful noise:
in came another text!
It doesn’t matter what it says;
she ended with a smile!
Thank goodness, I‘m still in the clear,
‘least for a little while!
Hand in hand two sprites on a magic flight
with wings of crystal glass and fairy light
they flew, inside an abstract sky of white
wing to wing, one was nimble one was bright
Wearing taffet gowns of silky swishes
they were often flourishing their wishes
blessing all with benign hugs and squishes
tiny pixies, no bigger than mom's dishes
They were sent to baby rooms and wee ones
they shone like light from fifty golden suns
but every now and then they goofed all thumbs
and landed in a cabbage patch, oh crumbs !
they flew like Peter Pan and Tinker Bell
with magic wands to cast a spell, pell-mell
they scurried this way that and then oh well
they crazed it up and then they cast a spell.
Feb 26, 2023
Sponsor Eve Roper
Contest Name Nursery Rhyme
She could not be less than my Love, my Friend,
She broke open each fiction I’d believed,
She touched my hands like Time would never end,
And, in the end, we were the more deceived.
She was the radiant hope of humble fellow,
She saw each gift, unseen, and made it blossom,
She knew that God would one Day, make her well,
And, in the end, her Victory was my loss.
She rose, after she died, and blessed bright Heaven!
She smiles, and still I feel the glow that comes
She poured her life out, that She might pour Leaven
Upon the humble us, who fumble, all thumbs…
She married me in nineteen-ninety-two,
And eighteen months ago, my Love, Friend… flew.
1/17/2019
Mrs. Lightfoot had taught music at Talbot Elementary School for years.
A couple of her pupils excelled in music but most became engineers.
She sat at her desk to muse upon the past after another trying day,
Recalling events that had contributed to the 'dyeing' of her hair gray!
She remembered concerts when the cacophonous din made her wince,
And Mrs. Lightfoot approached such musicals with foreboding ever since.
But beaming parents saw their prodigies destined for musical acclaim.
(Only one she knew strummed a banjo at the VFW with a modicum of fame!)
Tubby Aruba wrestled with his tuba, ever out of step in the marching band.
Sissie Pyaner tried to emulate Liberace but she battered the concert grand.
For some reason one of the valves on Clyde Crumpet's trumpet always stuck,
And the trombone players could never harmonize - such was their bad luck!
Pat Claret could never adjust her clarinet reeds to eliminate the squeaks.
'Tyke' Biddle fiddled with the bull fiddle but never mastered its techniques.
Hubie Crums thought he was Gene Krupa and went crazy on the drums.
And when it came to playing the French horn, Sydney Corne was all thumbs!
Many times Mrs. Lightfoot thought she'd chosen the wrong speciality path,
And oft' wondered if she should have majored in history or maybe math.
In a couple of years she could lay down her baton one last time and retire,
To reminisce about fatal concerts, bleating horns and inharmonious choir!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
When things don't work, I panic
I call the plumber or the mechanic
the electrician, or appliance repairman
without them I would despair, Man.
I can't fix my bike when it blows a tire
To be competent is a dream to which I aspire
But I was born all thumbs, and though I read tomes
When it comes to troubleshooting, I'm no Sherlock Holmes.
So I respect the people who make things work
But I wonder if in our government such people lurk.
Could politicians change a light bulb, fix a car?
splice a broken wire, get my bike to go far?
Could I trust my mayor as a babysitter
Or for that matter, a sweater knitter?
Can a college student clean a dorm?
Are mindless slogans the new norm?
When the power goes out, and it gets cold
Will we find a bill of goods that we've been sold?
Do we use the same criteria to trust an orator
That we do when hiring someone to wallpaper a corridor?
My Dad was told I'd make a good soldier, because I looked strong
My Dad winced and said "Sir, you got that wrong"
Maybe I could be a writer, or maybe wash the floor
Can someone shoe me how to mop? for help I must implore.