Long At my fingertips Poems
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I drum my fingers dreaming of poetic notions as is my bent,
But for the life of me, I can think of nothing on which to vent!
I fervently hope my well of imagination will never run dry.
Surely some creative masterpiece will come to me by and by!
My thesaurus and dictionary stand by to give me a hand,
And the mystifying computer is at my fingertips on demand,
Each to provide ready aid if I can think of anything,
But its up to me to create a linguistic and poetic string.
Maybe I could write something about my inscrutable cat,
Yet come to think of it, I've already written about that.
Maybe a profound versification about the world situation,
But that needs lots of research and that causes some hesitation.
Of course there's always the topic of romance and love,
But I must admit I'm not too well versed on matters thereof.
God's Creation is always a timely theme on which to reflect,
Yet with all its wonders I doubt I could render it proper respect.
It seems to me as I daily stroll about the neighborhood,
That I could manage to come up with something good.
Lord, won't you smite me with a streak of inspiration,
And relieve me of my desperate plight and utter frustration?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
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..
Caffeine vapor billows
blowing with the raindrops
the ceiling says
my body wanders
to a part of nowhere
glowing like a warm air
as if it were true
The reflection of the latte under the yellow light
the foam forms a crescent
like the curve of your smiling eyes
Petrichor tonight is so foreign
because only the gentle wind
between your body is familiar to me
I begin to enjoy the thunder
thundering beats
rhythmically
with the same beats
like an album cliché at my fingertips
jumping from time to time
Raindrops intertwined with nostalgia
melancholic rhythm
irony and romance
instantly combined
now flowing away
I took a mountain ride
Scenes unfolded before my eyes
beneath widespread, deep, blue skies
It was the perfect place to hide
Far away from stress and obligations
In a world of colorful trees
Showing off before a deep freeze
Nature has its own intentions
I could smell Autumn at my fingertips
Red berries were shining in the sun
A decorated forest was full of fun
As the elevation released hardships
I drove away and I said, goodbye
I am grateful for all that it gave me
Everything that I experienced, all to see
Until next time, waiting for me to fly
Heidi Sands
9/24/26
(C)opyright
I’m thankful that I’m a woman
With the power to beguile
With charm at my fingertips
And bewitchment in my smile
I’m proud to be a woman
Of genders the fairer one
With a silken soft beauty
And aura to match the sun
I’m glad to be a woman
Of creation the very best
The epitome of all the finest
By whom mankind was blessed
I revel in being a woman
Full of such delicate grace
The one to woo and dazzle
With passion etched on my face
I relish being a woman
For I’m able to dominate
To conquer and subdue
With one motion to subjugate
I celebrate being a woman
To have voluptuous curves
Not angular and muscled
But supple, with gentle swerves
I jubilate, for I’m a woman
Made as a help meet for man
To console and nurture him
Add my wisdom to his plan
Yes…oh yes, I am a woman
I know what I’m capable of
At times I am a tigress
At others a gentle dove
A woman is the essence
Of beauty and all that’s good
Men, I advise you to be careful
And treat them as you should
For women are little girls
Made of sugar and of spice
Now do be good little boys
If you want them to be nice!
YES, I’m thankful I’m a woman
I embody pleasure sweet
To be found in my presence
Is a never ending treat!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
OK men...take this with a grain of salt...C'mon! It is the International Women's Day. Show that woman in your life a little bit more love today, for where would you be without her! ;)
The world unfolds at my fingertips
Bliss is found at the fringes of my vision
I wrap myself in white wings
Perhaps I'm a little egotistical
A journeyman who thinks a lot
The greatest prison is one's own mind
And history is both a blessing and a curse
When you gained nothing from it
Descend into an ocean of stars
When you finally close your eyes and rest
A supernova bursts in your mind
Thoughts strewn with an assortment of color
Flip the pages one last time
I had it all in the palm of my hands
Perhaps I'm a little egotistical
When the world unfolds at my fingertips
The stretch of death and decay blows in from the north,
As centuries turn to dust.
Darkness engulfs barren carcasses of what was,
forlorn rain drips from the weeping sky,
coating every strand of my auburn hair,
Weighing it down with heavy despair.
Whilst vultures circle around impending doom,
swooping down, pecking at flecks of flesh,
before I sweep them away, only temporarily keeping them at bay.
Angels and demons watch on with excitement,
betting on my soul’s heavenly ascent or slow demise.
Removing an ebony sack from my back,
I rummage through, searching for bits of gauze.
What seems like an eternity passes by before I feel cotton at my fingertips.
Covering wounded arms, I continue down my path.
Blood seeps through the pasty white fabric,
turning my arms in patchwork shades of varying pinks.
Thorned rose stems line the pathway,
digging into exposed feet.
Flames of judgment burn in the distance,
getting closer, the searing heat becomes unbearable.
What was once pink has now charred and turned black,
flaking off and blowing away with the harsh, unrelenting winds.
Grabbing the handle, it burns into the palm of my hand.
What will the symbol reveal?
Heaven or Hell?
Both sides wait on bated breath.
Heaven awaits, it seems,
Or is it all just a bitter dream??
I couldn’t live without my phone
Although when I was younger,
Since mobile phones did not exist,
I didn’t have that hunger.
I waited ‘til I got back home
To call a friend for schmoozing.*
My mom would write a message,
If I got one, for perusing.
Encyclopedias were there
To look up information.
No Google at my fingertips –
That was the situation.
A Kodak camera using film
Took photos that I needed.
Alarm clocks woke me up
So my anxiety receded.
Each application on my phone –
The games and WAZE and weather –
Are things I never had on hand,
At least not all together.
I lived without them easily,
Not feeling discontented
Until, of course, the year in which
The iPhone was invented!
*chatting, shooting the breeze
His blue eyes haunt my every dreams
Being with him will be very hard it seems
Him so far and me over here
And so for him I cry my every tear
A year and a half he's been at my fingertips
A year and a half ago, he could have kissed these lips
But he just told me recently who he'd like to be
Now he'll be my eyes when I can't see
He'll be the one I chose to be with --- to love
For he doesn't know he already had me at the first hug
His body warms my soft insides
All my tears he has wiped dry
Waiting for him is painful but worth the wait
Even though he's a year and a half late
Now he's mine and I'm glad it's true
It feels so right to say, "I love you," and direct it toward you
Although right now we are apart
What keeps me going is knowing he's in my heart
I have power at my fingertips,
Hands that scratch lyrics on paper.
A story I once knew -
Now it’s just art.
Rhythms. Twists.
Stanzas, words -
Cut and placed with care.
The poet is me - simple, complex.
Layers, knots -untold.
Pieces of who I am, what I represent.
Each word a fragment.
Some shared, others buried.
I say too much,
Then veil it behind smoke and shadows.
I don’t want to be a poem.
I’ve been silent too long,
Moulded for others -
A statue with cracks too deep to fill.
But my story?
It’s mine.
Words take shape in my hands,
Soft as wax, fierce as flames.
You can praise me.
Despise me.
Think I’m broken,
Or the answer - your angel in disguise.
But don’t lock me down.
I’m fluid. I shift.
Not always good. Not always bad.
I’ve disappointed enough.
But still, I breathe fire.
Still, I let the ink drip,
Every word a piece of my spine.
Look closer, if you dare.