Long Finger Poems
Long Finger Poems. Below are the most popular long Finger by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Finger poems by poem length and keyword.
There is a nail scarred footprint on the back of Satan's neck
Although for a time and here for now he will make your life a wreck
But take great heart for the Christian as Paul eagerly foretold
His grace is sufficient for us and in weakness we are bold
After our conversion we’re challenged to forsake and to wean
To turn our back on the world and pursue daily cleaning
To take captive every thought but not as a pompous scholar
But to humble ourselves and to uplift his mighty honor
If we only read and try to apply it as a mindful thinker
We cease to change the world and are prone to point the finger
Graves are filled with dead corpses that never met perfection
Maturity was lost and growth stunted for His great affection
What pleasures got in our way? What pride of one's life?
Hindered the fullness of the fruit with no thought of afterlife
He who started a transforming work in us won't stop or delay
Can a verse in a poem be comfort if we are bent to keep astray?
The battle is always present deep where the spirit dwells
Fatigued we fight all-the-day to claim victory over self
Labours and mercies feverishly offered poured out and spent
To what end will we decay before we accept why he was sent?
Known is the walk that is stony and climbed all uphill
Leaning forward in the fight is His divine placed will
No discipline at the time seems pleasant or enjoyed
But maybe he established a lesson and it to be employed
Warriors hate to admit defeat and to admit we are weak
Affliction molds our hearts that is his loving technique
God is quite clear that he will abolish our ego and our pride
Whenever we are haughty He turns his face aside
He came to show the way and to flip us upside down
There is a lot of discerning from under that thorny crown
Denying all of ourselves and to follow the honored king
Dying to our own way we must perform spiritual hygiene
By: Brian Micheal
On waking up one morning
I was maybe 8 years old
It seemed my jaw was aching
Oh what was to unfold
My Mother had a little look
A finger in my mouth
A molar had a wiggle
And my courage just went south
I had heard about the dentist
And the pain that he would cause
Put my clothes on, out the door
With not the slightest pause
Went round to my mates place
Should get support from him
His Mum said I was early
Saw my eyes red round the rim
Put an arm around me
"Tell me what is wrong"
"I'm going to the dentist
and want Jim to come along"
We headed back to my place
Mum was looking stern
"You will do as I tell you
Whenever will you learn"
Jim he did a runner
My Mum is pretty wild
He didn't want to stay there
She'd scare any little child
We end up in the waiting room
A lady takes my name
For all the worry she portrayed
It could have been a game
A yell comes from the surgery
Got through a solid door
I had a bolt of terror
That started at my core
My tum was rolling over
Sweat ran down my brow
I tried to run, Mum grabbed me
"We are here, and staying now"
A kid comes out, oh what a mess
His face was swollen red
Felt sure when Doc got at me
In five minutes I'd be dead
Mum takes me in, sat in the chair
Next to a tray of tools
One look was all I needed
To feel pressure from the stools
Gave my Mum a forlorn look
"I need a number two"
"You just sit there sonny
I am wide awake to you"
The dentist looks inside my mouth
"This one is very loose"
A gentle pull with pliers, and
I did feel such a goose
So since then I've been many times
Never been so easy
But then now I'm a full adult
I don't get quite so queasy
Smithsonian Folkways Catalogue #709-300-25.
RASTA WEDDING VOWS
Gunna pledge mi soul an body in di spirit uh di trut.
Gunna stan an mek a promise an delivah u da proof.
Mi seh nevah gunna evah turn u loose.
Gunna free u frum di darkniss for to bade u wid a lite.
Usin’ bot mi han tugedda – gunna really do it rite.
Hunny, I’ll lay down mi cloak for u tonite.
Gunna swear mi life’s protection wen I giv mi solemn wurd.
Gunna mean da ting I’m sayin’ wen I set ur hart assured.
Den I kiss ur han an offa u mi sword.
Gunna luv u lek u need it. Gunna luv u lek a tease.
I be holdin’ back mi horses, till u beg me, “pretty please,”
Makin’ all dem sweet mimosa guarantees.
Gunna dally in di tropics. Run mi finger tru ur hair.
Gunna play wid dem intentions in di salty ocean air
As we live di island lifestyle laissez faire.
I trace my fingers along the stretch marks
I feel no child from within
I feel a rock, hitting an unknown surface
I feel it invading me everyday
I cry more nights than any child would
I cry when tears no longer fall
Just moans…like the night it happened
And I crawl into bed,
Knowing my dreams will welcome the scene
Blood dripped on the pavement
Alone was happy to be with me
I felt no one knew and it gave me solace
But then I remembered
What the intruder has already forgotten
I fire into the center of my belly
Pink liquid and blood spilling
I finger the holes that I felt till that day
Climb inside
Climb inside
Splinters of a carcass remain in my womb
Desperate to consume
A fistful of embryo
Staring at me…
I burn holes…more and more
Until I rest on the ground again
Where the blood spilled
And my body is stretching…
As I realize
My wretched child shall cry all these nights
Desperately I will shield my sobs
As it opens its eyes
Coming out of me…
Like the intrusion of the rock
I will pretend
Like the night it was created
I will pretend that Alone is my friend
And I will bend over in defeat
Letting it out of me
As the liquid spills and spurts
Stretching me more and more….and more
The promise of a new world
Lies they tell to keep us in line
Easy to control when you abuse people's hope
Easy to smile when you have no soul
A change in name
Is not a change in game
Incarceration didn't just happen in a day
It was just an evolution of slavery
From the scorching hot days on the fields
To the cold environment of a prison cell
The world hasn't changed
You just coloured the old system in pretty colours
To you the world has always been bright
Opportunity after opportunity chasing after you
The pages of your story already written
Never having to worry about lifting a finger
When already lifted it up for you
Bearing the weight of your pen
Having to neglect our own story for yours
Your selfishness betrays you of your intentions
Your ego your defence mechanism
Used as a way to glorify you
As a distraction from the emptiness that drowns you
Hidden by the face of false superiority
A word you deem to be true
An escape from the envy that chokes you
You may think your walls built from practiced smiles will protect you
But at some point it will crumble
And the defences you had will betray you
The promise of equality was never ours to have
It was just your secret to keep
The promise of a new world was something we were never meant to see
A lost dream
A desired fantasy
A new world was never meant for people like me
It was just a lie you held for control across the centuries
When on my 12th year
father gave me a birthday card
with the number of days, I had lived printed
inside it. I had to sit down and wait for my heart
to stop leaping over imaginary walls.
There were 4.382 walls to jump over,
It took me days, by the end of which
I was much older than I should have been.
When I tried to explain my feelings to him,
he grinned, often that grin was more a sneer
as he poked an incriminating finger at my face.
It was a running joke for him, I guess.
What does a boy do with that kind of number?
A day is a long time for a kid, but that number
seemed like a worm cut in two, both ends
wriggling away to God knows where.
I took the card and pinned it to a bedroom wall,
daily I would add more numbers with a blue marker
until father made me wash the days away.
I bought a pocket calculator,
when father died, mother helped me
slip it into his coffin,
it seemed the right thing to do.
The Journey
The journey has been long,
the path has been narrow,
the afternoon is shortening
and my destination creeps closer.
I walk on.
The path still strolls ahead of me
and no matter how fast I travel -
that fact never alters.
I move off now as clouds bundle above,
an acting audience to my every step
perhaps comparing my journey
to what is to come…
with past travellers?
The path now smooths around a corner
and hills suddenly rear to mountains,
mountains that soar and tower
like gigantic, herculean creatures.
And there, at the base of these verdant giants,
sits the house, alone and seemingly lonely!
The path now is bored and wanders off
so I amble on towards my destination
while the house winks with lucent whiteness
and a spark of red - offers a door.
I draw closer, distracted as I note
a sinuous slither of smoke
sliding out of a finger of chimney.
I watch as it twists, thins, and tapers upwards.
My thoughts now attempt to sense the house,
observe its emotion, recognize its mood
when suddenly the spark of red…. scrapes slowly open
and a worn shoe with woollen hand edges into view!
They both stop as if hesitating, knowing their place,
allowing the mountains to move closer, to loom down...
and a distant memory now shivers my spine.
Ian Souter
You never ignore yourself.
You....a finger pointing nowhere.
You flap; make waves,
what else you got?
A flashy kite with no sky
that's what.
If a vulture and a jellyfish
gave birth to an offspring,
they would name it: Ego.
A monstrously beautiful blob was told
what it was and was not,
the term, 'monstrous blob,'
was, of course, never mentioned.
Identity rose up like a hissing cobra,
the blob believed what it was told.
First thoughts set like concrete.
Ego always thinks that everyone is against him,
even when they are applauding him,
it was always nothing more than an airbag,
that could be easily inflated or deflated.
Great and talented egos arose:
Gehgis Khan, Aristotle, Starlin, Copernicus
Mozart, Julius Caesar, and, of course, you -
all sprung from that parent trap.
The good the bad, the oppressed
and victors, all the winged jellyfish
floating through time
and most everyone
never once ignoring themselves -
not for one moment.
Fly away eagle, swim away jellyfish,
heaven and hell were always inside us,
and we never guessing,
that we were this monstrously beautiful
bag of wind always likely to burst,
if one day
we got lucky.
I often stare into darkness...
awake, while lying in bed
stars and moon light
making shadows
some light always
finding its way in
(everything having a dark side
but not entirely without vision) –
at length my eyes adjusting
the nature of manifest-physical
necessity the cause and effect
of evolution, down to the moment
and smallest detail of existence
seeing substance where shortly
before were only unsettling
silhouettes; imagination our most
mysterious light~father and
mother of all inventions –
devil and god of all wars.
Less philosophical
more down to basics:
once my world was
entirely
a gold ring and the
blessed finger that
wore it
to eventually discover
that dear fingers never evolve
far beyond pointing and
wagging...the ultimate
kissoff with bit of upward juvenile
adjustment...
He plied the Mississippi River on the paddle wheeler 'Dandy Dame'.
Gamblin' was his profession and three-card monte was his game.
He became very creative at palmin' that elusive ace of spades.
Such dexterity and sleight of hand he had practiced for decades!
He embarked in Saint Louis for a cruise to the town of New Orleans.
On his arm hung one of his gaudily dressed bordello 'queens'!
He wore diamond rings on each finger and impeccably tailored suits,
A homburg hat, pearl studs, gold-tipped cane and alligator boots!
He toted a concealed derringer just in the event there was trouble,
And he took a table near the door so he could lam on the double!
He ordered Jack Daniels bourbon for the dudes he was soon to con,
And sized up the naive and hapless victims who dared to take him on!
The gambler let others win a hand or so to make them feel at ease.
His shill closely watched as the gambler, his moment was to seize!
His winnin's piled up as bettors tried to locate the shiftin' ace.
Losers dropped out of the game and other suckers took their place!
One astute monte player saw the scam and called the gambler's hand.
He drew his forty-fours, chairs toppled and folks fled to beat the band!
The gambler drew his rod but he met his God, blood oozin' on the floor!
His sobbin' 'queen' clasped him to her breast to know his love no more!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Paula Swanson's "Pick A Card, Any Card" Contest - Jun 2011