Long Fingerprints Poems
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Yesterday keeps returning things, I wish I'd never said,
Each one stamped NO RETURNS — then left beside my bed.
The receipts for anger, pride and grudges say they're mine;
Yesterday then grinned: "You wanted all of them at the time."
Regret arrived, dusting every bridge I'd burned.
Lifting fingerprints from lessons left unlearned.
"If Only" trailed behind him, circling every warning sign—
Funny how he never mentioned one of them at the time.
"If Only" kept his list: "The calls I never made,"
"The times I should have stayed, the debts I should have paid."
I cornered him: "Where were you when I missed the gate?"
He checked his watch. "I'm If Only! I'm always half-past late."
Yesterday, swears I started it; I swear that's what he began.
We called for independent witnesses—each one answered, "I am."
I won the final argument; Yesterday just gave way—
I kept the final word, but no one else would stay.
I blamed him for the doors I slammed, the chances left to die.
The things I could have done, but didn't – too afraid to try.
He shrugged—he chose none of it, he'd said nothing to no one.
Yesterday was just the crime scene, but I'm the one, holding the gun.
Yesterday can't change a bloody thing; Tomorrow's not here yet.
Today stood at my doorway while I cross-examined Regret.
"Just give me one more minute." Today, smiled and slipped away.
Regret pulled out another chair: "We'll settle this ... Yesterday."
I caught "If Only" whispering, "There's more evidence to find."
While Regret kept rearranging every crime scene in my mind.
Yesterday finally snapped: "Stop pinning this on me."
"I only own what happened." You still owe what's yet to be.
So, I emptied my pockets of the pride, old grudges, and debt,
Handed "If Only" all the receipts, left evidence with Regret.
Then Today knocked once again. This time I opened the gate.
Tomorrow winked: "Come on—there's more mistakes to make, mate."
They gave my character references
from a point I had never stood
Then put quotes around what they wrote about me until wrong started sounding good
Turned pauses into problems,
made my very silence sound suspicious
Then passed assumptions mouth to mouth until gossip came back official
I’ve been called cold by colder people
fake by folks rehearsing faces
Watched everybody lose themselves
just tryna keep up appearances
That’s the part that gets me most is
how quick a role becomes a name
Wear a mask for long enough
and somehow I’m the one who changed
They studied every period pick apart my commas too
The whole time dodging question marks that keep pointing back at you
Tried to get a conviction with no evidence, confidence confused for proof
Everybody tells it different but somehow everybody knows the truth
I could give my own statement
but … who would it convince?
People only cross-examine
what might contradict their own script
So let them keep the parts they gave me, villain fits me pretty well
I’ve seen saints stay in character
while still raising all kinds of hell
So quote me wrong, write me off,
and make your little edits fit
Just remember character assassination
leaves the killer in the script
And if they need a reference
to decide which character is which
Tell them check the fingerprints
because mine ain’t on that b****
All those years when you were growing so fast
Your laughter, no sweeter sound have I heard
Tiny fingerprints I knew would not last
An impossible wish for time deferred
Snowy day's play-acting Lord of the Rings
Dodging spider webs in the summer heat
The livingroom cluttered with your plaything's
I long for those days with every heartbeat
The need to see your face overwhelms me
You are over a thousand miles away
I try to stop the tears from breaking free
When you are not with me, my world is grey
From the tempestuous child that you were
You're now my best friend my soul whisperer
11/22/2019
I want to fall in love with a Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Melani Udaete
Daybreak,
the sun breaks into his room.
A pulsing headache.
He moves towards the bathroom,
bleary eyed he stumbles.
A dead body on the floor.
Panic.
He looks at his hands, but they are clean.
What happened in the darkness of the night?
He suppresses a scream.
Hysteria comes without warning.
Vague memories arise.
He was in a cheap hotel.
Why? He hangs his head in shame.
Should he escape?
He turns the body.
A young woman stares up at him,
a knife in her chest.
Fool, don’t touch it,
remember your fingerprints.
He rushes into the bathroom,
his stomach churning.
Why all this?
Who is he?
There’s knock on the door.
Police have come.
He opens the door.
He longs to die.
Instead he cries.
NB Not for any contest.
31 January 2021
Guns don't kill people, people do. I have lost a loved one
because of you.
I will hear no more footsteps coming down the hall, no more
fingerprints on my wall.
No more laughter, no more tears. No more memories in the
coming years.
How does it make you feel inside, not knowing if the person
you shot, has lived or died?
Whether you're in a gang, or you stand as one. You're not
that big without a gun.
What if I had went wild, and the gun I shot had wounded or
killed your child?
Our situations would be the same. Two individuals fighting a
never ending game.
The message here is very clear....
You shoot me, I shoot you...Guns don't kill people, people do.
Mediocre moments coming
On the verge of a dance with illusions,
Memories bursting from their webs of doubt
Hallucinating in flames, burning – brush fires
Surrounded by a past promise, a melancholy
That vibrates with hope – trembling
Oozing away the standard gray, the average
The middle promises made by a stark
Cold darkness found only on a Wednesday
The day for hesitation to burst from its cloud
Hazy rays of confusion silencing the echoes
Dissuading the falling leaves, rustling
In the wind’s silky soothing – dreaming peace
Promises faded beneath the perplexity,
Digested by gastric acid – absorbed in the aching
Desert of a Wednesday heaviness, the moments
Passing leisurely – like black cleverly erases
Stardust and moonlight with the mystery of a reflection
Whose hope is in the impending truth – daybreak
Seeping through the night’s clasp on reality
Wednesday with all its median mass, solid
Like the urgency to whisper’s affluence
Into the upcoming moments, Thursday’s sturdy
Grasp on yesterday – then Friday with all its immensity,
It’s race toward a weekend which will leave this
Wednesday in the endorsement of its imprisonment,
The barren ache of a leaf pirouetting, fantasizing, making
Its way toward the ground where its demise
Is the sustenance for grace, the food that earth
Knows will last until spring brings it’s Wednesday
Blasting away the nurturing blessings of a past
Tuesday’s fingerprints, Monday’s inscription…
This is Wednesday – with all its ambitions
Still mediocre – still just the middle
Of a week filled with hope for Friday’s feelings,
A week ending in a vacation from being…
The lawyer, the doctor, the nurse, the waitress –
Any title who knows its revival
Comes on the mutiny of Monday’s first alarm, ringing
With the prompting for another promotion of this week’s
Inducing of Wednesday’s mirage – the impression
Glistening on the edge of midweek blessings
Wednesday is forever the medium for a week of life’s steady
Pace toward another engaging weekend’s embrace
I’d rather be a realist than an anarchist
I’d rather be a hammer than a nail
I’d rather be an artist than an activist
I’d rather be the water and bread than the jail
With whom do you identify?
Which side are you on?
Will you be left at the station
After the trains have gone?
I’d rather be a satirist than a philanthropist
I’d rather be a Titan than a god
I’d rather be the patient than the therapist
I’d rather be the blindfold than the firing squad
What do you know
When the ship don’t go
And the winds won’t blow
Just rocking to and fro
On the sea of contradictions
I’d rather be the angel than the archon
I’d rather be the pauper than the prince
I’d rather be the tissue than the hardon
I'd rather I didn’t dirty the world
with my useless fingerprints
With whom do you identify?
Which side are you on?
Will you be left in the harbor
After the yachts are gone?
As I lay myself to sleep in the dusk of my heart,the wintry sky still shines
Luna streams its porcelain glow through my bedroom blinds
It pours honeycombed warmth in these almond eyes
And its there that I think of him,a soft sweet descent on my pillow case
a golden tint of firefly's radiance cascading gently upon the velvets of my face
It is there that I ache for him to fall once more
like last fading stars in the desert of my arms
It is there where his fingerprints mark these forgotten lips
and his lavender kiss embraces every inch of my slight curved hips
But when the night is over,like a dewlushed leaf in early breeze
He is swept away...So far far away
So far too gone to utter words I so wanted to say
...And with every breaking dawn tired footsteps lead the path
to the old oak tree which once witnessed our dream
our shared peach,our holding hands,our blissful joy and distant tears
There,in the shade I sit alone but not in solitude
by a mossy stone which owns his name
Secretly I whisper to his soul uspoken thoughts still kept at bay
'My only love,You are gone,but never gone
I might arrive late,but never too late
I feel your absence in my bones like cold air on a rainy day
But tomorrow, Somehow,Somewhere Spring-kissed gardens
bloom fresh blossoms by the promise of today.'
A revised and rewritten oldie...
Inspired by the song -'If tomorrow never comes'
If I were a man, I'd flaunt our love for the world to see.
I'd openly hold your hand beneath the blue sky.
But I can only give you my all behind closed doors, for the world cannot stomach our love.
If I were a man, children would see us and think, "I want a love like that."
But too many are taught to look away.
For our love makes them uncomfortable.
If I were a man, no one would ask me to choose between my faith and my heart.
But somehow, I am expected to bury one to keep the other.
If I were born a man, I'd give you my surname in the name of everything they call holy, or i would take yours.
I'd promise forever before family, friends, and strangers.
But instead, our forever is spoken in whispers, where no one is listening.
If I were born a man, we'd grow old without our love becoming a political debate.
But our existence seems to invite opinions from strangers.
If I were born a man, we would dream of little hands with your smile and my eyes—
tiny echoes of us, proof that love leaves fingerprints long after we're gone.
Instead, our future must be imagined before it can ever be lived.
If I were a man, I'd introduce you without rehearsing the conversation first.
But every introduction feels like a confession.
Waiting for our sentence- wondering if we'll be deemed innocent or guilty.
If I were a man, my grandmother would pray for our happiness.
But instead, she prays for my salvation.
If I were a man, I would never have to wonder whether introducing you would cost me a home, a job, or a family.
I would simply say, "This is the love of my life," and that would be enough.
If I were a man, I'd kiss you at train stations and airports without checking who was watching.
But I have learnt to love you with one eye on the exit.
If I were a man, loving you would be ordinary.
No debates.
No prayers trying to change me.
No strangers deciding whether my heart deserves rights.
If I were a man, the world would stand in awe of how completely you occupy my heart and mind.
They would call it devotion. They would call it romance.
Instead, they call it confusion.
A phase.
A sin.
If I were a man, loving you wouldn't be a sin nor would it be immoral.
But I was born a woman...
And so were you.
In nature I don't see any rectangles... Or screens that make scary sounds... The shapes that I see, are hills, clouds and trees, and not sharp corners of bricks and metal...
The colours in her pallet are astounding... She seems to prefer green or blue! Her Sky is a Window to Forever! With not a single Rectangle in view...
She greets me with Calm when I meet her, I follow her Trees to their Roots... I know it's much safer down here; Because up there, there are poisonous Fruits!
Our Eyes match the shape of this Planet... Our Pupils - the shape of the Moon! Our Fingerprints are like the Rings in a Tree, but none of us - is shaped like a Phone!
Whoever made the Planets made me... The clues are right here in my Eyes... The Salt in my Tears comes from Oceans on Earth; My Bones are from Stars in the Sky!
My Veins match the Rivers we Sail down... My Lungs match the Branches on Trees! I took a quick look at my iPhone... This Alien looks nothing like me!
These Roads should be exchanged for Forests; and Cars - for Horses and Cart! Nature would hold us together... Technology will tear us apart.
I don't see any Rectangles in Nature.
I don't think she quite likes that Shape...
Just count all the ones in front of you now; Escape them before it's too late!