Long Fingertips Poems
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These rugby-playing girls -
or women, should I say? -
are so rough and ready,
dashing down that field,
conveying that oval ball
from this end to that,
gritting their teeth.
Oh, what might! Such a sight!
Or do I not prefer
to behold delicate white frocks
on ladies whose fairylike fingertips
hold their tiny needles,
sewing and crocheting,
or simply sitting in silence and smiling
as we fawn on and fancy their fine, fine faces?
Yet would I not receive a slap around my head
for even daring to dawdle on such thoughts?
It is so easy to spend so much time pondering
before I wake in fright:
which sight might I hold tight in my sleeping eyes
moments before I rise - and rise some more?
(19 May 2023)
—After Shabbat 31a, Talmud—
I cradle the scroll in my lap—
its fibers hum beneath thumb and palm,
warm as first morning air after frost.
Somewhere, a hinge creaks.
A cat slips past the fence.
A neighbor coughs, low in the hall,
and for a breath,
the question rises on its own:
“What did you do
with what was given?”
The Talmud asks it too,
in its quiet, infinite turning of pages.
Ink smudges where I lingered,
fingers tracing letters like pressed petals;
veins pressed by time.
No tally marks for missteps,
only the pressure of living
leaving itself in every crease.
A sparrow lifts along the lattice,
wings brushing the air like thought.
I feel the rhythm in my chest,
and wonder how many hours
passed unnoticed
while I measured life in fault.
I unfold the scroll further:
light pools across a chipped cup,
a brass key left on the sill.
Dust rises in trembling motes,
smelling faintly of ink and memory.
The hours curl around themselves,
and in the crease of a leaf,
I catch something I cannot name:
attention, perhaps,
or the shadow of reckoning.
A child stumbles along the garden path,
hair catching light, hands trembling
on the gate latch.
I smile—not for comfort,
but because her balance
reminds me how fragile any hour is,
how easily it slips
through the fold of expectation.
I fold the parchment slowly,
edges soft beneath fingertips.
A leaf brushes my wrist;
the wind sighs through the curtains.
Somewhere, a dog barks.
The scroll gathers quietly in my lap,
its questions hovering,
like motes in a shaft of light—
and I am left
holding nothing
but the tremor of hours,
and the faint pulse of possibility
that perhaps
was always
all that was asked.
******((Army of love))******
beautiful mattress
hot and riled explosive gift
nature at her best
************************
***((Gone with the wind))***
the music
listen to the moaning wind
biting to the pain
*************************
******((Over & Over))******
the rainbow
fingertips touch a few drops
kiss of dew
*************************
*****((Midnight Cowgirl))*****
Texas scat, scat
puts it in, in the muddy hole
Cowgirls get it on
*************************
*****((rattle my bones))*****
taste my sweet spot
touch it, feel it, make it move
the earthquake
*************************
****((American Graffiti))******
their limbs trace,
breathing accelerates
pulse race, excessively
************************
*****((Spice or Slice))******
haikus cake for two
hope you enjoy more than one
leaving you arouse
************************
Sexy-U-Contest
Silver shines back one picture of a goddess reflection
centre stage before the eyes enters soul to soul realm
standing purely hot blue flames ignite every gasp
breathing on a bed of roses sleeps beauty
The breath stops breathless apex splendour
within you precious jewels striking darkly haunting
princess happily kissing over and over sugar coated
heartbeats back skips with angel kisses
Warmly upon the throne sitting queen
dancing with shadows crowning moonbeams
cradle of love is where I capture your space
reserved only in my dreams of you
Temple of light I blow the softest kiss gently on wings
to embrace the altar of a soul's other half destiny sings
captured in space the greatest mystery of life
invades when you sit upon these knees
Purely joy angelic smiles looking into your eyes sparkles of starlight
on a blazing trail of magic dust always there I find thee
missing piece of the puzzle fits holding hands surely heaven here
in this world I have found in you this heart's treasure, be my Queen
As your heartbeats a pulse quickens through your fingertips
this heart is yours for keeps to go on forever
sure as the sunshine kisses morning dew
Your love inspires the one in a thousand dreams come true
unrhymed quatrains
The dark, endless sea
Stretches before me
Beyond my reach.
The waters make their grasp for land below.
Thundering upon unyielding rocks,
Their sounds pulse through my very soul.
The night is my cover.
Angels' fingertips of starlight
Reach to caress my golden hair.
Behind, mountains loom
Allowing the moon to peak
Above their mighty summits.
The wind sings me her lullaby
Bringing with her the fragrance
Of fresh sea salt.
I am humbled in the presence
Of the majesty
Which surrounds me.
Yet, enclosed by such vastness,
I am not afraid.
I am alive and I am as great as they.
Beautiful blue eyes for upon me to gaze
Dangerously evading the traps in our maze
Screaming to find you deep in our thoughts
Reviewing all this love and confusion you brought
Using my heart for people to crush
Being with you is an absolute must
I want to one day again kiss your lips
It's not real until it dances across my fingertips
Holding your waist in the palm of my hands
Erupting and exciting all of my love glands
Smelling your skin while I wrap you naked and warm
You bandaged me up when my heart was completely torn
Caressing your skin pressed against mine
Creating invisible memories --- crossing the line
Wondering if one day they will truly be real
Trying to re-create the passion you make me feel
I didn’t mean to invade her privacy,
I was simply taking the trash out late that night;
I never noticed how from the back of the house
You could see right into her bedroom when she turned on the light.
The curtains were sheer and not completely closed,
Her silhouette was outlined and her flesh exposed;
I am not a peeping Tom but in my tracks I froze,
Watching her tantalizingly removing her clothes.
She stood in front of her full length mirror;
I inched a little closer to see her clearer.
It was as if she was even teasing herself,
Slowly undressing and watching her own reflection;
Her fingertips caressing the smooth exposed flesh;
Her exhibition demanded my full attention.
She is twenty-five years old and my neighbor’s daughter;
I am twice her age and a little bit more;
I know I am wrong to be standing here watching
But a more beautiful nubile I’ve never seen before.
Her clothes are now strewn on the floor by her feet,
She is totally naked and pleased by the sight;
Slowly she turns looking over her shoulder,
Making sure all of her parts are shaped just right.
God must be very angry at me,
But, God created this wondrous beauty.
She took inventory of body parts with both of her hands,
Pleasing herself with her delicate touch;
I knew that I should be turning away;
I was enjoying her exploring a bit too much.
She kissed her own reflection returned in the mirror
Then turned and walked toward the windows;
Just before pulling down the night shade
She waved to me hiding in the shadows.
Ashamed of myself and embarrassed by my actions,
I returned to my house all alone;
She knew I was watching and vexed by her beauty,
It was me she was teasing all along.
Yet it brought back memories of when I was younger
And my wife more beautiful than she;
Although I’m a widower for seven long years,
That night, again my bride was with me.
My fingertips lightly travel
down these worn piano keys,
the memories now unravel
as I hear your favorite melodies.
I reminisce within my writing
about a time that used to be,
when your arms were so inviting
and they would hold only me.
The quiet whispers on the breeze
the first kisses that were soft,
we sat underneath the willow trees,
as my heart then sailed aloft.
I can still smell the roses, red
their petals pressed upon the page,
where your old promises lie dead
they have not withered with age.
I am daydreaming of the past
when our love seemed to be true,
a relationship that will not last
but, back then we never knew.
Isaiah Zerbst's contest - "A Daydream"
Based on the painting. "A Daydream" by Sir Edward John Poynter
When you have a beautiful beaming dream enter
the mouth smiles as together we drift away
As a moon face gets brighter accepting new beginnings
Flowers sway in your breathless air synchronized
by the spring music warmly breathing out sighs
Softly sunshine lifts our spirits free
Walking upon the yellow brick
road joining hands fingertips hold intertwining swans forever mate
Beauty on wings regal passion poesy on silk flowing sheets
Floating warmly dancing butterflies skip
under the tenderness softly embracing
Sharing sweet fluttering kisses from early morn unto late night
Heartbeats skip into one fire joining souls
in flowery band of white anemones binding us together one garland
Under a bridge bending heaven's sunshine colour baptised love
A Collaborated Poem 05.04.2016
Anne-Lise Andresen and Liam Mc Daid :)
In the twilight of suspended star thunder
where the waking jungle and broken Temple of tradition meet one another
she moves with a panthera prana, pranayama of precise paradise, air of spaceless pleasure,
A lavender Tigress of effortless enlightenment
seeking sensations on the edge of eternity's cremation,
on her fingertips questions and answers dance to mudras of nimble demolition
as the triumph of truth blazes on the tip of her tongue's flavored amusement,
genetics of ginger helix she licks and sticks to the flesh of nude nirvana
limber in the moment of typeless titillation,
becoming an animal of fearless asana,
a creature of chaos prowling along the heartbeat of karma,
Brahma made her beauty from the diamonds of a billion deceased roses,
the ascetics recognize her as a child of Kali, gorgeous and gruesome in vendetta,
for the Brahmins she is a Mother of immeasurable mystery, a kiss on the eye of history,
worshipers whisper the wealth of her shameless and shapeless clarity, as charity of Parvati,
Heirlooms of sun blood and moon love decorate the tender truth of her body,
a garden of webbing galaxies, catching the notions of novas her mandala,
rain romantic in flying fall, plucking the Ganges sitar her mantra,
the movement of melange madness through perfect passion her sutra,
poetry naked on the nerves of nascent love need is her tantra,
chakras uniting to recreate the uncreated color of consciousness, crown her aura,
as the lotus of love blooms blue, she dances on the fragrance of freedom -
J.A.B.