Long Little finger Poems
Long Little finger Poems. Below are the most popular long Little finger by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Little finger poems by poem length and keyword.
My sister Susie loved picking her nose
To her chagrin her little finger froze
It was stuck so far
Doc used a crowbar
Finger up nose - not a ladylike pose!
Our Mother, in a fit of Pique
At Susie's antics with her Beak
Said, "Right my girl"
And in a whirl
Grounded Susie for a Week
Resenting her fate, in bed
Rebellion sparked inside her head
When all were asleep
She'd dress and creep
Though the window and escape instead
A branch near her window hung
Which to its foliage she clung
The branch was weak
And with a shriek
She fell into a pile of Dung
The house woke up only to find
Poor Susie in a dreadful Bind
She looked quite a mess
In her state of distress
That our Mother went out of her mind
"A School for young Ladies, I'll choose"
One, her wildness, I hope will defuse
And instil, at a pace,
Deportment and Grace
To refine the coarse ways of our Suz'
Packed off to be 'Finished' she went
Determined to never repent
Despite all opinions
It's just like 'St Trinians'
And for Susie, was quite an event
Susie boarded at ‘Saint Eloise’
It was there she got covered in fleas
Once she dived in a ditch
To be rid of that itch
Oh, you should see the state of her knees!
When in the first deportment class
Poor Susie fell straight on her ‘ass’
When she exposed her behind
The other girls were unkind
So Susie began passing gas
They had to open the windows and doors
Crawl about and move on all fours
To get rid of the smell
That came straight from hell
Staff told ‘Susie’ no more encores!
Her Classmates all thought it a Hoot
When she lit the gas that she'd shoot
She then vented a Storm
That Blew up her Dorm
Which got our poor Susie the Boot
She believed she should never have gone
From the ones she depended upon
With her Mission, complete
(And a Cork placed, discreet)
Susie's Home where she'll always belong.
20th January 2016
Collaboration J Allison and R Bettridge
Quite by chance
I saw a single, small, white wildflower
amid a crush of grass and weeds
along the roadside, its presence crowded out
by seed heads and space hungry leaves
of species honed for survival.
This wildflower occupied an area
no larger than my little finger
and even then was bumped and bullied
by weedy neighbors. It fed
on the leftover light filtered down
through the tall grass.
I would like to think that in this sometimes
bleak universe there is a caring
and benevolent force that tries to preserve
such fragile beauty from the rampant
excesses of survival and greed, nudges
the odds to favor such a humble flower,
nurtures its seed.
Digits can be numbers, and our numbers mean a lot!
But digits I rate highest are the digits that I’ve got:
those literally a part of me; the five upon each hand
comprise my top ten digits, and here’s what makes them grand:
Without my top ten digits, there’s little I could do.
I couldn’t write, or cook or clean, or even tie a shoe.
Inflexible, I couldn’t use my toes to reach my lips,
And so I’d need somebody’s help to eat my fish and chips!
Each finger serves a purpose and I’ve got it figured out.
The one most useful to me is the one that is most stout.
The thumb, which can be overlooked, is really very strong.
Just try to hold a pen and write. Without it, you will long
to feel that writing instrument guided by your thumb.
But using just the thumb alone can prove quite cumbersome.
Helping guide that pen, you need a finger that is sturdy.
That would be the middle guy, also known as Birdie!
Of course, because I’m so left-brained, my top ten digits are
the ones attached to my right palm, and two I’ve named thus far.
The index (or the pointer finger) I would rate at three.
It’s a useful finger for a teacher just like me.
Ring finger gets a four. Symbolizing love,
it’s lesser value to me than the three discussed above.
My number five on my right hand, and the weakest one,
is Pinky. Little finger is the one that I most shun!
The fingers on my other hand would finish out my list.
The sixth important one, of course, is nearest to the wrist.
My left hand’s middle finger is the next one, naturally,
on my top ten countdown. Number seven it would be.
Eight and nine are index and the ring, respectively.
So the last 1 on my list I‘m sure by now you see
is left hand’s pinky, number ten. And now I’ve named them all:
Ten fingers, for I need both hands to catch a real fast ball!
For the 'The Last 1' Poetry Contest of Anthony Biaanco
She enchanted him with her smile
And soon wrapped him around her little finger
But her plan all the while,
To break his heart, make her memory linger
The innocence in her eyes belied a beguiling heart
She left broken hearts in her trail
Toying with their emotions from the start
Leaving hearts imprisoned without bail
She found her suitors guilty of loving her
And sentenced them to heartache all the time
No sense of compassion within her did stir
Love was not a passion, but a crime
Her suitors would come and go
But none ever got close to her heart,
From distant Venus there was no glow
And Cupid's arrow had fallen short
10-18-2021
I hung my heart upon the Christmas tree
Placed my hope in a love that came so free
Baby Jesus curled his little finger around mine
Said, I have given you my own bread and wine
Santa came rolling down with his secret gifts
Said, I think your face needs a little lift
Reached deep down into his big red bag
Pulled out some face cream that hides the sag
Snow bells and jingle bells began to ring
Rudolf in high notes began to sing
You don’t need to be sad this Christmas eve
Your tears you can wipe on my good old sleeve
My stockings he stuffed with mouth -watering goodies
The elves beneath the tree peeped from their hoodies
A sugar coated cookie slipped and fell below
Right into the hands of a cheeky little fellow
The snowflakes began to fall so lightly
Upon the decorations that were colored so brightly
Gold feathered angels sang with assiduous rapture
That Christmas eve my wounded heart was captured
Smiles
Earth smiles in flowers
Sky smiles in the moonlight
Sea smiles in the beauty of waves
but why, my man, you have forgotten to smile?
Rain smiles in the growth of plants and creepers
In the growth of civilization smile the rivers
The society is agog with art and culture
but why, my man, you have lost your smile some where?
God smiles in the smiles of the poor
Devinity smiles in the smiles of the children
Nature smiles in the beauty of animals
big and small, and in the flights of birds,
Smile, my man, to conquer this world
smile in your joys and pains
smile till the end of your journey
smile till the Lord shows his little finger
to pick you up into his blissful abode in heaven
SakthiRavichandran
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A baby! What a remarkable creation…I remember our first night together…
how I could not help but stare…thinking how…only a day ago…he wasn’t even there.
Thinking back on how…exactly…this moment came to be…
wondering how something so beautiful…began his life inside of me.
Asking myself as I held him…looking down on him from up above…
is it possible…is it even conceivable…to so quickly fall in love?
And for the first time in both our lives as I watched my baby sleeping
when I felt the softness of his skin…the roundness of his head…
his ears…his nose…his mouth…I had to stop myself from weeping…
I remember thinking to myself…is there anything more beautiful…
more heavenly…more innocent…more sweet…
and then he moved his little hands…and kicked his little feet.
I put my hand upon his chest to calm him…and there I let it linger…
soon his entire baby hand had found its way around my little finger.
And as he held on to my finger…I found myself hoping he’d never let it go…
wishing this moment could last forever…yet…knowing he will grow…
Knowing I will do my best to keep him safe from sorrow and from harm…
Knowing there will come a day…when I can no longer hold him in my arms.
But I was not sad or worried at that moment…as I stared at him from up above…
because…as inconceivable as it sounds…at that moment…
I understood a mother’s love…
I knew immediately…though I cannot explain the how, what, why…or when…
that each day…as he grows a little older…
I will fall in love again.
I understood how from that moment on…until I’m old and gray…
every day I’m blessed to rise…will be another Mother’s Day.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
The tiny hand that crabs your little finger,
birth of passage for the individual thinker.
Personality through intuitive developing spirit,
like the artist becomes art itself and it’s lyrics.
To see the spirit of modesty is beauty itself,
veiled by nature to cover the greater excels.
Himself most modest but intimate with those,
who practice the scales of cosmic force.
That ethos is like some genuine art,
added with a life responding heart.
Evidence of prophecy from divine tongue,
personality and interpretation unsung.
The wise asks the question into the mirror,
the free heart opens the channel of nearer.
Knowing the ego is born from the ashes of false,
then matter is a state of spirit, throwing some salt.
Words that come through light from source of soul,
more precious than all jewels, by being whole.
Many accept things just as are,
Where so fate ferries, there they are.
They look for boat nor yet for oar,
But search for a navigator.
Their life seem Arundhati* star—
In a star string Ursa Major,
Too faint to spot, farther than far,
They try all life with it to spar.
Holding ego’s little finger,
They lose, false promises when mar.
Believe me: you’ll stay as my star,
Long as our life’s journey goes far.
My trust not as much in a star
As in you, O my life’s Poll Star!
__________________________________
* Ursa Major is a constellation in the Northern hemisphere. It circles around the Poll Star and has seven stars representing seven sages. One of which is Vasishtha. Very close to it is a faint star representing his wife Arundhati. As is an old belief, if one can spot it with unaided eye, his eyesight is considered good.
Musings |14.12.2021| couplets
A baby! What a remarkable creation…I remember our first night together…how I could not help but stare…thinking how…only a day ago…he wasn’t even there.
Thinking back on how…exactly…this moment came to be…wondering how something so beautiful…began his life inside of me.
Asking myself as I held him…looking down on him from up above…is it possible…is it even conceivable…to so quickly fall in love?
When I felt the softness of his skin…the roundness of his head…his ears…his nose…his mouth…I had to stop myself from weeping…as…for the first time in both our lives…I watched my baby sleeping.
I remember thinking to myself…is there anything more beautiful…more heavenly…more innocent…more sweet…and then he moved his little hands…and kicked his little feet.
I put my hand upon his chest to calm him…and there I let it linger…soon his entire baby hand had found its way around my little finger.
And as he held on to my finger…I found myself hoping he’d never let it go…wishing this moment could last forever…yet…knowing he will grow…
Knowing I will do my best to keep him safe from sorrow and from harm…
Knowing there will come a day…when I can no longer hold him in my arms.
But I was not sad or worried at that moment…as I held him and stared at him from up above…because…as inconceivable as it sounds…at that moment…I understood a mother’s love…
I understood it on the day he was born…yes…even way back then…
how each day…
as he grows a little older…
I will fall in love…again.