Long Pinky Poems
Long Pinky Poems. Below are the most popular long Pinky by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pinky poems by poem length and keyword.
Mosquito Bat
Peering closely, I sought to quickly skim through the online latest news …
True to form, I am a stickler for keeping up with the latest happening news…
Given this internet age and its borderless media reach, there’s always something…
So much to read, so much to keep up to date, just so one’ll be a better man for reading…
Then it happened, even as I was about to scroll the displayed page with the mouse button..
There came a familiar high pitched whine, softly at first but intensifying as its source approaches…
Christ! A blasted mosquito, high tailing in my direction, to my right pinky ear, to be precise…
I froze all motion, rolled and strained my eyeball to squint out of the corner of my right eye…
I saw, at the periphery of my field of vision, the fast approaching obnoxious blood sucker…
Silvery wings furiously beating as it made a bee line to my ear, a beacon for a typical bloody dinner…
Cautiously yet sparing no delay, I reached out for my trusty rechargeable electric mosquito bat…
The offending insect was just about to land, circling in ever tightening circles as I grasped my bat…
Bat upraised in hand, I did a quick head swivel , the dastardly insect was now plain in my sight …
Ah ha, now you are my victim, you stupid little insect! I gloated inwardly as I eyeballed the insect..
Dinner lost, the sudden shift in air movement must have warned this bloodthirsty sucker…
There was a quick change in its flight pattern, it tried to fly out of my vision, tried to flee from danger …
Here, eat this, you bloody miserable ungodly insect! Unhurriedly, almost leisurely, I waved my bat…
Right across the flying path of the fleeing little insect, there was no escape for such was its fate…
A sharp crackle and a quick spark of light, the poor mosquito was no more, no longer in sight…
A plume of whitish smoke, an acrid smell of burnt organic material, yup it was no more alright…
Mentally, I blew across the end of my smoking gun barrel like any swashbuckling vigilante..
Gee, what a lethal combination, me and this rechargeable electric mosquito bat each day…
Got to get a spare, just in case, like my daddy used to say, get ready for a rainy day…
An electric mosquito bat, dear readers, it is a must- have gadget to get, to keep up to date........
How to Feel When Your House Burns Down
The home you are raised in is a mother tongue.
I was four when it was built, an age when innocence
turns river water and all that lives within to blood.
First birthdays and first dances fortify the mantel.
This home transports milestones, our own vessel
to move us from sidewalk chalk to the attempt to outrun
the stagnancy found only in the debilitation of the long run.
At seven, I held him in my arms and love upon my tongue.
Promises danced on my lips and ran rampant on my vessels.
College funds started in a baby bottle, tiny wishes held in a cent.
I remember grappling with his growth, attempting to mantle
the affinity we pinky promised deep into our own blood.
At twelve, my father taught me to dance in the blood
and glass on the hardwood. Still, I watch his fingers run
to sow flowers in my mother's hair, her back, mantling,
the image of infatuation, true love, in our minds. A tongue
of tenderness has our childlike innocence
giggling and shouting at the inamoratas and the vessel
of devotion in which each of us was vesselled
into this life. Each of us was born in the fervor of blood,
so sweet. My mother threaded honey, burned incense,
and chewed lemon slices whole to hold us near. She ran
baths of salts and oils, to cleanse the ever growing tongue
of infernos that caressed, more captivated, our mantel
of consciousness. For many years, we tied sheets to mantels.
With pillows and blankets, we’d build ourselves a vessel
to a land of fairies and warriors who shared the same tongue.
Pool noodles became swords. Here we spilled blood,
convincing ourselves if we were to sprint, leap, run
fast enough we too could fly amongst the rest, innocent
to the world around us. At nineteen, I watch the innocence
leave our home. Adolescent memories that kiss the mantel
turn to sharp licks in the wild fire that is running
through the bones of our sweltering home, the vessel
of affinities, dances, compassion, imagination, and the blood
that connects it all, now lapped up with tongues,
too heavy for the innocent, a cancerous burn in our vessels.
The mantle of snow is no relief to the flames that drip like blood.
And still, we do not run, we wait for the final lick of a mother's tongue.
There was a self pinky swear that I couldn't forget,
"Enough of looking for a boyfriend after my 30th."
And that pinky swear has been obeyed,
Though I always seek for someone to be with.
Relationships went wrong,
Nobody gave me peace like home.
So then I stopped searching,
I let my heart rest from any breaking.
And when I decided to only wait for the one,
There's this man who came named Brian.
I wasn't looking for love when I knew him,
But love found me and my heart gave in.
I know and he knows that he's not my first,
But yes, he came before I reach my thirtieth.
He loves me and accepts me for who I am,
He's a perfect picture of my dream man.
Sometimes I ask myself if I really deserve him,
For he is too good to be true like I'm just dreaming.
But when he said; "For all the struggles that you've been through, you really deserve to be loved."
That's when I knew that he's the man that I never had.
I finally found someone who feels like home,
My heart is at peace and my life is at its bloom.
No words can express how happy and loved I am,
When I met and fell in love with this man named Brian.
I love the way he utters my name,
It's like music to my ears when he calls me "Jen."
I also love the way he talks,
It is so good just like his looks.
I love his lips especially when he smiles,
I love the way he looks at me with those pretty blue eyes.
But beyond the physical appearance of this man,
His character is what I really love about Brian.
He accepts me in his life with no hesitations,
He loves my flaws and my imperfections.
All he wants is just to see me being happy,
That makes me fall for him more each and every day.
Showing his love for me is very consistent,
The kind of love that I really dreamt.
He knows how many heartaches I had,
And I like the way he handles my heart with tender love.
He is the kind of man that I've been looking for,
A man who healed me and became my cure.
He knows how to handle me on my worst days,
He makes me smile when I'm about to frown at my face.
Brian is the kind of man with respect,
I love it when he considers my opinion in all decisions that he will make.
But there's one thing that I really love about Brian,
And that is when he includes me in his every plan.
She Simply Said
I'm no model...
I do have my moments,
When the mid-day sun
Compliments my masculine mask—marvelously
And my mug is admired
So when I asked her
What does she sees in me?
She simply said, "It's the way that you kiss me."
I'm not a "snazzy dresser,"
Jeans, T-shirt and Nike's
Are my trademark attire
I do appreciate the comfort
Of a hooded sweatshirt
With an inside pocket
To safeguard my American Sprits-
Yes I smoke...casually.
Every once in awhile,
I'm forced to wear a tux-
And my oh my do I look fabulous
So when I asked her
Is it the way that I dressed,
She simply said, "It's the way that you kiss me."
I'm no millionaire,
Though I do welcome wealth,
I am not fascinated with temptation
I prefer to live comfortably
I do not indulge
In unnecessary needs
I accept what The Lord allows me to have
I take pleasure in struggle and its results that brings strength
I have had my share of riches
A vehicle that advertised vanity
Eating expensive entrees
While sipping red wine-"pinky-out."
A hair dresser to tease my hair,
Therapeutically conditioning and combing
Then creating thin-lines of "corn-rows."
So when I told her
I don't know what she sees in me,
She simply said, "It's the way that you kiss me."
Even though I crave
An intense love-making session,
I'm no ***-movie star
I have had my moments of longevity
When my mind was altered with enhancers
I don't like to disappoint,
So I give fantastic fore-play
And I am serious about my service
Providing the premium package
Although,
There have been times when
I have been known to exceed my limits—
It's rare but it happens
And strange sounds are sung
So when I hinted to her
I know that's what she sees in me,
She simply said, “It’s the way that you kiss me."
I am a clown,
I find laughter
In the worst situations
I giggle at accidents
Make fun of the miserable
I am a jester
Playing practical jokes
On unsuspecting people
I embarrass my
Women in public—because I love them
I do act my age sometimes
Transforming into a decent citizen
Who’s courteous and respectful
But mostly,
My personality is outspoken and careless
So when I told her
I don't know how she puts up with me,
She simply said, “It’s the way that you kiss me."
This poem was written by Willie Wright
People say my poetry is mostly doom and gloom
But I’m a funny person and I’ll prove it to you soon
My wit and sharp ripostes are a constant delight
Let’s see if I can tell this story to prove I’m right.
I had three friends who loved booze
And the only time they didn’t imbibe
Was when they had passed out
Or were taking an alcoholic snooze
Each died doing what they loved
Drinking, sipping and guzzling
Johnny was a straight-forward drunk
Mary took refined and dainty lady-like slips
And Tommy was an out-and-out guzzler
Here are their stories, one by one
Pull up a chair and sit, let’s get to it.
Dear Mary! So refined and dainty
So lady-like in her behavior and thinking
Especially when she was drinking
She’d take a lady-like sip and gently wipe away
Any liquor residue on her lips without delay
She’d raise her very favorite carafe
To refill her dainty gold-etched antique glass
Mary’s elbow-bending was poetry in motion
Her pinky extended her glass up-ended
At an angle she felt was fashionable
For admiring gentlemen who’d not feel offended
When she drank them under the table
Her company (tres chic) an inspiration
But, Quelle domage! One evening Mary took a sip
And it went down to where it shouldn’t
She couldn’t speak so couldn’t call for help
Her swift departure was the tragic result
I wondered what dear Mary was thinking
At the end, I surmise it might have been this:
“I didn’t take an unrefined nip
Nor an undainty unlady-like sip
How inconvenient this is, such a bother
Dear me. Oh, Pooh. Oh Pish!”
A couple of weeks went by
Before dear Mary was found
When the policeman opened her door
His eyes rolled backwards as he fell over
While the landlord ran for cover
Mary’s very favorite carafe
And her dainty gold-etched antique glass
Sat on her cherished Victorian table
But the mess in the rest of the room was incredible
Mary here, Mary there, Mary, Mary everywhere
Spreading across the parquet floor with unhurried flair
Like a forgotten and unchecked plumbing drip
But at a refined and dainty very lady-like clip.
EPILOGUE:
Never inhale while upending your glass
But if you should happen to do so
Whether sipping or dripping
Be sure and do it with class.
I am so glad to be here,
With eyes so bright – they swirl of chocolate.
Content and breathing.
Thank you.
Thank you for these small feet and cute black painted toe-nails
That can fit into shoes and leave foot prints on
Rough gilded grains of sand.
Thank you for these legs, yes they may be skin and bone.
Faded and outworn, and not at the exact height I want them to be.
Still, they run around fields in PE class. They perfectly lean
And bend, when I drop a coin.
Thank you for this stomach.
This small round belly, with a beautiful belly button in the center.
Thank you, now I can eat all I want, and laugh so hard that this tummy aches.
This belly has held butterflies, and delights I have over indulged in.
Thank you for these arms, with white hands on their edges.
These arms they can embrace mama.
These hands they can make Zeina a cup of soup when she gets the flu.
These fingers they can hold Mont Blanc pens and wear engagement rings.
They can make pinky promises and wipe off salty tears.
Thank you for these lips that can smile to lonely strangers.
Sip on straws, and release teeth that munch on saggy pizzas.
Thank you, now I can kiss dad goodbye on the cheek, and teta hello on the forehead.
And with the power of vocal strings, and sound waves I can read,
Scream while watching Saw III,
and sometimes, speak my mind.
Thank you for these ears, pierced three times on the right side, and four times on the left
side.
Thank you, now I can hear the call for prayer when I wake up at sunrise.
Now I can listen to Chet Baker!
I can hear jokes,
And sometimes eavesdrop on others when it’s really
None of my business.
Thank you for these eyes,
That helped me see too little
Or sometimes, too much.
They have gushed joy and trapped tears.
Thank you for this conscience.
It bubbles with scruples.
That goad me to apologize and sympathize.
Thank you, now I can give that destitute man at the subway the coats I had
But never really wore.
Thank you for this heart that loves and hates,
Grudges and forgives.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
I am so glad to be here,
With eyes so bright – they swirl of chocolate.
Content and breathing.
Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
POETIC LYRICS BY THOMAS L.H. ANDRESS
Dedicated to EVERY AND ALL MELISSAS, ELIAS' & MATILDA'S!
(BANGING IT TO THE MAX!)
(HILLARY AND BARRY...2016...PEANUTS & BRITTLE!)
NIGHTS...OUT...My-Time-is-OUT!
My-Light...is-OUT...He-was-a-lousy-LOUT!
In-my-lousy-NIGHT-OUT...My-Poster's-STROBING!
LIGHTS-OUT...AND-STROBING!
FLASHING-AND-DASHING...He-was-a-lousy-LOUT!
If-crystal-smiles...CRACK...He-was-a-lousy-LOUT!
If-teeth-don't-SQUEEZE-RIGHT...HE-WAS-A-CROOK
AND-CROOKED!
If-crystal-smiles...CRACK...He-was-a-lousy-LOUT!
You-wonder-AND-DOUBT...Are-you-SMART-or-DUMB
AND-A-LOUT?
I'M-SMART...AND-YET-YOU-DOUBT!
He-said-WONG-ing-And-WRONGING-BRING-DOUBT
SO-PEN-RIGHT...AND-DON'T-DOUBT!
He-was-a-lousy-LOUT!
A-CROOK-TO-THE-MAX...AND-A-LOUT!
CONNING...to-the-MAX!
LIKE...A-MAD-MAX...SO-DON'T-DOUBT!
If-TOOTHY-GRINS...SPIN-YOU-RIGHT-TO-WRONG!
DON'T-DOUBT...He-was-only-a-lousy-LOUT!
In-the-howling-BLUE-STARLIT-CRACK-OF-LIGHT!
BURSTING-and-SPINNING-TO-THE-RIGHT-TO-LEFT!
BLUE-LIGHT!
And-when-I-awoke...toothy-grins...and-smily-faces
MY-SISTERS...TOOTHY-GRINS!
MY-SISTERS...IN-TOOTHY-GRINS...AND-PINKY-TOES!
Dancing-in-the-BLUE-LIGHT!
POSTERS-BLAZING...AND-DAZING!
SMILING-FACES...AND-TOOTHY-GRINS...ALL!
OUR-WALLS!
AND-BLUE-LIGHTS...AND-STROBES!
ORBS-OF-OUR-HOPES-AND-DREAMS!
If-you-wonder-and-DOUBT...Our-Boxes...OF-TOYS-BRING...GRINS!
TOOTHY-and-TOOTHLESS!
THE-BEASTS-IN-THE-HOWLING-AND-WINDLESS...SWIRLING
'NADOES...IN-THE-PUREST...HOPES-AND-DREAMS!
OUR-BOXES...OF-OUR-HEARTS...DREAMING-AND-SCHEMING!
HOPES-AND-DREAMS...STORED-RIGHT!
RIGHT-TO-LEFT...AND...LEFT-TO-RIGHT...SPUN-RIGHT!
SWIRLING-AND-TWIRLING...BURSTING-AND-BIRTHING!
When...MOM-AND-DAD...POPS!
It-was...CRYSTAL...and-POP!
'NANAS...AND-CRUMBLY...CAKE...AGAIN?!?!
SCHOOL'S...OUT!
LIGHTS-OUT!
YAY!
YAY!
NO-WAY! NO-WAY!
AND-WITH-OUT-PINKY-TOES-AND-PINKY...JUMPS-TA-START!
CRYSTAL-BLUE...STARLIGHT!
CRYSTAL-BLUE...STARLIGHT!
LIGHTS-ARE-OUT!
LIGHTS-ARE-OUT!
STROBING...AND-STROBING! CRYSTAL-BLUE-STARNIGHTS!
STROBING...AND-STROBING! CRYSTAL-BLUE-STARNIGHTS!
FINI--------------------------------------------------------FINI!!!
The color seemed to drain from the sky,
falling in small orbs as the blues turned to greys.
The trees all seemed to droop, the green of the leaves seeping back into the ground.
The roses recoiled from the cool air,
shutting themselves off from the world protecting their vulnerability.
The water below the bridge played games, waves playing tag,
colliding, the screams of their collisions filled her ears.
Raindrops coating her white knuckles, her hands tightly grasping the bridge bars behind her.
Tear drops covering her swollen lip, mingling with the blood.
Brisk wind on the bruises of her inner thighs,
the empty marks where hands once grasped on her wrists.
Her mind seemed to become color blind, as the world around her melted behind a curtain of tears, ending the horror show that was once playing in front of them.
Her audience were the members of the play, the grass that had been below her body, the screams that seemed to linger in the air awaiting the new ones.
Now in the after credits she is the only one to be seen.
Her heart is empty and her will has vanished into the depths below her.
She removes her pinky from the bar, letting go of her smallest worries,
her grades, her job, her small extra things that once brought her joy, but are now the pebbles that will help her sink.
she removes her middle and ring fingers, letting go of her mediocre problems.
her breakup, her friendships, her college rejections. Once hopes that helped her move but are now the strings that help tie her feet together.
She removes her index finger, letting go of the things that pushed her to this bridge. Her parents divorce, her fathers repetitive slaps to the face, his words that whipped into her skin, and lastly the memory of the boys in the forest. Who dragged her, and put the tape on her mouth that will silence her scream as she falls.
She removes her thumb. Letting go of her existence.
When they look into the death of one beautiful girl, the last thing she left behind,
was a painting of a bridge, with stormy waters, and a girl, being engulfed in its depths, although the photo looks as if its melting, it al becoming one.
The Green Door
Those dappled wings, of forget-me-nots, folded around Akutaq,
though the Denali warmth brightened her whimsy. She sat
for a long, long while, contemplating the green wooden door
in a place she had never been before. (Fairies are good
at patience and the wonder of magic) From time to time,
the tingle of fairy dust tickled and nudged. Her fingers caressed
her flawless cheeks and her pinky finger would slide in her lips
as she smiled. See, a fairy is fascinated and curious. Longing
to open the teeny door, but first she must express a wish.
Sometimes a fairy had a “ready wish,” but often one dreams
for a good bit. Suddenly, her wings excitedly flapping; Akutaq
could wait no longer. She blew a kiss, waved her wand, and
the door brightened into an emerald sparkle and opened.
“Ooh! Ooh!” the fairy exclaimed. Forget-me-nots, she leaves
behind and steps into a forest of shiny vines. She dances
among them, climbs, of course her wings tickle with glee.
On tippy toes, she looks over the vines (suddenly shy).
Fluttering all about, are a myriad of her kind. She checks
her wings - are they clean, pristine, the best lace?
She must present her best. Suddenly, surrounded,
“Who are you? We haven’t seen you before?”
Daisy touches Aqutaq’s wings, “Wow, these are exquisite!
What intricate pattern! Come! Come, you must!” she says
tugging at her hands.
Introductions all around. Aqutaq has been lonely, for too long
a time, so she’s dreamt up these lovely friends. Of course,
fairy dreams are real and call out to other lands.
“Yoo hoo,” they call upon the wind.
Suddenly, reds, blues, yellows, oranges -
blossoms snowing so daintily.
Aqutaq’s wings are clapping as the blossoms sing, but no -
purple-plum sparrows are in between and hovering all around.
The Denali fairy spots a much larger door, an inch or two.
It is red. So, of course, she sits down to think and think,
about what might be. Her friend, Daisy, likewise, dizzy
at the might-be on the other side. Wishes and dreams,
collaborated, will slowly and surely, invite friends in.
Those times with the loads of books,
Heart filled with smiles at the age of sixteen
Habitual thinking about love at night in routine
Without having boyfriend tickled pink for every Valentine
Top grade at the level of fascination...
...
Will he bounce from the stratosphere?
Will he bring the promised land here?
Interrogating myself with my thoughts ...
As the sun kissed my foot time runs with curiosity .
...I rebuff to many proposals ,
And here waiting for the miracles ;
When the pinky blossom fell down to the earth:
And now the earth thought it was from the daemon .
Likewise they said he is my man...
...yeah I see him between the two saucers,
Normally skinned and slightly shorter than me!
Is it okay , Where I really stood?
..
His second visit to my home
Where should I roam?
When he called my name,
Actually I was tint ;)
Million things in my wit
Im Not fulfilled yet
...Even he said,
"Yeah even i was inept at cooking thus we are perfectly matched"..
...
..Ooh he love cats nd I love dogs..
And he loves yellow..nd here..? ...
Will he think the same about me now?..
Hmm ...
..With the three knots of sacred thread,
My eyes turns to red.
Until my mood swings up in the air;
And now without my flesh and blood I'm bare:(
The last clutch of ma mom and dad in the wedding hall,
All of a sudden my throat becomes sore
All the controlled tears roll down faster.
....Hmm..
Though my dear is the best among the nation,
Though he adjust all my stupid talks,
Though he loves me more than my parents,
Still I was not satisfy with my imagination.
...
And he the hero of this story, had a beautiful love story.
The name of the queen in that ,
Now became the name of our child.
...The moment he kissed the forehead of her;
The time he scared for her cry;
The worries when she is unwell;
The running tears when she calls him papa
My dear;
At last the idiotic things you did to make her laugh.
Achooo...
I really fell in love with you?
I never knew, how much I love you dear
Until I saw how much you love her,
And now it's our turn my dear....