Short Fingering Poems
Short Fingering Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Fingering by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Fingering by length and keyword.
When issuing Globalist threats
it proves best to shed all regrets
of Dull Care lingering,
still busy fingering
all across those DNA frets.
i have a pear
shaped mandolin
depression era
that has surely
sinned in
speakeasies
in the '30's
because my
fingering has
never been so
beautifully
dirty
Form:
just sit at desk
and get set
while lingering
start fingering
read the word as told
call compose
than writer or tyde ment
than quick yo click sent
it never fails
HOW TO SEND A EMAIL
Form:
you play
my flute
and i your
conch shell
ocarina
with both
of us fingering
to configure some
sort of
melody in
harmony with
each of us not one
without
the other
for this is
not a solo
Form:
a roughened garden
devil's claw over blossom
stones like dominos
estate sale today
fingering through memories
grief cold uncaring
sold to the future
children bouncing on the grass
laughter resurrected
Quantum g-spot
Simultaneous revulsion
And primal mystic
Archaic groan
Unpredicable tectonic
Moaning through time
Creation spins itself
Reincarnation splatters across the waves
Fingering past time hopes
Groping for change
tuneless piano
silently singing
the truth of silence.
broken keys fallen
in the rounding path
of stiff ticking clock.
sun of love once perched
fingering the hearts
joined the joke of life.
Drooling for my luscious garden,
Your tongue licks
My sweet smelling mist.
Fingering my pink petals,
I moan.
Whispering and screaming.
Drunk and delirious.
Raw from lust,
We lie together.
Lazy, languid, dreaming
Of days to come.
Tonight
darkness engulfs;
tranquility amour.
Fingering the eyes of your grace,
forever your beauty in my fancy;
stills the rush of entangled thought.
Faces in ebony night
reminiscence
Tonight
Copyright © 2009 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Surreal
surround
entwining
Love souls fingering branches
Roots combing into the deepness
Ashen love embrace oozing nectar
Calling out buzzing and humming
Frenzied passionate calls
By waters edge
A tumultuous
bulbous
flowering
bush born
Erected
Our
conversations quickly turn to black confetti.
Dining in separate cells.
Fingering our cell phone pals to death.
Until they turn us on.
Chips in our relationship throb.
Yellow tape outlining respect.
Where does love go,
oh, where does love go when it's
gone.
music’s up
top’s down
cool breeze
fingering my hair
thoughts drifting by
at fifty-five
cares dropping
like leaves
this september day
traffic lights
in hues of trees
the creek
below the bridge
flows heavy
with yesterday’s tears
my memories
float on by
i am free
this september day
the moon rises
her candle-lit glow dances
casting shadows on walls
as she weaves in and out
of night's winded breath
fingering every inch of darkness
as she thrusts herself forward
night moans
in a climax of screams
then becomes silent
under freshly fallen dew
she tucks herself beneath covers
and awaits morning's blush
Most of my flying now
is restricted to planes,
feet less able to
“trip the life fantastic” --
age having slowed fast living
to delayed starts and early
finishes –
joining the genuflecting
lines, many of us
striving for sainthood
in latter years, fingering
rosaries – chanting on knees
converts
at Altar of years….
It does rattle the Bone
To be oddly alone
And one makes prone
To fingering one’s phone:
The seed of solitude sown
And fruit of boredom grown,
Life is a hollow cone;
One like a defaulter over a loan;
In ears a loud insisting drone
Of an unseen plane being flown…
Loneliness reaches the bones
And speaks in our moans.
Discouraging others
Expecting instant respect
Fingering a bad guy
Imagining worst scenario
Negating someone’s accomplishments
Irritating people in a mean way
Tasting caviar
Eating slimy oysters
Laughing at a person’s misfortune
Yelling about people I have never met
Needling a nefarious never-do-well-er
Ostracizing an ostrich
Tackling a Tiger
I was writing in my diary,
a daily routine,
when my English teacher walked in.
"Is that a story?", he asked,
glancing at the many pages below.
I thought carefully,
fingering the pages.
"Yes." I said, looking up at him.
"What's it about?
What's the climax?
Where's the plot lead?"
I thought again,
flipping the pages.
"I don't really know yet."
Someday I will.
I want to fall in love again
As I stare in my eyes
In the water's reflection
I suddenly miss the hungry burn
Fingering my scars, I hesitate to
Take a new step
I'm feeling the youthful, ticklish
Yet not discomforting feeling
In my chest
I find myself rambling
Feeling hot and red
Once more
I can't see far into the distance
But I'm willing to make
The first step
Hands twitch
remembering the sensations
of the fingering flesh.
Side by side we sleep
between ghost worlds.
Feather whisps
of body awareness
anchors us
to one deeply breathing bed.
In that place,
skin secretes thought and sight,
we dream each other's dreams.
Are we more in love
there
in that nether land
then when fully awake,
when our tongues are
loose and sly?
In a small green tent I reached for midnight
Above our stoned embrace my lies
Emptied in an indifferent trickle of desire
We giggled, fingering each other’s faces
The strange familiar- absurdity
In the doef-doef music and the scale of my fish-nets
Two teenage screw-ups, a clichéd poem already forming
On lips bruised with vampire kisses
With which I stroked your smile, coaxing truths on which to feed
Tears In The Wind
Left hand deftly fingering strings on frets,
While my right hand is picking or strumming.
Composing a sad song about regrets
And searching a melody by humming.
I easily find a chord progression,
Played in a melancholy minor key,
Then add some dynamics for expression--
Reaching a fugue-like state releases me
Fleeting perfection is my endeavor.
Like tears in the wind, now lost forever.
tides winds blown blowing
winds flown winds move waves waving
limbs trees tapestry
~
fingering, feathers
like leaves playing piano
as a child waves bye
~
beautiful a gust
blowing so rushing winds goes
fingering, feathers
~
tides winds blown blowing
winds flown winds move waves waving
limbs trees tapestry
7/5/2022
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr©2022
musically
on the staff
f major treble
clef keeps me
with only one
note that is
B flat and so
maestro
tap tap
tap your baton
attention
follow
ing his lead
i'm feeling
basso
filled up on
beans so
i'll be
a tuba
fragrantly
playing Rimsky
Korsakov
not even
thinking
of stopping
fingering
flight
not bumbling
the bumblebee
but the spit valve
will
need
drained
at
least
twice
Form:
some rolling leaves
glide with grandiose grace
sailing straight into the silk
of rose petaled yesterdays
some rolling leaves
act in black and blue fashion
whirling about to and fro
fingering frolicking angels
then slitting their holy throats
some rolling leaves
lying prone on broken bone street,
shrivel away in the throat of defeat
forgotten echoes of a burned out valley
rolling leaves
Mother could you please leave,
our moment glow is all but gone.
Like autumn's brittle gemstones
clinging to an icy-icy song.
Mother could you please leave.
I mean you no harm or disrespect.
but fingering these old worn beads
has doomed faith to the bluest trench.
Mother could you please leave.
Before I join the flints of time and fate.
A son's broken bow and listing heart
is no place for his mother's grave...
Just leave!