While trees lift bright yellow combs
to attract squabbling honeyeaters,
lower bushes open bells and stars.
The ground, however, keeps time differently.
The first rain has entered dry sand,
but nothing has confessed itself.
For many weeks, we return
to the known places,
two people reading grass at ankle height.
We look for leaves
round to the touch
among the flat blades of grass.
Then, at last, a flower spike
begins its small ascent,
a dark seam lifting through the leaf.
That is enough.
We leave the certainty of known ground
and search the wider heath.
The flowering shrubs are loud with wings;
at our feet, the Autumn Midge
gathers its darker wings from grass.
Small plum-coloured flowers,
each with a dark, pendulous tongue,
grouped no larger than a thumbnail.
One camera.
A photograph. A report sent on
to the researchers.
We leave the place unspoken,
and the orchid where it rose,
hidden in the grass.
I didn’t pick this pixelated hue,
Blind browser of flesh, what’s wrong with you?
Am I just a bug—some system glitch?
Or a firestorm code you can’t enrich?
You see a low-res thumbnail, tagged and filed,
But my spirit runs free—uncompiled.
Stuck in filters, default schemes,
You can’t decode my quantum dreams.
This isn’t a status, a picture frame;
I’m pure data, unchained—untamed.
A network where prejudice crashes, burns—
Where firewalls of freedom overturn.
Algorithms stutter, crash and stall,
Trying to define me with a finite call.
Erase the labels, tear down the fence;
See me for more than binary sense.
Skin’s just the interface—surface display,
But the soul behind it can’t be weighed.
So reboot your mind, clear your cache—
There’s more than a demographic flash.
Delete the bias, debug the lie;
The spark in my eyes won’t simplify.
I didn’t choose this pixel, this view,
But the brilliance inside is breaking through!
God's smoothly filed thumbnail
a glass magnifies
small lapdog
butterfly
landing perfectly
on a flat nose
the glass pushes detail
into a wide eye
the picture is a thumbnail
maximum enlargement
knocks over it digital frame
the butterfly
is mottled yellow and brown
a stand-out contrast to
the black nose
a background
is a female hand in mid-flight
we are all caught
Hardware
to spare
Software
quite bare
Firmware
full glare
Upload
bug sowed
Download
smart code
Cursor
fervour
Cyber
fibre
Password
absurd
Hard disc
at risk
windows
hellos
Wide screen
green scene
Hotspot
jackpot
Screen shot
rogue bot
Desktop
nonstop
Thumbnail
all hail
Clipart
from heart
Browser
dowser
Broadband
grandstand
Toolbar
gold star
Macro
steals show
Micro
back row
Wizard
not hard
Rich text
what next?
Template
create
Pixel
oh well
Sharp hack
attack
Portal
mortal
Mail merge
we purge
Dot-com
random
Systems
victims
Viral
tidal
Net world
unfurled
A small cameo rests inside a velvet-lined chest
Its latch broken, there’s a faded picture inside,
A thumbnail-sized sketch of her handsome best
Has rested inside it since Great-Grandpa died.
Her cameo’s been treasured through the years
Passed through generations with loving care,
Which once was handled through flowing tears
Now is a shrine, revered with a lock of her hair.
Once it hung on a silver chain around her neck,
We occasionally saw her gently fondle it there
As she spoke of her lover, she gave it a peck,
Placing the lock of her braid with a loving flair.
Grandpa gave it to her on their wedding day
An extra special reminder of their marital bliss
It was something special, a family heirloom
Occasionally, I saw my mother give it a kiss.
The broken locket, a gift from a loving groom,
Merits a special honored place in my bedroom.
[The Broken Locket]
FOURTH PLACE WINNER
Written June 22, 2022
Submitted to “One of Five” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Deposits of shells, pebbles and seal bones left behind
by the ocean
There is life inside this cave such as small solid drips of gold
barely the size of a thumbnail;
Although they are part of the most amazing formations,
still they cannot tell the exact age of this cave
Part of a fascinating human and geological history
it is recognized as a significant and important Australian treasure
it is believed to have been exposed by the constant pounding of the ocean
Over time the sea has retreated leaving behind a cavern of interesting
treasures...
such as shells, pebbles, and seal bones,
amphibian
family ranidae
as tadpole dart&play
then losing gills& tail
metamorphosed
frog-thumbnail
one to our small
pond arrived
leaped& to the bottom
dived
so friendly so tame
Freddie
became his name
never sure why he
chose our place
to sejourn
his summer base
mornings sleeping
'neath the reeds
siesta in sublazed weeds
by night
dining on slugs&snails
by dawn
back without fail
when summer
drew to a close
hibernating
somewhere near
in dormant pose
Donald Trump is a flimflam man
Trump and Pence have an healthcare plan
Its in a nutshell
So Nancy can't tell
The thumbnail is an also-ran
Often Our Best,
Thumbnail Sketch!
Dawn To The Eventides, Lift!
Truisms God's Proof, Shell's
...Gift!!
I have had my Fill with the Lifelessness of Winter
I have had my fill of this winter,
The lifelessness in its frost;
Fingers stiff, face pale.
It’s cold pain in the bone
To the black and blue bruise
Of a cracked thumbnail.
Huddled in black overcoats
And breathing out smoke;
It must be hard for mourners
Lowering loved one’s
into the bone white earth
In the dead of winter,
in wooden coffins, arms folded,
As if they could still feel the cold...
John Tansey
Copyright ©2007 John Thomas Tansey
she was an icon
the first time i saw her
looking back over one bare shoulder
the small photograph illustrating her in muted colors
thumbnail image of perfect harmonies
her name emblazoned in small type
but great things come from such small beginnings
roads the heart start out as a trail in the forest of humanity
hard to see where the path leads
winding its way thru mystery's
soulful words written there guide
but false trails can leave a man weary of the chase
mistaken paths can lead to dead-ends
i followed the light the she gives
i heard the song she was saying
now she sleeps beside me
wrapped gently in my arms
such true paths of the heart
make this life worth living
such beautiful days we have spent
our road plain before us
in laughing joys simplicity
In an uncertain half time
The sky spread silence
In drops of eternity where
Every cloud
Carries thumbnail dreams
In children’s arms
Full of butterflies.
Eight weeks ago,
my daddy's sperm
connected with Mommy's egg.
A miracle explosion of living energy;
molecules merged,
cells divided, multiplied, took form.
My heart beats,
my limbs move,
and although I cannot yet see,
my ears hear, and I feel pain.
Smaller than my daddy's
thumbnail, is the size
of my perfectly formed little feet.
Someday, they will carry me
across green grass, through cool water
and over burning sand.
But only if I live to term.
© Faye Adams 1/20/2009
it comes upon me
like the invasion of evening shadows
when silence surrounds me
and i realize i am alone with myself
and know i am poor company indeed
it comes as winds knife
through the ribs of mountain rocks
bringing the tall grasses to shiver
like the departure of lost souls
beneath the faint thumbnail moon
it comes with the misty breath of frost
closing the world beyond my window
teaching me of isolation
from the distant glow of lamps and candles
where lovers speak in gasps and whispers
from the distant creek comes the sound of water
rattling against stones like kittens lapping
and it comes upon me once again
this consuming sense that has no name
so i think i’ll call it “you”
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