Sorrow and JD
I was looking to drown my sorrows
in a large bottle of JD.
After six fingers things looked better
as they became sunk in me.
Twelve fingers and my mind became blurry,
the JD was getting increasingly less.
I was losing all sense of reason
and becoming a mixed up mess.
The liquid was decidedly more ish,
as fingers became more like hands.
Bad memories faded into oblivion
as the JD took over command.
I lost my grip on everything
as my elbow slipped off the bar.
My glass passed through my fingers
and bounced as it hit the floor.
At this point I lost my co-ordination,
and the bar wouldn’t keep still.
I was a passenger in a spinning helicopter
and I was feeling unquestionably ill.
I woke up as a red eyed headache,
with my clothes in a state of distress.
My first thoughts were that of self pity
caused by sorrow, and JD excess.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Related quotes
I See You in Your Fingers
I see your fingers
I see you in your fingers
I see your history from your fingers
I feel your touch from your fingers
They don't tell a lie to me
They don't give me a fake smile
Or promising kiss
But they give me a warm hold
and tickling touch
I see you from your fingers
I see the truth from your fingers
I see you in your fingers
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Frenzied Fingers Run Amuck
When I get you into my arms
I can't control the things that I do.
Fingers grab the hair on your head.
Fingers caress the small of your back.
Fingers travel down your spine
and back up again.
Fingers reach to all corners of your being,
quietly unnoticed at first,
but more frenzied with passing time.
Wild fingers travel your soul
with frenzied action that is hard to stop.
Uncontrollable fingers run wild
until you beg them to stop.
But even then, there's no counting on it.
These fingers like to run wild.
Whenever I place my fingers on you,
frenzied fingers run amuck.
Slippin' Through My Fingers
Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile
I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness
And I have to sit down for a while
The feeling that I'm losing her forever
And without really entering her world
I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter
That funny little girl
Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Do I really see what's in her mind
Each time I think I'm close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table
Barely awake, I let precious time go by
Then when she's gone there's that odd melancholy feeling
And a sense of guilt I can't deny
What happened to the wonderful adventures
The places I had planned for us to go
(Slipping through my fingers all the time)
Well, some of that we did but most we didn't
And why I just don't know
Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Do I really see what's in her mind
Each time I think I'm close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture
And save it from the funny tricks of time
Slipping through my fingers...
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Schoolbag in hand she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Slipping Through My Fingers
Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile
I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness
And I have to sit down for a while
The feeling that Im losing her forever
And without really entering her world
Im glad whenever I can share her laughter
That funny little girl
Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Do I really see whats in her mind
Each time I think Im close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table
Barely awake, I let precious time go by
Then when shes gone theres that odd melancholy feeling
And a sense of guilt I cant deny
What happened to the wonderful adventures
The places I had planned for us to go
(slipping through my fingers all the time)
Well, some of that we did but most we didnt
And why I just dont know
Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Do I really see whats in her mind
Each time I think Im close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture
And save it from the funny tricks of time
Slipping through my fingers...
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Schoolbag in hand she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile...
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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United In Pain
my fingers
are not mine anymore
they are running
out of control
i do not wish
to write some more
to infuriate you
but my hands are
rebels
coming out from
my arms
into their
fingers
writing these
lines
i am detached
severed
from the rest of my
parts
i have no more control
about
destiny in the making
birds of blue
feathers
are coming out
from my mouth
and they are not
coming back
my fingers are
automatons
writing now on
their own
i am not
responsible for your
anger
i am a useless man
and my fingers
are not mine anymore
my C5 chokes a nerve
i am numb
my fingers are at war
against
each other now
thoughts converge
without much meaning
united
in pain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stream Of Consciousness
Stream of consciousness
Thoughts that come at random
With no foresight and no plan
My fingers type at their own volition
With no structured idea at hand
I live in an environment of inquietude
In an ambiance of unease and perhaps fear
There’s a weight upon my forehead
A sense of loss of things I hold dear
Today’s a day much like any other
I read, I eat, yet feel so incomplete,
and blandly smiling at me in calm so replete
On my desk, photos of sisters and brother
Just to sit and compose idle randomness
At my desk, takes my mind away for a bit
Yet at the back of my mind sits emptyness
And knowing I cannot escape from it
This bit of inane exposition
Is from my fingers and not of my mind
I try to stop all conscious thought
And let my fingers write blind
My busy fingers put a name
To unconscious sentiments so sad
Stream of consciousness
says more of the same…and that..
I’m slowly going mad
poem by David Whalen
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You in your closed bleeding hands
The palm that closes
Cannot hold anything
Just like this narrow mind
Unable to grapple with
What is newly given
I see your fingers are closed
I tried to tickle you so they may open
I tried to tell you something puzzling
You closed your fingers some more
What is it that you are hiding there?
It is causing you so much pain
Your hands bleed, please open them
Is it the nail? Is it a broken glass?
You are not nodding still
Is it something so important?
That even with death you still refuse?
You are not nodding still
You shake your head, you keep mum
And numb to what I am asking
So be it, close your fingers
Hide the lines in your palms
Let your hands bleed some more
We shall wait what happens next
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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All In All I Know
When I asked myself the other day I came to realise I'm not ok
I've burned my fingers bad before I've seen myself through worse I'm sure
But just the same I'm really not ok
Oh how I wish that I could sleep
I try but won't just sink that deep
My fingers won't stop aching so tired yet awaken
Or should I let it all loose and just weep
I've been pacing up and down my floors I have lost all sense of time
I sometimes halt and ask myself if I'm about to loose my mind
All in all I know ::
From when I get up way past lunch time I keep on asking myself
If when the night falls hard on all I'm up to pace around again
All in all I know ::
song performed by by Quorthon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unheard Music
Unheard Music (Mozart)
The fingers on my left hand move all by themselves
like they are playing piano that produces music
I cannot hear. I watch my fingers play but it makes no
sense so I try to stop by holding them still with my
right hand’s fingers. So I sit like a vicar contemplating
the Sunday sermon, a mild one who hasn’t an arsenal
of fire and brimstone speeches, but would rather talk
about the coming spring. My wife brings me a glass of
water and a pill, fingers rest, but I would liked to have
heard the music they played, for all I know it could
have been music brought to me in a dream by Mozart
who died so young that he can’t believe it yet, and
tries trough, me to play his latest masterpiece.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Appendages
How many fingers do I have?
Enough to work to the bone.
How many hands do I have?
The two that I do own.
How many toes do I have?
Enough to fill my shoes.
How many feet do I have?
The two that I do use
to get me where I want to go,
walking a leisurely pace.
It seems to be a lost art anymore.
Most are in a race.
But since I am retired
I don't ever rush around.
My fingers, my toes, my hands, my feet
make me slow right down.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Moonglow and Memories
I’m afraid I’m losing them
Things that slip
through fingers and mind
It slides from my grasp
Tho I squeeze til I gasp
I cannot contain Luna’s shine
Like the moon that I cup
In my hands
In the night
Like memories
That I just can’t quite
Remember just right
I’m afraid that I’m losing them
Both moon glow and memories
Tho’ I do try so hard
to clutch them so tight
poem by David Whalen
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With Hope We Build
With hope we build our own
fingers into mission light.
Our temple fingers steeple form
to reaffirm prayer light.
Only our fingers when humanity
needs salvation hand?
Prayer our fingers steeple pray
peace earth wide in every land.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Fingers Of Love
Can you imagine this
An itch to sensitive to scratch
The light that falls through the cracks
An insect to delicate to catch
I hear the endless murmur
Every blade of grass that shivers in the breeze
And the sound that comes to carry me
Across the land and over the sea
And I can't look up
Fingers of love move down
And I can't look back
Fingers of love move down
Colour is its own reward
Colour is its own reward
The chiming of a perfect chord
Let's go jumping overboard
Into waves of joy and clarity
Your hands come out to rescue me
And I'm playing in the shallow water
Laughing while the mad dog sleeps
And I can't look up
Fingers of love move down
And I won't be hit
Fingers of love move everywhere
There is time yet
Fall by the way
From the cradle to the grave
From a palace to the gutter
From beneath the dying waves
To the sun like fingers of love
Through waves of joy and clarity
A fallen angel walked on the sea
And I'm playing in the shallow water
Laughing while the mad dog sleeps
And I can't look up
Fingers of love move down
And I won't be hit
Fingers of love move everywhere
There is time yet
For you to find me
And all I want
Fingers of love move down
song performed by by Crowded House
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Is That You Say
No longer caught up
Big church wall
Makin' some noise with a pair of drums
Lying your thoughts out over the sky
Spinning around as you gaze at the sun
(What is that you say?)
Why don't you talk to me?
(What don't you talk to me?)
What is that you say?
(What is that you say?)
Wrapping your fingers 'round my neck
I see the grass is still when we made our beds
I see the thin weed boy ride at this edge
I see the holy Jesus and the Pharoah and the Venus
And the ghost of you and me
Gagged and given up for dead
(What is that you say?)
Why don't you talk to me?
(What don't you talk to me?)
What is that you say?
(What is that you say?)
Wrapping your fingers 'round my neck
There's something up there but I
Don't know what the hell it is
There's something up there
As you guessed
Like the sun
(What is that you say?)
Why don't you talk to me?
(What don't you talk to me?)
What is that you say?
(What is that you say?)
Wrapping your fingers 'round my neck
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Grain Of Sand
Life is like a grain of sand;
it can slip through your fingers
at any time and be lost forever.
We must enjoy every minute
while we have it
in case that too
slips through our fingers.
Love is a fleeting thing
that passes all too quickly through our lives
unless we grasp it tightly
never letting it go.
Our lives are like a grain of sand
and will slip through our fingers
before we get to enjoy it thoroughly.
20 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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Twenty-five Fingers
(mccartney-macmanus)
Twenty five fingers baby
I love your nails I love your touch
I love to touch you baby
It never fails to kill me
Some say gimme five
But Ill give you ten
You could make it twenty
But youre holding out again
Think it over think it over baby
Well think it over think it over baby
I will always love you
That cant be denied
Love you up until the day
That heaven knows Ive tried
For the time being I will tell you this
Id love to love you love to love you
But theres something missing
Baby listen unconditionally
Put your hand in my hand and surrender to me
Think it over think it over baby
Well think it over think it over baby
Twenty five fingers feel so divine
Twenty five fingers wish you were mine
Wish you were mine
Well so our hands met and twenty fingers entwined
I couldnt help I couldnt help but see
She didnt quite believe me
She said listen cause theres one little thing
Where did you get that lovely wedding ring
Think it over think it over baby
Well think it over think it over baby
Some things are forbidden
Never meant to be
Well that might be all right for you
But not for you and me
Twenty five fingers feel so divine
Twenty five fingers wish you were mine
Wish you were mine
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Falling Out Of Love Because Of Distance
light fades away
as sand slips away between my fingers
water drips
everything is either absorbed or
lost
love too diminishes
through distance
dissolves in the solutions of time
losing its sweetness
in the memory of one
whose grip
to fidelity is losing
reality melts
like mist like the ghosts
of names
you cannot anymore remember
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One-Finger Typist (Fun Poem 122)
I used to be a one-finger typist
and as the one finger wore down,
I discovered how to use two.
Finding that easy to score
and with the added bonus
of being able to play
chopsticks on the piano as well,
I decided to add a little bonus
and increased my fingers to three
and then on to four.
All on the same hand, I might add.
One day my left hand
feeling left in the lurch
decided it was going to join in
and my fingers typing doubled
to the number eight.
The thumbs then got jealous
and came into play.
Now both hands of fingers and thumbs
dance merrily across the keys,
but there I have a problem,
as they all want to press a key simultaneously.
Slowly words with three or four letters
were getting left behind
and I could only type words
with eight letters with two hyphens in between.
Confused? I was as well
as everything I typed became double hyphenated
and made no sense at all.
In desperation and frustration,
I reverted to being a one-finger typist
and now you know the story of my plight.
As for the other fingers,
well they got a new position
of multi-tasking elsewhere.
poem by David Harris
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Accusing Fingers
You are the cause
I am not, you are
They are the culprits
They are not, you are
Other tribes are responsible
No, its your tribe
The West caused the war
No, it originated from orient
Colonial master retards our progress
Yes, but the neo-colonialist are accomplices
The eastern ideologues caused poverty
Not at all, its the capitalist greed
Your religion caused the crisis
Far from it, its yours
The drama goes on unabatedly
Across the cyclical globe
Fingers point to another
No one accepts responsibility
Everyone wears Adamic garment
Everyone sanctimoniously claims innocence
We are all responsible
Each one deposits a quantum
That crystallised into igneous of rots
No one is innocent
No one is a saint
There are motes in our eyes
Every nation, bloc, race, tribe, tongue
Are by commission or omission reponsible
The other four fingers point to the owners
poem by Babatunde Aremu
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