Hit
My fingers
Are hit my eyes
At Nails...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Red Ambulance
so that ambulance just went by
and if you were high
the flashing lights would be a show
red as the blood she spilled
red enough to let her go
she filled in the outlines with her nails
just as red as she
then there was a red circus, for sale
as she red as she would be
and the fire was just so
that the red blazes burned her eyes
i think it was the red that let her go
like the red from her eyes after a person cries
so red, so real, from wrist to lights
so red, everytime, even in the night
shes like the savior
or the sacrafice
her nails, or the nails of the cross?
was it it the cross on the red ambulance
with the red lights?
or was it the cross of the savior, the sacrifice
was it all red every night?
is this a remake or the living
from the wrists
on the nails
where the lights
on the ambulance
with the cross
of the savior
with the nails
on the wrists
in the ambulance
with the cross
of the savior
red from the nails
on the wrists
that lay in the ambulance
the flashing red lights
near the cross
of the savior?
the sacrifice?
in the wrists
red with nails
on the cross
of savior or the saved?
ambulance
or cross
the wrists
the nails
the lights
the ambulance
the cross
the savior
with all the red
poem by Kathryn Garner
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Three Lowly Nails
Three lowly nails,
Changed the world for you and me
Three lowly nails,
Were used to attach Jesus to a tree
Three lowly nails,
In each hand and through His feet
Three lowly nails,
Set His people free
Three lowly nails,
Gave us a King for eternity
poem by David Kush
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The Lady With The Snakes
She lives down the street
Her snakes are sticky her eyes are blue
Should you feel an urge a lady to meet
Be careful and cover your butterfly tattoo
Her nails are pagan her hair is a dragon
Spitting out fire around her hearth
Her fingers and toes enamel polished
Her nails are pagan her hair is a dragon
Her eyes are light only when it’s dark
She’s been like that since the day of birth
Living with the king who never abolished
Time slavery to a wide accursed earth
She claims insanity a DNA mark
A DNA excuse for a DNA abuse
A throne turned down into a knee
Invisible crown her clones only see
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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In The Dark, Painted Pink
eyes blazing in the dark
do not be slumbered
by sleek black hair
and soft touching
of breath from
ripened lips of red
eyes blazing in the dark
do not fall into sleep's abyss
as gentle touch
fingers promises on brow
with polished nails
pointed painted pink
eyes blazing in the dark
do not drift in dreams
of allures sweet scent
such intoxicates
and dims the wit
of weary men
eyes blazing in the dark
look into souls
and reflect
what is within;
eyes blazing in the dark
poem by David Taylor
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Opening Up To You
Opening up to you,
The night before,
red finger nails!
Dark finger nails!
White finger nails!
Blue finger nails!
To utter it out;
The thoughts of man,
The thoughts of woman,
The thoughts of a child! !
But, holding the torch and to touch you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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If I didn't have fake nails, my fingers would be bloody stumps.
What The Moon Does to You
at night the moon simply does
what is expected from it naturally
as you stand
it is showing you
your own
shadow
afraid that you may see the whole
truth
which in some details may be
gory
it simply casts you
in the general view
of a man from
a distance
a silhouette
with fingers less the nails
a face
without eyes
nerves
lifted from the darkness
of your skin
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Grumpy Grandpa
Grand-daughter of the Painted Nails,
As if they had been dipped in gore,
I'd like to set you lugging pails
And make you scrub the kitchen floor.
I'm old and crotchety of course,
And on this point my patience fails;
I'd sue my old girl for divorce
If she showed up with painted nails.
Grand-daughter of the Painted Nails,
Like to a Jezebel are you;
Do you expect to snare the males
With talons of such bloody hue?
I could forgive your smudging lips,
Your scarlet cheek that powder veils,
But not your sanguine finger-tips . . .
Don't paw me with your painted nails.
Grand-daughter of the Painted Nails,
Were I the sire of maidens ten,
I'd curse them over hills and dales,
And hold them to the scorn of men
If they had claws of crimson dye;
Aye, though they sang like nightingales,
Unto the welkin I would cry:
"Avaunt, ye hags with Painted Nails!"
poem by Robert William Service
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Geraldine's Bus Ride to Work
Geraldine rides the bus to work.
She sways side to side with the
motion of the bus, sitting in the
compact human zoo, faces, limbs,
bodies, eyes, mouths. The sky
outside is an early morning icy blue.
A man opposite stares, his eyes
moving over her, his hands in his
lap, fingers playing with each other.
His eyes settle on her legs, drink
them in. She feels as if he were
undressing her, taking each item of
clothing off one by one. His eyes
are dark, deep set. She stares back
at him, takes in his lips, parted, thick
and saliva sits there. Her thoughts
move to Holly and the night before,
the game they played, the role plays,
the pre-sex drama. The man shifts
in his seat, wrinkles his nose, moves
his eyes to her breasts. She looks away,
senses his eyes fondling her tits, his
imaginary fingers groping. Holly would
have said something to the creep opposite,
would have shown him up, but she
doesn't have that way with her, she sits
it out, pushing thoughts of him away,
focuses on Holly's tongue licking the
inside of her thighs, sensation electrifying.
The man looks away, no doubt to masturbate
in his dark mind with his imaginary fingers.
Geraldine lets the thoughts of Holly and
her deeds linger, sucks in the hotness,
the scents, the sighs, the smells. She stares
at the man. He looks at his hands, his fingernails.
There is dirt beneath the nails, black as soot
as if he'd rooted in dark soil. She looks away;
Holly has set her (with her deeds) to sexual boil.
poem by Terry Collett
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Blackened...
blackened steel...
blackened faces,
blackened hearts,
blackened roads...
blackened eyes,
blackened dreams,
blackened prayers,
blackened gods...
blackened memories,
blackened fingers,
blackened windows,
blackened rooms...
blackened thoughts,
blackened nails,
blackened shovels,
blackened tomb!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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
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Women Sometimes
women sometimes
are a handful, a breastful,
a body beautiful,
you think they are so easy
to handle,
cutie pie, sweetie pie,
pity pie?
sure. they're a handful
of pretty pretty breastful
pretty, pretty petty bodies..
fondle, coddle, and
lots of doodles...
but oh, without them,
what will this world of mine be?
a desert. a dry pond.
a well without water.
drought the whole year round.
cracking lips.
labyrinths without an exit.
tunnels without light.
dogs without a master.
birds unfed and dead.
skulls without a skin.
bones without flesh.
blood without veins.
nails without fingers.
pen without a paper.
milk without water.
bed without blankets and pillows.
hands without fingers.
face without eyes.
and so on and so forth.
let me have them all
in my crowded room.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Red Nails
She paints her nails red
slowly, methodically, with purpose.
I pretend to read my newspaper
watching her closely over the top of the pages.
Her features are refined;
no lines and big azure blue eyes.
Traffic rolls by outside and children play
relishing the sun in the middle of the day.
I pretend today is just an ordinary day
but in an hour or two I'll be on my way
and she, with painted nails
will walk the streets from whence she came.
poem by Ruth Walters
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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.
Grey
The diner nibbles biscuit
because a stealthy misfit
has finished off the brisket and the pie.
His methods are erratic
and crumbs bedaub his jacket
unheeded by his static glassy eyes.
Upon his thin long fingers
a whiff of Cheddar lingers.
The end of a malingerer is nigh.
His ears are pricked for whispers.
A presage stills his whiskers
before tight sprung ballistic metal flies.
The silence is emphatic.
The stillness is dramatic
to underscore a tragic mouse demise.
Quick nails tip tap the china.
He grinds his biscuit finer.
Behind his specs, the diner's eyes are dry.
poem by Diane Hine
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Garden Lady
Her fingers long and slender
As to the rest of her
Wonder how such frailty could, labor
Seen with dirt under nails
Her drive is a better world
She has gone further
Than just a frail young woman
Her fingers long and slender
With the smell of future flowers
Soon will give you much to see
Exceeding your garden needs
The plants she sows
They are hardy
They will grow
Through heat
Through neglect
She will give you what you expect
And tell you not to neglect
Keeping them alive is nothing new
Seedlings comming through
In a secret garden
Away from the cruel....
She holds a thornless rose
Timeless and fragile
Pretty and pink
With other pastel inks
The blossoming is forever
In her heart
A model for all to know
For no other could grow
Another season begins
Life lush and green
That is her nature
Fingers long and slender
poem by Howard Johnson
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My Nails Match My Heart
my nails match my heart
'Lost Love' that's what its called
as pal as my nails my heart is
if only i could paint my heart
as easily as i paint my nails
red would be a nice color for the heart
does red match with how it feel
No! 'Lost Love' does
have i ever found love that paints my heart red
will i ever find that love that will slowly paint it
with tender strokes
so perfectly that nothing will ever ruin it
for now 'Lost Love' is the color it will stay
and tomorrow will hopefully be a new day
my nails match my heart
poem by Pilar Guethon
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Love In The Sunlight
we lie on the grass
in the late afternoon sunlight
the breeze rustles the leaves
of a scorched palm tree
hair sprawl on the grass
brown eyes look into blue eyes
blue eyes look into brown eyes
her fingers run though my hair
I close my eyes
I feel the warmth of the sun
I feel the sweetness of her fingers
running through my hair
it feels good
it feels right
our loves meet
poem by Georgios Andritsos
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November Narcissus
Four white fingers break ground
Lime green nails hunger scratch heaven
Each set bulbous...pots silver three
Narcissus blind to looking glass delight
Gold glory comes creeping night
poem by Boink Boink
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