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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Related quotes
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.
Fingers
In that photo of yours
I saw you –
Your face, your shoulders,
Your hands, and then
Your fingers…
My lips quivered
So did my hands
And I felt like touching you,
With my quivering lips
And unsure hands,
Those very beautiful
Exquisite fingers…
Reading your poems of love
And pondering over your letters…
Sometimes I imagine
You writing to me
With those very same
Slender and artistic
Adept fingers…
Very often I feel
And wonder…
If your fingers
Ever do ache
Writing so long,
So nice,
And so very endless,
Day after day…
And if they do, my Love
I feel like pampering them
With tender, loving care
A kiss here, a kiss there…
Holding them,
Caressing them,
Sucking them slow…
Your fingers in my mouth
Taking turns to go
One by one,
I feel them,
Nibble them,
Suckle them,
Make love to them,
Within the deep recesses
Of my oral crevice…
Till they feel pampered
And satiated
And I feel the same too…
Contented and happy
Making love to you
With your fingers
In my mouth…
A wonderful tryst
Of love and lust,
Warmth and arousal,
And then if you wish…
And if I'm also willing,
We can play this game
All night long…
Where you don’t win
And I don’t lose
We both win over together
And lose ourselves
To each other…
I give free rein to
Your fingers…
To touch, feel
And explore
The inner crevices
And every pore
Of my body…
The mouth has had its turn
Now, do you wish to go
Further down..?
And see how it feels
To caress my breasts,
My derriere and my
Yoni,
With those seeking,
Exploring fingers of yours…
You’ve penned a lot of poetry
And your letters intoxicate me…
How about writing
Some letters of love
And a few lines of love ballads
On the spaces and margins
Of my body…
Dipping your fingers,
And drinking into
The juice of my
Dripping Yoni…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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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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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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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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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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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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Fingers To The Bone
Everything went wrong
Im sorry boys, Ive got to let you go
Weve had some hard times
And the long rain, it didnt show
Hired hands, Ive seen them come and go
But you dont come much better
Todays blue monday
I just got a bad news letter
This day has come
The darkest cloud on our horizon
My hands are tied down
To that promise note I signed upon
Always been this way
Its the poor man who gets hurt
All you ever work for
Is to leave your footprints in the dirt
You work your fingers to the bone
The deed is done
The fruit will fall to someone elses hand
Thats how the land lies
Now we all know where we stand
Youll have to walk away
Dont let them see you running
Todays blue monday
I should have seen it coming
You work your fingers to the bone
If sweat and tears were all it took
To make this valley green
Wed be alright but now its gone
Theyve taken everything
They say its just an act of god
And thats the way ill wind blows
Youve got thirty days to pack your bags
Say goodbye, hit the road
You work your fingers to the bone
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To be a writer
They say, when you have nothing to say
Do not say anything
They say when you have nothing good to say
Do not say anything
He is not convinced
He wants to be a writer and to be one he must write
What is in his mind
To be a writer he must write and write and write
Even when there is nothing to write
Even when there is nothing to say even when nobody listens
Even when the word is dead even when there is no sense at all
Even when he gets blind and deaf and mute even when his fingers are cut even when his mind is blank even when his consciousness is lost
Even when you are angry even when you say what is written is nothing
But trash, dung, cadaver, corpse, poo, pee, even when there is nothing
Anymore,
He writes because he is a writer and no one can stop him now.
he is
he is writing
he is writing always
he is writing always whatever that needs to be written
and here you are foolishly reading. thanks to you, audience of one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sick bed
The flue eats
my head and throat and body
and still you come and lie
close against me
and let your fingers
branch right through mine.
My throat burns
and I am scared
that you will also
get something
of this awful thing,
but without a worry
you kiss me
and I can feel life
pulsing on your soft hot lips.
Your fingers tickle the hairs
on my lip and chin
and there are teasing devils
dancing in your eyes,
while your fingers
creep to places
under my arms.
Like a child
I am given medicine
while I am already
much better,
in my soul and spirit
since you are with me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sick bed[2}
The flue eats
my head and throat and body
and still you come and lie
close against me
and let your fingers
branch right through mine.
My throat burns
and I am scared
that you will also
get something
of this awful thing,
but without a worry
you kiss me
and I can feel life
pulsing on your soft hot lips.
Your fingers tickle the hairs
on my lip and chin
and there are teasing devils
dancing in your eyes,
while your fingers
creep to places
under my arms.
Like a child
I am given medicine
while I am already
much better,
in my soul and spirit
since you are with me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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When you
When are so beautiful
and lie and look at me
and your fingers play
through my hair,
I wonder what
happens deep in your thoughts
and soul?
When you lie so softly against me
and your fingers
twist through mine,
I wonder what makes you
so wonderful
and what destiny
or God made you for me?
When you keep teasing
and play with me
and I hear you laugh
with gladness,
and I see joy
burn deep in your eyes
I know that I will die;
in a life without you.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Fickle Fingers Of Fate
The fickle fingers of fate befalls us
everyday of our lives.
Sometimes it brings us happiness,
other times it brings us misery.
Sometimes it brings us love,
other times it breaks our heart.
The fickle fingers of fate befalls us
in everything we do.
Our actions are governed
by its fickle fingers
day and night
in what we do and say.
Its waywardness leads us
down roads we should not go
or to mountains too high to climb.
It can lead us to valleys
where tranquillity lay
and to lives peaceful.
The fickle fingers of fate
will lead us as it may,
making up decisions right or wrong.
We are its puppet on a string
as the fickle fingers of fate controls
our destiny come what may.
30 August 2009
poem by David Harris
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Blissful Queen
Blissful queen
Magazine
Making art
Stuck between
Limosines
Break my heart
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming
Can't see you coming
Can't see you coming
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming
Can't see you coming
Can't see you coming
Blissful queen
Sweet sixteen
Brand new car
Hit machine
Keep her clean
Razor sharp
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming
Can't see you coming
Can't see you coming
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming
Can't see you coming
Can't see you coming
Blissful queen
Velveteen
Shining star
Glistening
Wedding ring
Gone too far
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming
Can't see you coming
Can't see you coming
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming
Can't see you coming
Can't see you coming
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming baby
You've got me running but I cant see you coming
Can't see you coming
Can't see you coming...
song performed by by Veruca Salt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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To A Young Writer
i surf the faces of young writers
this one: bites his pencil and wanting to smile at the same time
(how could he do both?)
the other girl on the right side of the hall
with bangs is fat, chinky eyed,
wearing blue jeans
and collarless white shirt
she stares at the PowerPoint
four stones above each other
and on top a butterfly, a metaphor for transformation
each stone is a virtue
to achieve a pillar
soon,
the guy wants time to have wings
the girl breaks into laughter
he says he imagines feathers around his body
she breaks into laughter again
her point is: birds are not metaphors anymore
his point: she is numb, and she does not think anymore
awareness, silence, stone silence
pointlessly thoughts are useless with what is there
it is there already and all we can do is just see, feel, observe
and be touched by the hands of time
the body of language, the fingers of compassion, the strangled hair of doubt
spangled stars and running stripes
the eagle that ate all the stars
the apple that did not like the eight rays of the sun
i am tired this early morning.
Breakfast is served.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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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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Crossing Boundaries
in fear and
suspicion i ask you to hold my hands
to slide your fingers unto
mine,
what do i feel? i feel nothing
if i scream
i hear nothing and you hear nothing
with all sadness
i have changed i have crossed boundaries
i have wings
and i flap and i toss myself like a stone to the sky
light as a thought
blithe as
a memory of my childhood
i am not myself
anymore
and you shall not know
me
a thin slice of time
a sharp cut of the moment
separates us
i shall not remember you
for i have changed
and you shall not have any figment of my
feel
for you have changed
two worlds apart
beyond sadness crossing the boundary
of remembering
i have no hands, my fingers
are empty rivers
there are no stones no banks.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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