"fingerprint" poems
I'm looking deep into her eyes
*Looking into her eyes...
is like opening a door that leads...
to another door*
Wait..really? OK...I open the door.
*This door leads to a long, winding path,
like the winding path of your love.
The path leads to a third door*
O...K. I open the door.
*This door leads to a spiral staircase
descending down, down, down, deep
into her soul.
At the bottom of the staircase is--*
A door?
A door.
I open the door
The door is locked. The key might be under the mat
Seriously? I check under the mat
Nope, not there. Maybe try under the small rock next to the door
Oh for the love of...I check the rock
There is a key
Wonderful...I unlock and open the door
*Inside this door is a large atrium
the glass ceiling giving way to a
beautiful summer night, the stars
twinkling in the distance. At the
far end of the Atrium, there is a curtain*
Sigh I pull aside the curtain
There is a door
Come on! I open the ruddy door.
*You find yourself in a long hallway,
with fine art hanging along the walls.
Crimson carpet lines the floor.
At the end of the hall is a door locked
with a combination biometric
fingerprint scanner/retinal scanner*
What.
*You have 10 seconds to unlock the door
before the hunter-bots de-atomize you*
What!? Ok! I try my fingerprints and eye!
*The door unlocks and the hunter-bots stand down.
In the next room are three vials. Two of them contain
terrible neuro-toxins that will lead to an excruciatingly
painful death. The third will allow you to continue on
to the next room. You have 30 seconds to choose before
you are terminated*
What the hell is this!?
This is the path to true love hidden deep in her eyes
No, this is insanity!
15 seconds
OK! Geez! Umm..Vial Number 2!
You're totally dead
Oh god!
Just kidding. None of them had poison...was just messing with you
THAT'S IT! I'M DONE WITH THIS
Really? There's only one more door. I swear
...Fine. What ridiculous thing do I need to do to open it.
*It's already open. You find yourself in a circular room
with a pedestal in the center. On the pedestal is a hand
written note. On that note is the key to everlasting happiness*
I pick up the note
*You smell sweet hints of your beloved's perfume and
notice the care that each word of the note was written.*
What does the note say?
*My love:
Next Tuesday Only -- Buy One-Get One Free at J.J's Pizza. Cannot be combined with any other offers/coupons. Must present coupon upon purchase. Expires 1/14/14*
...An expired coupon for Pizza?
Such a wonderful expression of love!
How do I get out of here...
You see a door
.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
It's as if a storm blew in, torrential rains, metal bending winds and standing in the eye was you.
Waves crashing. People locked up for days, hours, as time danced around -- the clocked stopped ticking.
A foolish venture to see the cause of such array. To see. To touch. To feel. Your sight penetrating through the clouds, ripping apart my seams. You watch as I came undone; undone by the velvet in your eyes, the bend in your smile. I twirl as I am stripped clean in your eyes. You see every scrape, scar, bruise and every moment I have tried to sew back together. Your touch burns my flesh. Sear into me a moment I cannot forget, a moment I grasp for in the darkness when I am all alone.
It's as if I can feel your fingerprint on my heart with every beat. As I stumble towards you, exposed and raw --- you absorb me. Absorb my pain, struggles, my darkness. You hold me so tightly it's as if when you breathe, I breathe the same breath.
Your embrace calms the storm. Calms the rush of thoughts, fears, worries and emotions. As I look up into your eyes, you see my future. My happiness. My vision of happily ever after -- holding hands in the sunset, in the rain, in the snow. As the winds die down, as the rain lets up, as the oceans settle -- I see you clearly. I feel your heartbeat. I know I am right where I should be. The eye of you.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
It's harder than you think to be content
to be happy without looking at someone else
so if you ever have trouble
if you might think your ugly
just remember our differences aren't reasons to be jealous
but God's fingerprint
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
The rabbit-tap tattoo beatings of our hearts,
They leave imprints on our chests
Our necks
The hollows of our hips.
The soprano pull off my breathing
And the forever-hold of your fingers,
It marks me,
A you-shaped tattoo in my heart.
Fingerprint bruises on my skin,
Scratches at the small of your back,
They are more permanent than ink,
More lasting than ink and more precious.
Alcohol hazes,
Smoke screens in our kisses,
Tumbled words and slurred laughter,
Our rabbit-tap tattoo hearts and our tangled-up legs,
The forever mark of our hushed hysteria,
It is more permanent than ink,
Cheap and wild and real.
A tattoo,
A stain of you and me
clinging to my skin
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
Let my words run down your body,
Wrap around you, branding softly.
Fingerprint trails, smoke rising thin,
Sizzling heat under your skin.
Scorching my path, marking the line,
Each touch whispers, "You are mine."
Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 7:05 PM UTC
September 30th 2015 5 am
Unwind, unwind, unwind, unwind unwind, rewind, look at your hands. Do you even recognize your own fingerprints; you never did.
But you recognize theirs, every uneven swirl and pattern.
Now burn them off.
Can you recognize their fingerprints on the body that was found dead behind a 7-Eleven dumpster?
Can you even recognize that the body is yours?
This is what you asked for. This is what you asked for. This is what you asked for.
Hands, fingers, hands, fingers, nails, knives.
You made this mistake.
They found your fingerprints on the shovel that dug the grave just for you.
Your mistake, don't give second chances.
Your mistake, no fingerprint will ever the same.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
From day one he was trouble
His parents knew on sight
Their bundle of pure joy and bliss
Was somehow, just not right
It wasn't in his nature
To be part of a gang
He like to be off by himself
He liked things that went bang
He was troubled in his school years
Never getting real good marks
He didn't get along with other
He was burning caps and making sparks
But when this boy found fire
Well, then....his world became real small
Never mind the big explosions
He would go and burn them all
Small fires set in dumpsters
Behind the shops, by where he ran
He'd set fire to the garbages
While he trapped a cat inside the can
He progressed on up to buildings
Made that jump, in one big way
He torched a crack house, all abandoned
Buy using gas and old, dry hay
But, the thrill was not a keeper
It wore off as fast as it arrived
He had to extend the feeling
That made his body feel alive
He knew to see his fires
He would have to volunteer
First he would go set them
Then, help put them out...I fear
It was a stroke of pyro genius
He'd set them and he'd put them out
He'd learn what gave them trouble
And he'd give them more without a doubt
He never killed another
Never burnt a persons home
He always set his fires
Where buildings always stood alone
They caught him late September
He'd burned a building late one night
It was supposed to be abandoned
But, was full of squatters, out of sight
The picture, it was famous
A hippie shaking someone's hand
It was on the front page of the paper
And it was shown through out the land
A fingerprint was lifted
A switch, that burned, not like it should
And from there, it was no problem
To lock this boy away for good
He was sent away to prison
He was gonna die there, bet on that
And on his first day in that prison
He saw an old man, who just sat
Sitting in the corner
by himself, no one around
Sat a man, all old and wrinkled
Lips were moving, but no sound
Came forth from this man's mouth,
his lips all cracked and dry,
You could stand right there and listen
And hear nothing if you tried...
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 4:39 PM UTC
the smell of a hospital
disinfecting hands and
identities
placed on the counter.
a passport-size ambition
a fingerprint of luck.
you have arrived.
you are here.
you came in
a bus full of languages
funnelled into the room
'welcome to - '
lost and found
in translation.
you cannot understand
you will try
to understand.
your newness.
new you.
you are new.
you do not understand
you are here.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 3:43 AM UTC
It is said that those
who have emotionally touched you
leave an everlasting imprint
on your beating heart
and shining soul
An impression of sorts
like one of a fingerprint,
the swirling patterns of their delicate fingertips
pressed against our skin
leaving a permanent mark
for everyone to see
a tattoo of beauty
or sometimes,
a scar of spiteful hatred
and sham
The imprints left on our skin
eventually travel to our hearts
recreating our character
and traveling to our souls,
shaping us anew
taking and reshaping our very beings
to become a kind angel
or a vengeful demon
refining our once innocent minds
to become something else
Fingerprints pressed to our eyes,
lips,
hands
and feet
either leaving us with good impressions
or wicked intentions
It is not for us to decide
whether those who touch us
leave fingerprints of swirling beauties
or a labyrinth of anguish
but we can decide
what we do with these unique tattoos
and what we create using
their magnificent power.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
Discernment of facts escape a blind eye
Incalculable deceit fell upon naive assumptions of decorum
Virtues so easily replaced by a blanket of colorful chattel
Now, countless blankets dance about, as ghosts
on a paved route chosen with intent of endless future passage
And now, to escape the realm of falsities
every eventide is exchanged for repose and closed eyes
Pleasure, promises, and poetry she gave
only to have something to take away
In vengeance of a caustic past
Aphrodite unleashed artful malevolence into a fallen heart
Oh, how so much exists
where there is nothing
Emptiness can be full of such desire
And oh, the bitter taste of sweet words
from the unrestrained lips of a liar
An offering cloaked with savory fruit in cordial hands
Swearing to give it all in the big apple
and then seducing to her roots in the yard
Absorbing a soul
Only to create a martyr of forlorn cause
An abomination can appear so sweet
when emptiness needs filling
A demon from below,
delightful,
before killing
Nostalgia, a trail of footsteps in the mud
Like a fingerprint with an unquestionable owner
Arduous wails reaching the extents of one's universe
as a pawn and patriarch share reflection in the stagnant tide
knowledge of good and evil, once a desire, now a curse
yet, finally held
Gratefully numb with inescapable acceptance
Scott Mitchell
09 Dec 2012
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
1. I was outside shoveling horse **** considering the more **** I piled up, the less you'd deal with when you came home.
2. I woke up every night at 2, unfamiliar to having the bed all to myself, curled around a pillow like a buoy far from shore, sea sick in the choppy water, my vision reduced to abstract smudges. I focused on what must have been your silhouette as I gulped cups of salty water half a mile into the ocean, exhausted and drowning.
3. Medicinal marijuana alleviates anxiety. I won't swear on depression, I believe, there are four types of depression. Blue dreams are most desirable, every day for 8 months.
4. You've probably seen this desktop orb that captures electrical currents, so when you touch it with your fingers violet bolts ignite against your glass fingerprint. With this light, 2 a.m. I scoop the sandman's hash into my pipe so i can get some rest from my past who caught up to me a few days ago.
5. Dreamer. Heartbreaker. Deep thinker. No harm has come -- to--- you.
6. When it gets dark again, run baby run. Spin around with my eyes on his, reveal the wreck behind my lids, at the thought of losing him, not to another woman, but to Fate. Hold him tight. Make love like you mean it, not to **** but to tie two hearts together as they bleed. It's bloodstains on the white sheets, two people loved here like death sat by the dinner table, waiting on his appetizer.
7. The cruel morning illuminates his naked body as he slept. I cried because I didn't know if dreamed of pleasing me. Why did I let things I couldn't control worry me?
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
*i hate to break it to you kid,
i'm not mindful of narcissus'
economics that's all oh so very modern...*
but women are their own orbit,
more chance to find a single mother
than a single father...
it's against nature to make the man
without god,
as it's against nature to make the woman
with god...
thus we have the tectonic plates
making man with god, accepting
or doubting, church or laboratory...
and woman... an eroticism of jaw eaten
faces... but a kiss to be a fingerprint
likened to erasing the dangling of the bitten
jaw... erased only once by the aphrodisiac of sirens'
wail of aquatic opera so damnable that only
one man heard it, while others scolded
being in audience with beeswax...
and by second chance, erased, indeed,
but only by the suffragettes as the new nuns...
as the new nuns dare comply to change,
like every male become female and
vice versa,
and the popes disclose their continual
loss of matrimony in their misogynistic
involvement in ****** if i'm not the pope
and do no encounter such practices,
i'm not a pope at all!
*only a ninth spoke as the necromancer,
and of the nine spoke clearest,
as it spoke, it dawned on me
that sauron was invisible for the sword
to strike, a gravity enveloping,
a gravity envelope, rather than a skin
of infinite diadem sharpenings,
for nine rigs unto men,
seven unto dwarfs, three unto elves,
but none unto the orcs... strange....
ORC ARKHAN MORDOR ARRAC!*
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 10:36 PM UTC
a giant's eye
the sky
a fingerprint
in time
a pale blue dot
in view
part of God
and You.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
A skeleton in a fingerprint
A dancing bag of bones
A cantilever shade of gray
A prisoner all alone
A silent pulsing partner
A drift this blot of ink
A catch phrase in the darkness
A caption on the brink
A blistered swirl of images
A channeled mystery
A skeleton in a fingerprint
A different piece of me
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
The pleasant lingering smell of rose hips,
feels almost healing,
as we tread through the garden -
together barefoot and vulnerable.
I won’t shy away from the prickly green grass,
then in the same way,
let me tickle you with my stubble as we laugh -
together joyful and crude.
One has to be careful not to lose themselves completely
to rub your intricate fingerprint away into another's skin in patterns,
because although the body feels heavy when weak kneed -
the weight of another’s soul is too much to bear alongside your own.
I won’t hold your head underwater in the fresh lake
then in the same way,
let me breathe when we lay by its side -
together entangled and safe.
The passing time made you my involuntary complex,
feels nearly daunting
as I adore this so shamelessly -
us together - balanced and in love.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 3:15 PM UTC
when words are few,
or stuck in dictionaries
unused or unknown
like
compassion,
tyrants and wife-beaters
scream
with iron fists,
silencing fluent lips
in clotting streams of blood
...and machetes,
severing lucid limbs
from able bodies
in active states of articulation
...and guns,
the kryptonite of cowards
and buffoons,
the callow voice of philistines
and goons,
blasting cogent words
and vocal women
into oblivion
....and laboratories
where forensics of
fingerprint and dna
scream loudest,
sending tyrants and wife-beaters away
to sleep with the devil
in a shallow cell
on earth
or
hell below...
~ P (#Pablo#OTAWB)
(8/11/2013)
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
SHOPPING LIST
after the funeral
your fingerprint lives on
in a jar of Pond's Cold Cream
a shopping list
dug out of a drawer
now a precious artifact
I an emotional archaeologist
unearthing a smile
buried in the past
all our I wills
become the past
tense
the touch of your skin
still so real to me
a teardrop trickles into my ear
Death
unreals you then
makes you more real
I call your mobile
just to hear you say
you are not there
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 4:33 PM UTC
When I ripped off my fingerprint
it was an accident
at first
the new skin grows
from the center outward
and I grow into a new identity.
I sleep like there’s no tomorrow
and no yesterday
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 1:18 PM UTC
Every night I empty my heart, but by morning it’s full again
Slow droplets of you seep in through the night’s soft caress
At dawn I overflow with thoughts of us
And aching pleasure that gives me no respite
Love cannot be contained
The neat packaging of desire splits asunder
Spilling crimson through my days
Long languishing days that are now bruised tender with yearning
Spent searching for a fingerprint, a scent, a breath you left behind.
– Shamim Sarif, “I Can’t Think Straight”
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
Frowning in silence, gave me a personality of its own!
Childish face, surrendered me to leave things unsolved!
Shyness led me to keep million of things undisclosed!
After all that
And
I´m still looking for that fingerprint, that would get me
Peace!
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 5:20 AM UTC
We did not ask for agreements or signatures
even a due diligence, check out each others
entrails, internet outcomes, criminal records
social security numbers
marriage licenses, children's ages, moles
on our mountains of doubt
even a fingerprint on a bare breast
phone numbers, mates and mistresses
drinking and smoking habits
salad preferences, vegan, bogan or whatever.
We did, however, listen to that heartbeat
the words we spoke, the pictures we drew
finished, the colours that we painted
between rainbows
and the children we dreamed
who would look like you and me
if ever born
and how smart they would be
and as naughty as those little titters
of laughter, that cleared every checkbox.
on this shopping list for a mate!
We knew that this partnership existed
there was nothing we could do
to unbreak this bond that grew
from a tiny little seed
into this one big giant momentum
of togetherness.
That's a worthwhile partnership
several levels above commercial simplicity.
Author Notes
The romance continues.......
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
i miss your lips
the way they'd smoothly dance
like a genie in a lamp
as you'd sing
and speak
how sweet your memory tastes
though the reality has long since faded
i cling to my effervescent exaggerations of our tangled past
replaying time to time
on the dream-screen of my mind
as i snack lightly on the salty remarks of my youth
and i laugh
it hurts
but it feels so healthy
you fade through the moon-mist
and dismiss your own existence
once again proclaiming that you are nothing
but an extension of it all
a fingerprint of the wilky-way
just a strand of DNA
swimming through the wake of infinite expansion
i miss it
the beer-breath incantions you'd softly slur after dark
the kisses you'd plant along my edges
like the vines that trace the hedges
in the front lawn of that dusty place we'd fake our love
nostalgia always begins so inviting
untill you're finally feeling sea-sick
from the over-ingestion of false sweets
and pure imagination
now we're so far gone
living in a different reality entirely
i don't think i'd even know your face if i saw it
i know you only by the way your shape fits in the frame
another handsome man
trapped forever in the reels of film of my mind
but i'll remember you
you're woven into the wood works
drunkenly dancing through a serendipitous sea of names
stands the lamen's term for your current shape
your birth-given name
credited with a handfull of scars
left behind by a man who forced me to grow
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
You were the Barbie jeep engineer.
You were the 5-card pinochle player.
You were the gripe to do the dishes.
You were the patient mall bench sitter.
You were Elvis Presley records and
paper backed crime novels.
You were my new antivirus software.
You were the chatter in the middle of an
NCIS episode.
You were the "It's okay, sweetie" on the
other end of the phone.
You were the voice of every bathtime storybook.
You were the baking soda on my first wasp sting.
You were the green Ford Escort parked
outside my middle school every afternoon.
You were the loudest clap at my graduation.
You were the sticky caramel corn crumbs in the
living room that held the place together.
You were the laughter
You were the toolkit when my pictures hung crooked.
You were the cornerback baker, the pecan pie maker,
dance recital seat saver and the road trip driver.
You were the puppy-dog pill-giver and the
broken heart mender.
You were the church goer and the goodness seeker.
You were the black-haired teaser and the
very best secret keeper.
You were a prideful wig wearer and
wheelchair rider.
You were a cancer fighter.
You were my first call.
You still are.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
as a dreamer, in a particle splits the path of thought,
like mud under my fingernails and crystal shells.
Arkansas is driving me insane
come one come all she's the
fare-st if you fall.
neck burned as a fingerprint, itches sore in trash days,
conspiracies and deputies
looking still more strange.
can determined minds build a staircase of reason?
up to a future, teasing
me out in the open
with your temper words.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC