"pinkie" poems
If I held out my hand
would you take it ?
it's warmth ready to permeate your soul
but what would it tell you of me ?
the scar on my finger
the wrinkling skin
the crooked pinkie
the gnarl on my thumb
stories to be told
if you would only take hold.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
Freckles on your face,
Sunshine in your smile,
Promises made on your pinkie,
Memories in your mind,
Steps taken with your soles,
Hands are being held,
Adoration gleaming in your eyes.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
A world wide phrase known so well as a lie, but as I say this to you, a lie, is the furthest it can get from the truth
I will not curl my pinkie around yours like kids do in elementary, I will not look into your eyes and say these words because that's just too simple, I will spend my lifetime making you believe
Making sure you do not have the slightest doubt in me, in us, in this ring I'm putting on your finger, this I promise to you
I promise
I will kiss the tears off your cheeks when you cry, I will tell you you're beautiful over and over and over even though I know so well that you'll deny it time and time again
I promise
That every word coming out of those soft luscious lips will be heard, never ignored, and when you feel like you're free falling down to the rock bottom of your life, I will be there, arms outstretched and ready to catch you, cradle you in my arms, happily walking you down the path of the journey you're destined to take
Whether it means carrying you on my back like a backpack, on my shoulders like a toddler, or in my arms like a newborn baby
I promise
I will never live without you
I will never let go of those bright blue eyes so detailed like the deep color of the ocean water, illuminated by a layered color palette of sunset
The gleam of your soft, smooth dark brown hair that catches my eye every time will always be mine, the coconut smell so enticing I lick my lips and beg for more
I promise
To always follow along to the orchestrated love song your voice plays for me every time you speak
To never stray from the beat of the drum your heart pounds every time you breathe or the wonderful wave of your laughter that bounces on air with every joke
To never let any challenges come between us or keep us apart because I will always find my way back to you like a lost puppy looking for it's owner, a baby bird trying to find it's mother, or a turtle making its way to the sea
You will stay a tattoo on my heart and a stained picture in my mind, never once leaving my thoughts, always in my arms
I promise
To think of you when my eyes are open and when they are closed, as the sun rises and as the sun falls, and until the day that I die, I will use every breath I have to whisper I love you
I promise
I do
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:25 PM UTC
Your name,
has become a curse word that falls from my lips.
The picture of you in my head,
has become blurred and wants to be forgotten.
Your voice,
has become a door that lacks oil.
The way you move your body,
must be because of your deceiving bones.
Your rat like eyes,
have become the worst color of diarrhea.
I know this is not the just the “Call out a back stabbers” poem,
lets name the flaws on and in my own skin,
that just so happened,
to be pointed out by you.
As you covered my face in nine pounds of a “makeover”,
you said you couldn’t see the flaws on my skin anymore.
Flaws?
You went far enough to point the pubescent scars.
of my lips, cheeks, and chin.
The shyness I have of talking to my friends,
was pointed out because you didn’t have someone to talk to that night.
Excuse me,
but I thought the effort of the friendship was supposed to be put forth by both “friends”?
Next,
near the end of the friendship,
you often told me I was a terrible friend.
I cried.
A lot.
Later when that came up,
you told me you were just trying to make a point.
Why as a friend didn’t you just try to talk to me,
instead of trying to start insignificant bull crap?
But here I sit now,
with friends that could always be so much better than you.
I often hear your snickering words behind me a your lunch table,
and I turn around and smile at you and your “friend’.
You usually **** your head in confusion,
but really,
that's me.
The 15 year old giant ginger with a second graders personality,
stinking my pinky finger up at you to flip you off in Chinese,
and to say in a nonexistent voice,
“frick you”.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
you are the light at the end of a tendril. a spindle of dread, woven in caustic guile of argyle
parallelograms...phantom realms of solid waste. you are the pin in the subject. gating satan through a thimble
of crocodile tears, the new symbol.
the rude glyph in black bibles and strong drink, en-kindling the dead. rodents ponzi the scheme
of hell’s maze, with lies...your lies...
you have eyes that lead aside from your heart’s plot
you are saboteur. banal.
unrestrained waste. you are the fin in the barracuda puppet, grazing the wrist of Dim Henson
huffing crystal gorillas in the congo of your foyer
you are
the black chandelier.
teach me your cheap trick
striking off ‘ iron-on’ pinkie swears
your praline heresies... your ‘ no remorse’ code
lay bare to me.
better my better angels, to fathom the loathsome ****
of your actual mind. keep me abreast of your wretched games...
apply the rod of your wrong love, above all.... you must betray.
you must know in your fetid rot
of a third eye... the phlegm genius of **** blindness.... teach me the rictus of
cold hearted. a false god in my lotus !
spare me the chaste suzette
flip me the ***** that spits fables.
learn me the savage puns
to pummel you sustaining your worst done.
grant me the lethal beans for my sacred cow
trade me the idylls of your forked heart
for your crushed null
and crossed
bones.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
The sunlight glowing in the summer eve,
The dewdrops in the morn,
Holding hands on the sandy beach,
A pinkie promise being sworn.
These are all the little things,
(The way your ice cream swirls,)
That give us joy and pleasure,
Those little red ribbon curls.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
I’ve never seen his skin,
But I’ve traced the curve of his ribs
Drawing star maps on his anatomy
I’ve witnessed the blade of his hip
Scratched his spine
And run fingertips across his collar
And last night I couldn’t sleep
Watching a set of fragile wings smaller than my pinkie nail
Circle the glow of my lamp, transfixed
After bobbing in and out of the lampshade,
It sputtered and fell onto my bedside table
Moths never know light is lethal
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 12:30 PM UTC
I saw her at the diner
She caught my eye right from the start
It wasn't too long after
That this woman caught my heart
She didn't fit in with the people
Drinking coffee , eating up
She was drinking with her pinkie out
As she held her coffee cup
She's was high class in a low class world
That was plain as plain could be
I wanted to be in her world
And I wanted her with me
She was queen of somewhere
I don't know, and I wanted to be king
She was high class in a low class world
And I wanted to be king
She had her napkin tucked
Just so, you know
Not all scrunched up in a ***
And she only dabbed the corners
Like an Angel sent from God
She was crisp and pressed and perfect
Not a hair was out of place
And the light just made her eyes shine
She had such a lovely face
She's was high class in a low class world
That was plain as plain could be
I wanted to be in her world
And I wanted her with me
She was queen of somewhere
I don't know, and I wanted to be king
She was high class in a low class world
And I wanted to be king
She was sitting in our diner
although she belonged far uptown
Most folks here all wore ball caps
while she deserved a crown
When she spoke, my heart just trembled
Her voice was breathy, like a wisp
And she spoke like she was Royal
So cool and cut and crisp
She's was high class in a low class world
That was plain as plain could be
I wanted to be in her world
And I wanted her with me
She was queen of somewhere
I don't know, and I wanted to be king
She was high class in a low class world
And I wanted to be king
She was someone from a movie
Full of mystery, intrigue
And I knew from looking at her
She was way out of my league
I wouldn't know just where to start
She was gold and I was tin
She was High class in my low class world
And I surely wanted in
I stood there in the kitchen
Washing dishes in the sink
And I knew I'd go home lonely
What else was there for to think?
She's was high class in a low class world
That was plain as plain could be
I wanted to be in her world
And I wanted her with me
She was queen of somewhere
I don't know, and I wanted to be king
She was high class in a low class world
And I wanted to be king
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 6:55 PM UTC
I was drinking from the skull
Of a long dead bird, I had eaten
It a while back, it tasted like
Chicken!!
But not much to the bone.
I wondered if I was like
Hannah,
Henry,
Hello
Brain remember it, any way
Mind did wonder past my
Teeth, tongue it slid like
That jelly mother did make.
I gagged a moment, but then
All settled not a zombie,
But not a bad tasting brain.
"Hannibal"
"Lecture"
"Lector"
Snuck down stairs, DVD on
I remember the noise and
"Clarice"
Remember pinkie raised
When drinking from a cup
Haha...
Its the little things that make me
Smile. How you doing there friend
He doesn't talk much now, smells
Funny too, but even the dead are
Company when you only have you.
Apocalyptic
Apocalypse
Stopped
Everything, screaming, crying, chill
Its not that bad no tax, no big
Brother looking down on you.
"Ok running for your life"
"Keeps you healthy"
Plus
"Eating leftovers mouldy in a bin"
*"What doesn't **** you makes you stronger"*
"Negative"
As I regurgitate it back to the bin,
It has its pros and cons
But I miss the chatter
The one on one,
"How was your day"
"You look tasty"
"Why you looking at me that way"
Knife to the side of the head.
"BOOOM"
"O'no you didn't"
Skinny little freak trying biting moves,
This isn't PAC MANtm fool.
You meet interesting people on the road,
All I want to do is have some
"Apocalyptic Chatter"
"Howdy Mam"
That's a big knife I say!!
As I pull out old faithful,
She screams I cant take that
And runs off screaming the other way
**Run ***** Run,**
The Apocalypse isn't boring
But I do miss the day to day chatter waking each day.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
I want to be find serenity inside you
Like wood in a fireplace
Allow your hands on porcelain and drawn in sublime oceans
For every step I wander over earth and green
Like a sunday morning tea with power on its pinkie
I shall rise and reveal a seraphic smile
Looking down on the wilderness slinking
Euphoric tokens of your presence
High noon wonders quietly and sweet
Running over mellow blueberry fields
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 5:40 PM UTC
every wall of this house reminds me
of you-
reminds me that you are 591 miles
away, and i haven't heard from you
for seventeen days, and i am beginning
to worry
before you left we sat on the
couch and i asked you to promise
me you would stay alive.
when i held out my pinkie you couldn't
take it, and i always tried to make sure
you'd never see me cry, but i couldn't
stand the thought of living
around your ghost and i guess i just
lost it
there is a cold spot on the sofa and
i wonder if it is you
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
April 14, 2008 was a Monday. My family had just moved into a new house, we were starting a new life, and I was starting a new school. I was 10 years old then. I thought that moving schools and leaving all my friends behind was the worst thing in the world, the worst thing that could ever happen. I didn't realize it then, but moving was the best thing that ever could have happened to me. At Mulberry Elementary, I was put into Mrs. Bell's fourth grade class. I remember the principal standing behind me with her hand on my shoulder as I tried not to make eye contact with all the faces who were staring at me. I was terrified. I think the teacher could tell how scared I was. She sat me beside of a blonde haired girl named Katlyn. I was an over weight, ginger kid with glasses; and Mrs. Bell knew she was the only one who would be nice to me. That year, she was the only one who was nice to me. I remember thinking how weird this girl was with all the faces she made. I also remember being confused, because the way she made me feel inside, was something I had never felt. Soon enough we became best friends. We were inseparable. Throughout the years we have gone our separate ways, had a couple of fights, and even more kisses. It was always you I came back to in the end. They say that love is kind, and patient, and works in mysterious ways. And now there's one more Love to add to that.
One day in fourth grade, I took her hand and looked her in the eye. I about broke down as we promised to be best friends for forever and sealed it with a pinkie promise. Today, I married my best friend and sealed it with a kiss...and a pinkie promise.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
As I record my thoughts down, new memories resurface.
The dusty-green leaves of the lemon tree—
swayed gracefully beside the tranquil pond,
where the fish wandered in liberty.
Moss had begun to propagate around the curves of the pond. Intermittently, koi and guppies-
the size of a human pinkie—
would leap into the air briefly
before plunging back into the water,
disrupting its placid surface.
Jul 7, 2023
Jul 7, 2023 at 9:07 AM UTC
*"Come on baby……just half a line."
I was only gonna do it once, only once, only once...and that was the only time. I said that for months, four months that I lied. I tried, I tried....to say no but those eyes, his lips, and his grin, put his pinkie to my nose and I took one deep inhale in. Just like that, 21 hooked on the new black, by my lover then pimp…had me in the clubs and 3 weekdays on the track. Young *** in love, and who else had my back. Dead fam and no friends, so it was...just that. He tried to work me in a ******** when I spat in his face amd that was the first time I told him no, and the last time I seen him, he broke my nose and I walked to the E.R still filled with his ***** I couldn't use for weeks, it took a month of working nights and sleeping in shelters to get on my feet. And I'm still in love with Snow White, I'll quit one day, I'm sure I'll be alright.
But For Now:
My name is Amiya,
Stage name Jazlaine,
Your husband's favorite stripper,
And I'm addicted to *******
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
Gliding her fingers from soft to tight
The gilded marionette makes a move familiar
Around my neck, between my legs
She pull/plays my manhood the one who pegs
The tips of index, middle, ring and pinkie
A dismissive look,
with an intent to shrink me
Chased by insanity
Chased by a pseudo-chaste cock-ring tease
yarn controls my escape,
ears to ignore my pleas
strings of sadistic strings of laughter
strings saunter strings of master
strings of ********** yet still i walk her
as a ghostly orbiting satellite stalker
******** purple::: smile lust sensation
As the puppeteers rope cut my circulation
Only then can she strum her favorite tune
The Pinocchio Waltz played on a five string loom
**She tunes her string with every finger
A dismissive giggle plays the part of singer**
The middle for the daily **** you**” because she can
The ring will be for another man
The pointer lets you know her needs
The pinkie for the soul that bleeds
The thumb is for the empress’ judgement
Till she slaps you down, (I ******* love) her **** bludgeons**
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 4:18 AM UTC
*"Come on baby……just half a line."
I was only gonna do it once, only once, only once...and that was the only time. I said that for months, four months that I lied. I tried, I tried....to say no but those eyes, his lips, and his grin, put his pinkie to my nose and I took one deep inhale in. Just like that, 21 hooked on the new black, by my lover then pimp…had me in the clubs and 3 weekdays on the track. Young *** in love, and who else had my back. Dead fam and no friends, so it was...just that. He tried to work me in a ******** when I spat in his face amd that was the first time I told him no, and the last time I seen him, he broke my nose and I walked to the E.R still filled with his ***** I couldn't use for weeks, it took a month of working nights and sleeping in shelters to get on my feet. And I'm still in love with Snow White, I'll quit one day, I'm sure I'll be alright.
But For Now:
My name is Amiya,
Stage name Jazlaine,
Your husband's favorite stripper,
And I'm addicted to *******
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
Tie a string to your finger,
So you can remember,
That love,
Is hard,
To come by.
It's hard to keep,
And even harder to ignore.
Let that string remain.
Let it get coarse and thin.
Let it dangle as you run.
Let it soak in the bath,
Taking up suds,
While you take off grime.
Untie.
Tie.
Untie.
Let it fall on the table.
Let your fat cat chase it.
Put it on the stove,
And watch it burn to nothing.
Take the ashes to the streets,
Keep them in your pocket as you run,
As they seep through the seems,
Feel the dust fall down your leg.
Let your skin absorb its memory,
Like graffiti pops on a blank wall,
Like a trail beaten into the earth remains,
Long after it's abandoned.
Like the stain of sauce on that fresh white shirt.
Like a string tied to your finger.
All of which can never be forgotten.
Should never be forgotten.
Do not deny that bow once sat,
Perched on your pinkie.
Do not ignore the future it implied,
Or your expectations.
And know that,
That red line,
Remains,
Even after the string is gone.
It never truly disappears.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 1:13 PM UTC
He fell in love with the way she slightly parted her lips when she was almost asleep
But not quite
He fell in love with the way she wore large glasses for fun
And how she would bite her pinkie to hold in a laugh
The laugh in which he loved
He loved that she had three freckles in a triangle below her left eye
And the way she tilted her head when she was thinking about very important things
He fell in love with her eyes and the way they longed for him
He loved being wanted
He fell in love with the pitter-patter of her feet on their bedroom floor
Because that meant she was thinking too much and he could hold her
And make her fell okay for just a night
He loved being wanted
He loved her for everything she was and everything she was not
He was falling out of love with the drool on her pillow
He thought it was silly she wore large glasses for no reason
And how she always had bite marks on her pinkies
He began to find her laugh very loud too loud and always ringing in his ears
He was falling out of love with the three freckles beneath her left eye
Or was it her right eye?
And he defiantly did not love the way her head was cocked when trying to decide between one ply or two
Or the way she always was looking at him
He hated her clinginess
He fell out of love with the noise she made at night
He never woke up anymore
He hated her desperation
He did not love the little things about her anymore and he was not in love
-(e.h)
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
I can't tell you how many times I have done this before
Sliced tomatoes with a dull santoku
My ankle bells jingle
My hips swivel
And the tip of my pinkie
Is gone
"Will this erase my fingerprint?"
I ask
"No. Only acid can do that."
Like from tomato juice
Like from chlorine in a pool
I am swimming in my own blood
Practicing flip turns
Watching it clot
And drying off
I turn a blue towel purple
It was just a tomato
It's not as bad as it looks
And it tastes even better
When I make panzanella
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
Lambent lassie, how I needeth thee today,
I wilt be thy loving man, doing all that I canst;
To make ourn contour's swirl in a dance-
As we pass betwixt the seraphic
Trace. Chaperoned my darling,
Head resting upon head, inner-
Being in rapt, none feeling
Of dread. Mine pinkie do
I giveth thee, lock onto it-
And hold, rest thy fret inside mine chest,
Taketh a breath, inside this soul.
Kindred spirits way back from old, living young,
Homeward bound; igniparous by ourn kindling sound's.
O' fortitude wilt I hath when the time is not yet for meet,
Yet verily mine lass, tis one stroke of an hour we wilt greet.
If I hath to crawl the pit's of the abyss, slithering through the deep, if I hath to waken to a strange cosmic minute, or dieth a death of sleep. If I must endure the second's away from thee, only but for a lifetime, I'll patently awaiteth mine Jane, an eternity with thee by mine side. To glance in thy eye's and to hold thy hourglass waist, to kiss thine honey like a bee to a bloom, to maketh ourn bed upon white roses wherein spirituality is in tune. A bride and groom of times afore, we entered in by the portal of Yahweh's door, never to turn back; ahead we look on. Planting ourn pip's to what lieth ahead, happiness up upon the hill of ourn homestead. None alas expressions, for this place we art meant, together to be, mine baby, mine treat; of the patience we built up, ourn amour shant be in rent, as with the finest of spices I shalt lather thy feet.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedication
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
I promise.
A pinkie swear of sorts that clasps on my lungs
and makes my breath grow heavy.
You sigh.
Fingers becoming fluid as they trickle around my waist
and make promises about a nonexistent forever.
We're stupid.
So ignorant we can barely comprehend the word,
but than again no words make sense.
Eyes close.
Cartwheeling farther away from unfamiliarity
and approaching the inevitable detachment.
It's coming.
Denial is a cruel parasite that builds comfort
when future distance grows with each heartbeat.
But I promise.
With a failing prayer that pinkies cannot be broken
and that hearts and promises are invincible as well.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
dear basil,
i promise i'll go to sleep soon
as long as you promise you'll smile at me
if you see me in public
i swear i'll fix my posture
if you swear to celebrate your birthday this year
and i pinkie swear that i'll love you
if you always love me back
forever,
basil
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 4:19 AM UTC
Take me, Miss Pinkie says,
take me. A plump bundle
of pinkness, dyed hair, grey
at the roots, the blue eyes
whiskey soaked, the mouth
open, the naked skin, the full
moon flowing in. All aboard
who are coming aboard, she
says to the room, and he beside
her says, are you sure? now
of all times? yes, she says, lift
the anchor, set sail, take note
of the rough seas, the rise and
fall of the waves, and he looking
back sees moonlight on his naked
**** the sound of Mahler’s 6th
echoing from the other room,
and he sensing the high seas
and moving surf, climbs aboard,
set eyes to the horizon of bed
board and cool blue walls, and
hears the sirens sing, hears the
creak of bed and bones as he and
Miss Pinkie, on the love ship, hold
tight and smile, as it rises and falls.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 3:17 AM UTC