"twiddle" poems
I'm waiting for my mother
I twiddle my thumbs idlly
I'm trying to look away from
The chocolate bar that's staring at me
"Look at me!" It whispers softly
I'm struggling to avert my eyes
"You'll feel better when you eat me" it
says
With an effort, I ignore its lies
I walk around the chocolate shop
Like a predator circling it's prey
This temptation is just too great!
My feet can't seem to walk away
"Eat me! Eat me!" The chocolate chants
Someone save me from this torture!
"Don't leave me all alone" it says
I can't take this anymore
Suddenly, my phone rings
My mother has finally arrived!
I turn my my back on the chocolate
My face glows with pride
I didn't succumb to my desire
I did it! I resisted!
I held on, I stayed strong
Even when the chocolate insisted
I smile as I reach the car
I'll tell my mother about my ordeal
I think of how proud she'll be
And of how happy I will feel
But before I utter a single word,
She hands a packet, beaming wide
She says "look what I got for you!"
I can't wait to see what's inside!
A prize for resisting temptation?
Oooh! What could it be?
I open the packet and look inside
And a big fat chocolate stares back at me!
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
Maverick ex-cop (Green Beret /Navy Seal /SAS/Ranger)
Twiddle of the fingers to crack a 64 bit hexadecimal code
Shot but can still beat up bad people and run
15 people firing automatic weapons and they all miss
Database that searches the planets population in 2 seconds
And has photos of their children and plans of their building
Regardless of the crime scene sample, always a rare element that pinpoints location
Car chase where a truck can keep up with a Ducati motorbike
Organisations that only employ attractive people in lead roles
Ugly people are tech specialists sometimes allowed to be ‘quirky’
Even the uglies are attractive people disguised with glasses and bad hairstyles
‘I dream of genie’ gendre were they flirt but never get it on, unless it’s a hospital series
Watchable, funny programs that always succumb to sloppy sentimentality
High schools complete with intolerance, marginalisation, bullying, and hell on earth,
The most disturbing and darkest crime sent to titillate mid evening family viewing
Endless humiliation for fatties, chefs, performers, builders, restaurateurs, and troubled teens
Dysfunctional law enforcement agencies that never work together under any circumstances
Enough, if we need this thick coating of unreality, perhaps its time to switch off?
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
***Hear ye!
Hear ye!***
Oh how I love concrete poetry!
Itching to write and sculpt and mould.
Twiddle my thumbs as I thought to myself silently.
Reckon I'd render my musings in italics and in bold!
***Hear ye!
Hear ye!***
30 days of concrete, wouldn't you fancy?!
These poems, they come in various shapes.
Would you consider them "poetic eye candy"?
If I fashioned poems to look like grapes!
***Hear ye!
Hear ye!***
Awashed with excitement!
I can't wait to share!
Fantastical, delicious and ultimately succulent!
A wonderful spread of such wordy fare!
***Hear ye!
Hear ye!***
When is this... GREAT BIG AFFAIR?
On the morrow, I'll dish out the first serving!
Do tune in if you so do care...
30 days of concrete! The shape fest is beginning!
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
So we say as we play, under moonlight or day
That we can learn to love and live oh,
I feel this movement now, creeping into my bones
My lungs inhale, I sing, Oh.
We have each other, at the end of the game
We don't worry about the scores as we play
We just twiddle the time, and write down these rhymes
So we laugh as we play, under moonlight or day
That we can learn to love and see oh,
I feel this now, this movement in my bones
My hips swing then I sing, Oh.
We have each other,
We don't worry,
We just twiddle the time
Write down these rhymes, Oh
So we say as we play....
That we can learn to love and live this love,
Oh yes.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
Collectively dismal
Dreadfully sinful
Covered in tinsel
Was a sunken dimple
A quick nibble
Elongated ******
Playfully twiddle
Covered in spittle
Quick to belittle
Before her acquittal
It seemed so brittle
Quite noncommittal
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
My body aches to hold you.
To feel you.
To stroke you.
To look into your hell filled eyes.
I feel your torment.
I want to climb the mountain with you.
To slide down the other side, maybe on a rug.
So none get hurt.
I need to tell you everything is on your side.
For I shall comfort you as the dummy of the infant.
I want to twiddle with your stresses and tease them from your taut and rigid mind.
Everything will be alright.
I care within my very being.
That I'm sure you'll find.
Sleep well.
Goodnight.
(C) Livvi
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
Big old jade earring hung from that haunted necklace, swinging from this and that and the other way where and if that sky upstairs let go of the thing I wanted you to be but a break in the system, no a malfunction in that suction of a love that you tried to forget about but feel those typing keys on the fingers that break knees and the heels up and up with the ***** a lingerin' and thats sounding like a new pounding, the one upstairs with the translucent roof ghostly and guess i got a new boot thats fixing itself to elate another prisoner upstate where the worries are always about the women.
Yeah, that women with the diamond ring with her children by her side thinking about the monastery she never visited a big time act act act in a dress that helped her enough and forgot about the rest. But we all move on quick to detest times test with the burritos that she never ate because of the figure she imposed that she got from her transistor radio and the yearly subscriptions of the ghostly ghost that haunted her in the moat around the castle of stairs up ripunzel with dragons a aflame listening to the same wishy washer story of old uncle Maury and the twenty ten twelve salute to the mastery of the fiction of listening, another riddle in the twiddle beneath the sheets that were once painted gold but her husband done left her and she's moving to seattle to start up some new cattle spreading the seed of 1910 where time stands still with his drink in his hand because the guy has got to get around to something with all that talent, with all that anger with all that impulse that proves itself time and time again it will never be enough for a salvation sanitation with the twisty fro's of yearly ye and ye bouts of fights she twisted in that shout that she knew, she knew she swears, what it was all about.
May 6, 2011
May 6, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
So tired
Back to work and then there's this social event and that social event
and the last one is the best one and I'm still trying to get over not having
last years job that was taken from me and given to you and still
trying not to even think about this because this is a whole new year and
Driving past Napa Valley's Wineries
Hotels, Buses, wine
Everything wine and I don't know where I'm going
My GPS broke, and the directions are drive straight and you'll see it
Suburbia has turned into true wealth
I've gone back in time, wine Haciendas on hill tops
like feudal mansions, waiting for the peasants to do the actual
work of wine, the dirt and the sweat of wine as the owners
twiddle their thumbs and worry about the stock market and their wine
I arrive at my Castle. For a few moments I will be allowed to taste
the lifestyle of the wine and pretend that I too belong in this castle
watching grapes ripen and waiting for the teaming hordes to do my work
and the mechanical wine processors sit idly waiting for the grapes and I feel a tinge of
sadness and fear for the grapes to be processed like in a slaughter house
until I realize they are only fruit, and not mammals
And on the hot deck overlooking the beautiful, silent valley with grapes ripening before
our eyes the only chair left is next to you
I sit down and look to my right and I see the woman who I feared would take my job and now did
and I wonder how it is that this has happened that I've driven for miles in the hot sun
through miles of grapevines only to be made to sit next to you who jealously drooled over
my job and could never say anything good about my work and then you won.
And we talk and I'm very clever and you don't like that because I'm supposed to be stupid
and it's supposed to be obvious why you got the job not me and not some seniority thing
and you say nothing nice, and it's only me keeping up a charade of conversation that
could turn ugly at the drop of a pin but doesn't due to my skill
and you then leave made uncomfortable by the evidence of my continued existence
and lack of dumbness
And it's only later that I realize in my imagination I wanted to hurl you from the deck
and into the wine press
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
An empath and a mirror walk into a bar
and the empath says
I see myself in you.
*Let me buy you too much wine and
kiss your collarbones and
twiddle my fingers on your skull.*
and the mirror says,
*Yehoshua (what a beautiful name)
Yehoshua, the prophet. I am so tired
of doing the right thing
My knees are sore I
want
my field of poppies.*
So the Prophet says *You can rest in my field
if you let me know you, the parts you keep
tied to your hips like bells, or like weights
that clinking prisoner's hymn strapped to your chest.
Know that I know you, even
the parts you left unsaid (Especially those.)*
He says
*I want to have
my parents' strength.
I want a stranger to ***** in my bed.
I want to crawl into your head and hurt you with
your reflection. Open up your mouth and
I can put the words in myself, but I can't promise my
tongue won't taste like 20 years of forged metal
(And I
can't promise every pretty girl in town doesn't have
my metallic tinge behind her teeth.)*
(So she says)
Why can't you stay still?
(and the Prophet says)
I'm always running late
(and she says)
I've stopped running
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 4:32 AM UTC
Today I shall be looking at the pages of my life
My memories in my mind are always there
Just close my eyes and I can search all I want
Find the right page and I can go anywhere.
To my childhood to where happiness lies,
To my marriage, my very best day
But I cannot go forward in time, not allowed
Flipping forward is for when I reach that certain day.
Tomorrow is my birthday, another year on my chart
Another number that I have to live by
This time I cannot go back but go forward
and this time it will be happiness not a sigh.
Sometimes I wish I had a time machine
Twiddle the dial and off I shoot to that year
whether it be backwards or forwards
I could visit the time in my life I hold so dear.
But today I fish out yet another candle for the cake
Another new number is perched on my head
I am happy, I am going to be extra happy from now on
Because that is what life is for, to be happy, it is said.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
Lapsang Souchong
two sugars n me,
are owft on a charabang
jaunt to the sea,
with pickled egg Mary-
her three pekinese,
who are hairy quite scary
n chopped owft at the knees,
we are bringing darjeeling
and Oolong along
to twiddle their tootsies
and fire up their ****
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
Liberation feels good
Freedom feels great
Self-expression is blooming
Even on these lazy days
I occupy my time with
Happy stories of the past
I twiddle my thumbs
With a complacent smile
Etched upon my face
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
Hey ****** ******
The cars do a twiddle,
They twist and turn on the road,
Dodging the *** holes,
Some with broken controls,
I've even seen some being towed,
Hey ****** ******
The road in the middle,
Needs a little repair,
If you can swing by,
And give it a try,
And pretend you're a council that care,
Hey ****** ******
Thanks for the repair in the middle,
But the road needs a whole new coat,
Take care when crossing,
Cause the road's all rutting,
You'll need to be a mountain goat.
Hey ****** ******
Is the council on the fiddle,
Just like Nero did in Rome,
Please come and fix it,
You'll need to bring a tar pit,
Cause it's shaking the walls in my home.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
I imagine a therapist office
as they are lavished in on tv shows
and they're not really like that;
instead of a cozy dimly lit office
it's a white wall maze.
As my doctors
are not private ones
and they surely disclose
all about me
to the insurance company.
I can't help, but twiddle my thumbs
and wonder about the
cries for help
that linger on these paisley painted
dry walls--
snickered with inpersonal
portraits of strangers;
that probably wish
they hung in one of those
elegant, brash, and luxurious offices on tv.
Or maybe instead
the paintings longingly wish
to be dead as well--
instead of being
in this subservient storehouse
that is standing in for an therapist office.
Getting up from another stand-in
this rash beast of dull coloured dust;
calling it a chair would insinuate people
are supposed to sit there,
but I assume
it's true purpose is for the ill-ful
to find something uglier than life itself.
Leaving through another betrayal
that existence couldn't be more lame
is a doorway with the most faux of all possible doors;
it's screaming "nobody ever cut down a tree to make this".
Slipping past another door (eye role)
I come to be in the same room,
but this space is two faultering steps to the left.
And instead of dust everywhere
it's a mobbish moss melancholy
that distastefully lingers
in my personal office's air.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 10:45 AM UTC
Numb
Beating my head like a pounding drum
Numb
Not stupid, not dumb
Just numb
Nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs
Numb
I'm so done
Numb
It's grown to an awful hum
All I am is Numb
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 11:53 PM UTC
Oh, hello there.
I managed to slip away from my previous adventure,
With the knight and his beloved.
My beloved, too;
I suppose.
I've stumbled upon a peculiar thing, though.
An olive tree,
In the midst of this lush underbrush.
It's quite twee,
If I do say so myself.
Although I'm more interested in the treasure below.
A pristine white glows beneath.
I twiddle with the branches a little to find a lovely treasure.
I sit down,
Outstretched my fingers towards the snow,
And carefully pluck at it,
Delicately brushing along the olives in the midst
Of my glissando.
Yohan Heineken, I believe.
A baroque composer.
My thoughts fluidly sailing as the leaves of the tree rustle,
And the snow echos as more olives fall upon it.
Like...an orchestra.
The olives falling unto the porcelain, I mean.
What a beautiful melody it creates,
And my fingers magically gloss along the porcelain,
Carefully molding the remaining olives into the crevices my fingers have made.
Oh dear, I've become too passionate for this!
I carry on anyways, 3rd Movement and all.
The Tempest...
A lovely play by Shakespeare & a dazzling story told by Beethoven.
Or simply a way to express my current emotions.
The wind carried the melody...
...to the ears of the waking princess.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
Doesn't it **** when your mind goes numb?
When all you can do is twiddle your thumbs?
A blank page before you has infinite plans
And all you can do is fold your hands.
To write such a sweet and lustrous tune
Sometimes it takes the entire of June!
And sometimes it never leaves your head
And it keeps you awake while lying in bed.
It tears at your talent and races your heart
That suddenly you've truly forgotten your art.
That after the years of praise and shower
You can't even recite portray a flower.
*It's petals are but some weeping hands
That fall upon such tiny lands
Which bees and such take a tiny hit
Of pollen so rich and....um.....shit!*
You tear up the pages and throw them away
This is the last time, on the same day.
It's finally done, you sit and you cry
The day that your lustrous talent has died.
So pain and sorrow consume your hour
All is thanks to that ****** old flower.
And your life has turned against the tides
And you life has become a puddle of lies.
To write a poem, a story, a book
To have a knack, a nitch, a nook.
You never give up and never retire
Until you pass your final hour.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
twiddle dee and twiddle dumb
who so sees the futile jump
spinning tops and random shops
we but fly yet seem to flop
rhythms tapping out of beat
he tries and so keeps to the heat
flames flare with no care
my thoughts to you shall share
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 7:41 AM UTC
Heaven has fallen,
The angels are bawling,
God is cremated,
Jesus is hated,
His throne surrounded by bottles.
Lucifer rots,
His evil blood clots,
Hell freezes solid
The mouth growing squalid,
Where blue lips doth mottle.
The humans in the middle
Intellectually twiddle
Twaddle their minds
Waiting for times
Eras that will not come
Prophecies undone.
The rapture was never,
The primates glimpse forever,
But alas, once again,
The apes now turn,
Deeply fearing death,
To the lies
Religious yearn.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 6:30 PM UTC
Mother knits scarves in soft wool.
Daddy creates suits in steel.
Auntie makes a mess of strings.
Played with a bow, a twiddle, a fiddle a serious riddle.
Uncle strums his guitar, while he's coughing catarrh.
From the **** he smokes.
While playing with kippers and older men's zippers.
Pretensions of kindness, while fetching their slippers.
Money hunting, baby bunting, wrapped in boas of stripy snakes that choke, crush and strangle, dangling lust on a string, it's his sort of thing.
Uncle carbuncle, peril to both pusillanimous child and men of great age.
Daddy knows and he's so enraged, steel suits beat the outrage of misuse and abuse, through the family and mummy knits more scarves in soft fluffy wool. ****** old fool, never does anything by halves, it's all covered up by soft fluffy wool scarves.
(C) LIVVI
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
The mortals twiddle their thumbs, they
entertain fickle thoughts. Eyes
are fixed to electronics as they wait
for the bus stop,
for a promotion,
for me to pass them by.
In their last season, I'm finally observed.
For the first Time, we mingle
with intent. We sit
watching grandchildren and
drinking coffee--slowing
down. A still moment; and then without fail
the mortal will pack his trunk
and journey to a place
that I cannot travel.
I am left, once again, to awaken the eyes
of the young. Investing
nudges and pushes, waging war against the clock--
All so that at life's end we might
if only for a brief moment,
be still, and sip joe.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
The memories,
Those awful dark times
Will always play.
But this is my prize.
I simply cannot throw it away.
As I glance at it, the pain cuts through me
The hurt washes over me .
Drowning. Suffocating.
I hold it in my palm,
Twiddle it around loosely between my fingers
Flashbacks. Nightmares. Distorted images and figures -
Like a film playing in my mind
Throw it!
No, keep it!
It's yours.
That smooth silver-grey 2 inches of metal
Cool to the touch.
It was your friend. It was your enemy.
It's your pride and your glory.
**© maria.who
(Comment below please)**
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
*******
are the key
Pinch them,
**** them,
twiddle them
I am
not
your
mommy*
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
Time is only a peace keeper.
Left to babysit the helpless.
It leaves us in handcuffs wrestling with priorities for the sane-less.
We fold our hands and twiddle our thumbs
hoping for silence which never comes.
We are broken in the shadows of a downtrodden land
and we are never affixed to see what it is that holds us to the ground.
I reach for something so far in the distance,
it's as if I'm a toddler grasping for vision.
I don't walk without stumbling and I promise you I'm not perfect.
But how in this world are we supposed to live with purpose?
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC