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Fingernails

Babies have fingernails
Children have fingernails
Teenagers have fingernails
Adults have fingernails
Senior Citizens have fingernails
Dead people have decaying fingernails

Kittens have claws
Kitties have claws
Felines have claws
Cats have claws
Seniors Catizens have claws
Dead cats have decaying claws

Hotwheels have wheels
Vespas have wheels
Slugbugs have wheels
Hummers have wheels
Oldsmobiles have wheels
Dead car parts have decaying wheels

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poem by Gerald Flippinhanger
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Dirty Fingernail

dirty dirty fingernails...
dirty dirty fingernails...
Out of the shower, on to the bathroom floor
Out in the kitchen, underneath the casserole
dirty dirty fingernails...
dirty dirty fingernails...
(It takes a lot of energy to make that sound)
Out of the shower, on to the bathroom floor
Out in the kitchen, underneath the casserole
Out on the patio, out in the great outdoors

song performed by Modest Mouse
Added by Lucian Velea
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79

pretenses

this is what
they want to see of you

a handsome face, strong arms, clean fingernails,
broad shoulders,
determined eyes that look always forward
scented ears
the best feet and
good standing,

to please them
you give those parts to all to them
and what you will get
in return is the
applause,

everybody is happy,
except you,

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pretenses

this is what
they want to see of you

a handsome face, strong arms, clean fingernails,
broad shoulders,
determined eyes that look always forward
scented ears
the best feet and
good standing,

to please them
you give those parts to all to them
and what you will get
in return is the
applause,

everybody is happy,
except you,
it was not you,
it will never be you,

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dirty Fingernails And Smelly Clothes

An ode to the lifeblood of society both past and present
The multitude of souls who break their spirits to present
Many invisible services to residents who resent
The smell of soiled clothes without their written consent

Or dirty fingernails that fix their home to their content
And fill their rooms with all varieties of foreign content
From all continents
Where beleaguered joints can make them look prominent

By spinning threads into patterns or metal into confident
Shapes that allure the senses and induces false confidence
Amongst others who toil under the same notion
That if they work hard enough
They’ll gain the boss’s devotion

Unaware the head office needs them more than they
Need the head office to provide them with pay
For without dirty fingernails and smelly clothes
What’s to stop the garbage from piling up in rows?

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poem by P.R. Prosper
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Orphaned Light

With such insentient fervor
He nibbled on his fingernails
Whetting the anxious squirming
And posed the levity of his head
On the snowcapped comportment
In the craning arms of the window bay
And the inebriated moon dawn closer
Inflated in its own opaqueness
Elucidating the chapped eviscerations
On the stripped placidness of his features
And his eyes of lifeless age
Tinkered of a spurious verve
That plucks the distant luminaries
Like saccharine pebbles and berries
That slathers the rocking cradle of apathy
Whilst the quicksand on his mattress
Spun and pirouetted in vertigo
And he was like a sordid spit of clay
Without the molding of the potter's hand
And the dense concrete walls crept loftier

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poem by Norman Santos
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I Am Visited By An Editor And A Poet

I had just won $115 from the headshakers and
was naked upon my bed
listening to an opera by one of the Italians
and had just gotten rid of a very loose lady
when there was a knock upon the wood,
and since the cops had just raided a month or so ago,
I screamed out rather on edge—
who the hell is it? what you want, man?
I’m your publisher! somebody screamed back,
and I hollered, I don’t have a publisher,
try the place next door, and he screamed back,
you’re Charles Bukowski, aren’t you? and I got up and
peeked through the iron grill to make sure it wasn’t a cop,
and I placed a robe upon my nakedness,
kicked a beercan out of the way and bade them enter,
an editor and a poet.
only one would drink a beer (the editor)
so I drank two for the poet and one for myself
and they sat there sweating and watching me
and I sat there trying to explain

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poem by Charles Bukowski
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Duellum (The Duel)

Deux guerriers ont couru l'un sur l'autre, leurs armes
Ont éclaboussé l'air de lueurs et de sang.
Ces jeux, ces cliquetis du fer sont les vacarmes
D'une jeunesse en proie à l'amour vagissant.

Les glaives sont brisés! comme notre jeunesse,
Ma chère! Mais les dents, les ongles acérés,
Vengent bientôt l'épée et la dague traîtresse.
— Ô fureur des coeurs mûrs par l'amour ulcérés!

Dans le ravin hanté des chats-pards et des onces
Nos héros, s'étreignant méchamment, ont roulé,
Et leur peau fleurira l'aridité des ronces.

— Ce gouffre, c'est l'enfer, de nos amis peuplé!
Roulons-y sans remords, amazone inhumaine,
Afin d'éterniser l'ardeur de notre haine!

The Duel

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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Boat Of Car

Daddyll sing bass*
Daddyll sing bass
Daddyll sing bass
Daddyll sing bass
I took my boat for a car
I took that car for a ride
I was trying to get somewhere
But now Im following the traces of your fingernails
That run along the windshield** on the boat of car
Daddyll sing bass
Traces of your fingernails that run along the windshield
On the boat of car
On the boat of car
On the boat of car
On the boat of car

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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This Is A Call

visiting is pretty
visiting is good
seems that all they ever wanted was a brother
this can be a secret
we can keep it good
even all the ever wanting had a problem

this is a call to all my
past resignations
it's been too long

fingernails are pretty
fingernails are good
seems that all they ever wanted was a marking

them balloons are pretty
big and say they should
ever fall to ground
call the magic marker

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song performed by Foo Fighters from Foo Fighters
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