Best Thumbs Down Poems
The End
Seeing through these cold dead eyes now,
This world looks much different.
The scars of one’s life entire,
Appear now for all to see.
What once meant everything,
Really means nothing now.
I still see and sense things mortal,
But the earthly world can’t hear my words.
Lying on an ice-cold white slab this darkest night,
I see the pale yellow moon’s sad face in the sky.
With visions of people who’ve crossed over before,
I wonder when Charon shall finally appear?
Shall it be him who appears on this new horizon?
Or shall it be someone or something else?
The everyday mortal world moves on as before:
Regardless of one’s wealth, poverty, fame, shame, infamy.
I guess now all the ancient mysteries of the universe,
Shall become obvious and answered in kind.
I wonder what shall be said to me and the reception?
Thumbs up or thumbs down—I guess I shall find out.
The pale yellow moon now appears brighter . . .
As if a special message cometh soon from a winged angel.
Hope this helps to answer my lingering questions . . .
As the dark void from the mortal world grows greater now.
I feel a gentle tug pulling me upward now from Earth’s grasp,
Into the majestic arms of infinity and into God’s eternal light!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
June 12, 2016 (Lyric)
Nero’s citizens enjoyed games of death
People and beasts for their sadistic fun
Animals and slaves drawing their last breath
Death in the arena, no place to run.
Gladiator fights were the ultimate
Hero worshipped champions of the gore
A sword thrust or spear sealed many ones fate
Crowds roared approval and called out for more.
Was man against man with sword, net and spear
Fight to the death, only one would remain
Experts in combat, none showed any fear
The loser on the ground writhing in pain.
Thumbs down, thumbs up victor looked to Nero
Thumbs up, swings sword crowd have a new hero.
Another wave of voter vexation
is swamping the shutdown nation
To the left,
the windpipes are hissing
To the right,
the windbags are dissing
And all of the kitchen cabinet aprons
got their middle fingers
pointing up deaf adder listening
Their thumbs down
is the ballot death blow sign:
Telling the weathervane citizens,
the rainy day
slush fund money is missing
The proletariat are up in arms,
so voter vexed ... they’re getting no paychecks
When the last mint cookie crumble,
the murmurers
are gonna misty-eye mumble
The viper sound bytes
are cobra kissing —
Blowing inherit-the-wind
lipstick jinn wishes
Getaway stage right poll exit
says last count call:
the vault money is missing
The proletariat are up in arms,
so voter vexed ... they’re getting no paychecks
To the right,
the windpipes are bursting
To the left,
the windbags are cursing
And all of the kitchen cabinet aprons
got their middle fingers
pointing up to the empty cookie jar
As the latest patriotic wave of voter vexation
is giving wet back hex to a grumbling nation
And the whether vain citizens don’t know which way to turn
They kept telling her to leave!
But her heart didn't hear their
loud thumping voices.
Like an idiot staying up all night,
this grandmother,quite old,
Physically worn out, decided it
was time to fold.
After all, few years had she left!
She put away her quill in her oak
desk, more than bereft.
Knowing to them she was nothing but
a "thumbs down."
But knew that was fine, as one
day, she would wear a heavenly
crown.
Loathed because she was a patriot!
Knew truth, not lassoed by fake
news lariats!
Glad she was in the PS Anthology,
She grinned with humble satisfaction.
Staring at her friend.the lone, moonlit
Oak tree.
The quill rustled softly in it's velvet
green holder.
No quitter, she, hard times always made
her far bolder.
12/19/20320
Written by Gail DeBole on July 1, 2014
Updated on July 4, 2014
Fred Sr. doesn't like most things that start with e-.
Thumbs down to e-banking, e-books, and e-asy.
He's known to hollar, “I hate all this e-stuff!”
E-learning, e-coupons, e-love, e-cetera…
"E-nough is E-nough!"
Fred Jr., an e-cop, catches e-crooks online.
Thumbs up to e-everything! He thinks it's all fine.
He's known to hollar, “ I love all this e-stuff!”
E-stings, e-crimes, e-heros, e-cetera…
"I can't get E-nough!"
Fred Jr.'s son, an e-doc, helps patients online.
He lives an e-idea coming into its prime.
He's known to hollar, “We need this e-stuff!”
E-medicine, e-nurses, e-labs, e-cetera…
"Who would say "E-nough is E-nough?"
Guided by the light of the laptop
My Facebook friends are not real
Instagram your dinner and some pictures of the dog
don’t forget to re-tweet CM Punk
Likes Dislikes
Thumbs up Thumbs down
The trolls are everywhere
Download the final of your favourite TV show
surf the cyber waves without a care
Enigmatic smile
Posted on social web sites
Thumbs up or thumbs down?
Jean-Leon Gerome’s Pollice Verso pleases my artful eye
As a gladiator boldly stands thus alone
With foot upon a defeated soul
He awaits the Roman crowd’s reply
The great coliseum is filled high
A populous with thumbs down does yield
For slaughtered blood to flow a ground
Thus the conquer will most likely fulfill
With blade in hand
His beating chest
Pollice Verso the given sign
Their savage eyes drawn down with cries
For to come will be the gruesome fun
Yet I in vision another martyred Christian
He surely
Will shortly
Die
Thumbs hold first-string
position in the hand.
They send messages
everyone understands.
Thumbs up say,
“You did it.
Go get it!”
Thumbs down say,
“You blew it.
You’ll regret it!”
Thumbs out signal,
“Get ‘outta’ here,
please disappear.”
Thumbs forward coax,
“Come here,
gimme a hug.”
Arms form columns,
but thumbs speak volumes.
Your middle finger
speaks its own language.
To Be God Is Not Easy
Millions prayers,
Millions wishes and
Countless lives are
Responsibilities of Mine.
Justifying all these
I have to reach
No pretend, no busy
To be God is not easy.
Love, success, wealth
All earthly things you need.
But not a single including
Godman want Me as need.
When time to thumbs up
all credits are yours,
When time to thumbs down
blames are Mine not yours.
Both Arjun and Duryodhan
for need came at my threshold,
Can you believe, one of two
had tried to chain Me to hold.
Except all I have to
bless without nod,
So my dear, it is not
easy To be God.
The Colluseum
Has filled with people again,
Glowing softly by torch-light.
Lamps are lit, twinkling
Like stars in the seats above.
Heavy fumes of olive oil
Waft up on the breeze.
No longer do the petals
Hold their fragrant perfume
Of the day's cascade,
But lie crumpled in the sand
Trampled underfoot and blood.
Here I stand. Nobel
And proud--a woman of means--
Gladiator--non-the less.
Tonight is special.
I fight my last of five years...
The Rudius will be mine.
Here with loin cloth
And thraex...standing ready.
Domitian, has called his
Last dwarf to fight me.
In full armor, he is no match--
A quick jab to my legs, but
Like a gazelle, I
Leap above him, taking his
Right arm with one swift slice of
My blade--and it falls
As I land behind the dwarf.
Screaming as his blood spirts from
what's left of his arm,
He raises his left hand high,
Stagering, facing the crowd.
I wait...Thumbs down--and he lives.
Thumbs up--and I mercif'lly
Slit his throat, with one quick slice...
He falls to his knees.
Walking around to face him,
Ready my thraex and say
"Forgive me, brother...
For you who are about to
Die...I salute you." ...And
Then, it was over.
He lay face down in the sand,
And his blood...And the crowed cheered.
Now, we both...are free.
deborah burch©
5/25/2012
Dip me in the pool to cool me down
Sit me in the sun to make me brown
Put me on a throne to give me crown
Take me in a car to drive to town
Lets go to the circus to see the clown
Make me really sad to make me frown
Stick me under water you can make me drown
Go into a church I wear my catholic gown
Set to blast away I await the countdown
If I was in a rocket I’d be set for splashdown
Going home would take me to my hometown
One kind of dance would be a hoedown
To have all the info you might have the lowdown
If you were speeding you might have to slow down
Going half the way might leave me in midtown
Needing to retire I might have to step-down
Doing very well will earn me renown
Getting really angry will make you breakdown
Being in South Africa might leave me in cape town
If I could not keep it running I might have to shutdown
Because I did not like it up I might have to turndown
From the rising of the sun I can work til sundown
Getting really sore I will need a rubdown
If I do not like your show you will get a thumbs-down
Some things that I buy are at a markdown
Hearing silly stories can leave me feeling cut-down
I like to see my lady in her beauty nightgown
Made some extra money from a good old boomtown
If I was not looking up you could see me facedown
Might be really funny if I were in Jamestown
Getting very hot we will have a meltdown
Doing me some wrong would get you knockdown
If I need to visit would you need to comedown
Pulling out your guns is bringing the showdown
Breaking all the rules I will have to crackdown
Getting very old do I look that rundown
If I caught the ball would I get a touchdown
Time for to me retire and I am going uptown
Where down in Ohio is a place called Youngstown
If you can not shake it up then you have to shakedown
On sand soaked with blood,
two young men are breathing hard.
The taller one has armor,
a sword and a net.
His opponent has only
an arm guard and a dagger,
but no encumbrance.
Thus, moving quicker, this man
avoids the constant thrusts of
the taller one’s sword.
Finding his chance, he lunges
and his dagger pierces through
unprotected flesh.
Crimson red blood gushes forth
from the tall man’s thick midriff.
The crowd screams delight!
Spurred on by their approval,
the shorter man strikes again.
This time his dagger
finds muscle, sinew and bone.
Hot pain consumes the tall man,
but he can't cry out.
His life blood is draining and
the net and sword are useless.
By oath he is bound
to endure a violent death. . .
and so he lifts his finger.
To his friend - his opponent -
he offers his throat.
No mercy handkerchiefs wave.
The editor gives thumbs down.
As his fellow man
buries the blade in his throat,
a young man embraces death.
The death of this slave
is the gladiator’s lot.
Another slave lives today,
but his death also
is imminent; then he too
will finally know freedom.
For Amy Green's
Choka for a Chokehold Poetry Contest
The days of ancient Rome, there were battles
Staged for the spectators; fought to the death,
Gladiators entered an arena
Fight until they had taken their last breath
The Gladiators could choose their weapons
Like a shield and sword, flails, maces, or spears
They were criminals, slaves, and prisoners
Most of them wouldn’t live more than a year
Two or more would enter the arena
Fight until only one was left alive
A “thumbs down” and they unleash the lions
And a “thumbs up” he gets a chance to thrive
There one very peculiar foodstuff
that puts a sour crook in my mouth
It’s that stringy don’t-give-me-any-of,
two thumbs down for the sauerkraut
Just the awful smell of it makes me sick,
has me running out of the house so quick
When my nose whiff this jar of pain opening,
that chef in the kitchen no longer’s my friend
That pickled odor is an aroma of pure disgust,
makes a beautiful snooz look like a pig snout
Upheaval of my belly contents is a queasy must:
Gotta give sauerkraut the food hate shout out!
Poetry Contest: My Blue Cheese
Sponsored by: Kevin Shaw
Date Submitted: 1-13-18