If you strike a goad with your fist, your hand will suffer most.
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Hand Over Fist
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Hand over fist
Paper around the stone
Scissors cut the paper
Cut the paper to the bone
Hand over fist
Paper around the stone
Scissors cut the paper
And the rock must stand alone
I could disappear into the crowd
But not if I keep my head in the clouds
I could walk away so proud
Its easy enough if you dont laugh too loud
I thought I was okay alone
Wait for the postman and the telephone
Lost in a world of my own
I thought I could run alone
Thought I could run through the night alone
Hand over hand
Doesnt seem so much
Hand over hand
Is the strength of the common touch
You talk as we walk along
You never imagined I could be so wrong
Humming your favorite song
You know Ive hated that song for so long
How can we ever agree?
Like the rest of the world
We grow farther apart
I swear you dont listen to me
Holding my hand to my heart
Holding my fist to my racing heart
Take a walk outside myself
In some exotic land
Greet a passing stranger
Feel the strength in his hand
Feel the world expand
I feel my spirit resist
But I open up my fist
Lay hand over hand over
Hand over fist
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Maxim 29
To strike one’s fist on a lion, and to grasp the sharp edge of a sword with the hand, is not the part of an intelligent man.
Do not fight or try thy strength with a furious man.
Hide thy hands in thy arm-pits to avoid his finger-nails.
You may strike, but hear him first
Is it not wise and kind
To ask first
Why?
Hear his side
And listen
Demand always
An
Explanation
Or a
Justification
Then
If there is reason enough
Strike! Strike if you must
With a club
Or a fist
Or a very harsh word
A stab
Or hack or shoot or bomb
Be always fair
If you fight as you
Think you
Finally must
Let him know
Let him
Also prepare
For his
Defense
Let there be fairness
In war
And in peace.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Hand
only the human hand,
the caring hand,
the hand covered in blood
and filth, the hand swollen
bruised, and beaten...
the open hand,
not a fist anymore hand,
not afraid to let go hand,
never letting go hand...
feed the baby, plow the field hand,
stroke the face of
the old woman dying hand...
light the fires, sweep the floors hand...
the praying hand, the picking hand,
the paint the soul hand...
only the human hand
can touch with the heart of God!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mariposa
Butterflies are white and blue
In this field we wander through.
Suffer me to take your hand.
Death comes in a day or two.
All the things we ever knew
Will be ashes in that hour,
Mark the transient butterfly,
How he hangs upon the flower.
Suffer me to take your hand.
Suffer me to cherish you
Till the dawn is in the sky.
Whether I be false or true,
Death comes in a day or two.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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A curse will not strike out an eye, unless the fist go with it.
Thoughts Of Yours Have Been Occupants
There is only one thing,
You can hold in your hand...
While balling your fist.
Is the acknowledgement,
Of being accessible.
And being conscious of it.
Finding fault with accusations.
To free yourself from grief,
To experience bliss.
Know this...
There is only one thing,
You can hold in your hand...
While balling your fist.
Is the acknowledgement,
Of being accessible.
And being conscious of it.
You did not just reappear,
Out of thin air.
You made your decisions.
And in your head,
Thoughts of yours...
Have been occupants there!
If...
The finding of fault with accusations,
Will free you from feeling grief...
To experience bliss?
Know this...
There is only one thing,
You can hold in your hand...
While balling your fist.
And that would be the acknowledgement,
Of being accessible.
And being conscious of it.
Know this!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sleep Mode
the hands clench,
make a shape of a beautiful fist
but do not strike
lay themselves down on the
table of wood
beside a lemonade
and then put themselves
in a sleep mode
fed up for the day
with wars on TV
about the struggle for
democracy
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I think it's a very confused culture. On the one hand, no one is better than anyone else; no one is prettier. On the other hand, everyone is completely obsessed by their looks and by how they strike the world. On the one hand, we're all equal; on the other hand, everyone's a superstar. It's all very irrational, like all ideology.
quote by Martin Amis
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Fistful
Gulping the morning ozone, mind is rejuvenating
Feeling much juvenile, I start to explore
With my right hand lengthily extending
I’m soaring, my intellect surging over
To carry the whole earth in my fist
Brain and heart conspire to venture
Beyond this ocean, there, horizon untouched yet
Aspiring to touch it, zooms on
My longer hand more extended upon
Touches the horizon; travels round the earth
Ends at my feet with fistful earth
More excited travelling in all directions
Longer hand tries much to its expectations
To carry the planet in its fist
Only in vain unaware of its folly yet
Fatigued extremely the hand resumes its size
My brain and heart blaming each other
Think upon their failure to realise
The virtuoso’s knowledge is only fistful
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Opened The Door
the hand that
balled into a fist,
and struck another
man down...
the hand that stole
the money to feed
his family that was hungry....
the hand that wrote angry words,
threw a stone through the window.
the hand that shut the door,
leaving the stranger outside...
the hand that tore
down all that it had built,
feeling the rage of alone....
the hand that pulled the trigger,
pushed the button,
rang the register.....
the hand that touched
forbidden places,
brought rain from a cloudless sky....
the hand that clasped the other,
kneeling to pray for forgiveness....
just wiped tears from the
face of God... found the key,
and opened the door!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The mill-stream rushes by (parody)
(with apologies to A. E. Housman)
The millstream rushes by sounding like a disease
in all this I cannot hold my peace,
under the bridge the devil passes by
and tonight with him escaped from hell, here am I.
Who created the world I know but cannot now tell,
“It was made and I am here and the devil out of hell.
My hand shakes because he’s freed,
I never thought that we would meet.
And so, I doubt in all eternity, anyone gone by,
none has suffered here such as I
who could not spend the night alone, the devil isn’t gone
and I can’t even strike my fist; I am standing here like stone.
[Reference: XIX “The mill-stream, now that noises cease” by A. E. Housman.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Suffer
Im gonna suffer for you no longer
Im gonna suffer for you no more
Im gonna write you out of my life
And shut the door
You tried to drive a wedge between me and my friends
You pushed me to the edge time and again
Ive been living in your shade since I cant remember when
Now Im bringing this charade to an end
Im gonna suffer for you no longer
Im gonna suffer for you no more
Im gonna write you out of my life
And shut the door
There was subtlety and skill in your manipulative ways
You chipped away my will so you could make me stay
You soothed me with your voice until I obeyed
But Im making my own choice from today
You used the tongue of love like a boxer uses fists
You contained me like a glove or a creeping cloak of mist
You guaranteed the stars but there always was a twist
Now I see you as you are - egotist !
Im gonna suffer for you no longer
Im gonna suffer for you no more
Im gonna write you out of my life
And shut the door
Ive got a ticket in my hand and I must be moving on
But I want you to understand that from the moment I am gone
I release and let you go - you owe nothing now to me
Im not angry anymore - Im free !
Im gonna suffer for you no longer
Im gonna suffer for you no more
Im gonna write you out of my life
And shut the door
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Suffer The Night
I suffer the night
When it's time to face my sadness
And all I can do is cry
I suffer the night
When I struggle to find rest
Knowing in the morning I must rise
I suffer the night
When alone in the darkness
I wonder why I am alive
I suffer the night
When I succumb to blackness
And finally stop asking why
I suffer the night
As it battles my mind
And my spirit slowly dying
I suffer the night
As I reach for the light
And pray that my death be kind
poem by Sonya Florentino
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My Beautiful Son
Tears flowed down my cheeks
As I cradled you in my arms
Tiny fingers sqeezing mine
New joy grew deep and warm
Watching as you slept
A gift from God above
Never could I imagine
Feeling this all consuming love
Those sparkling big blue eyes
looking up at me
taking your fist steps
Climbing that first tree
That fist day of school
My brave little man
Walking down the sidewalk
Holding tightly to my hand
I held you oh so tight
hopeing childhood would last
through scraped knees and bruises
As you grew up so very fast
Rocking you so gently
As you cried that lonely night
Your fist taste of heartache
Drowning out the light
Ballgames and dances
Freinds fill your days
to soon it's graduation
And going your own way
poem by Debora Johnson
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I am an actress
I cry and you hear me laughing,
I am angry and you see me smiling,
I pray and you think I live,
I tell you the truth and you don't believe,
I make mistakes and you do not forgive,
I am so week and you say I am strong,
I am right and you say I am wrong,
I look at your eyes and you look at the floor,
I don't want to argue and you want more,
I hate and you flatter,
I suffer and you say it doesn't matter,
I hold out my hand and you clench a fist,
I speak about love and you say it doesn't exist,
I am happy and you do not see it,
I run and you make me to stumble,
I show you my love and you just gamble.
I've got so many masks
and you do not try to take them off.
I am an actress and you are watching a film
which is not on the screen but in reality.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Mind Power
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
So when you walk through the door
Is this the bottom word
The fortress of violence will fall
When the tide will turn
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Is there a place you belong
When there is no love
The light that shines is so strong
When you come out of the dark
Yeah
Were living in a violent world
It makes our heart just freeze
Lets melt the ice with heart and soul
To heal a world that bleeds
(to heal a world that bleeds)
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
So when you walk through the door
Is this the bottom word
The fortress of violence will fall
When the tide will turn
So when you walk through the door
You can make it too
The fortress of violence will fall
If you want it to
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Little Horn
You are the little horn on your lover's side,
Born with words from the muse of your heart;
And like earth, wind and fire! !
Of a free-kick after many attempts,
Faithful as a thunder's fist to strike a blow;
But, i am as joyful as the rainbow colours.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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2 Flies
The flies are angry bits of life;
why are they so angry?
it seems they want more,
it seems almost as if they
are angry
that they are flies;
it is not my fault;
I sit in the room
with them
and they taunt me
with their agony;
it is as if they were
loose chunks of soul
left out of somewhere;
I try to read a paper
but they will not let me
be;
one seems to go in half-circles
high along the wall,
throwing a miserable sound
upon my head;
the other one, the smaller one
stays near and teases my hand,
saying nothing,
rising, dropping
crawling near;
what god puts these
lost things upon me?
other men suffer dictates of
empire, tragic love…
I suffer
insects…
I wave at the little one
which only seems to revive
his impulse to challenge:
he circles swifter,
nearer, even making
a fly-sound,
and one above
catching a sense of the new
whirling, he too, in excitement,
speeds his flight,
drops down suddenly
in a cuff of noise
and they join
in circling my hand,
strumming the base
of the lampshade
until some man-thing
in me
will take no more
unholiness
and I strike
with the rolled-up-paper -
missing! -
striking,
striking,
they break in discord,
some message lost between them,
and I get the big one
first, and he kicks on his back
flicking his legs
like an angry whore,
and I come down again
with my paper club
and he is a smear
of fly-ugliness;
the little one circles high
now, quiet and swift,
almost invisible;
he does not come near
my hand again;
he is tamed and
inaccessible; I leave
him be, he leaves me
be;
the paper, of course,
is ruined;
something has happened,
something has soiled my
day,
sometimes it does not
take man
or a woman,
only something alive;
I sit and watch
the small one;
we are woven together
in the air
and the living;
it is late
for both of us.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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