No man can think clearly when his fists are clenched.
quote by George Jean Nathan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Accustomed To Ignoring Their Own Treasures
When I came to give,
Hands were closed.
And fists were clenched.
Prepared what seemed to me to be,
Arguments conflicting with my interests.
Then when it became discovered,
What I came to give...
Would be of benefit.
Hands surrounded me opened like cups.
And those with clenched fists,
Were prepared to pat me on the back.
As if a lost relative had for them been missed.
When I CAME to give,
Hands were closed.
And fists were clenched.
An impression made,
I have not forgotten since.
When I CAME to offer,
I was immediately dismissed.
And NOW...
Today?
I've learned my worth is too valuable.
Too genuine to just give away.
Especially to those,
Accustomed to ignoring their own treasures.
And suspicious of those,
Who have chosen them to give.
Prehaps my approached for them was too sincere.
Since from them 'then'...
I HAD asked for nothing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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People with clenched fists can not shake hands.
quote by Indira Nehru Gandhi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Are Filled!
when our hands...
are filled with weapons,
and our fists are clenched...
God's hands are tied!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If all hearts were open and all desires known — as they would be if people showed their souls — how many gapings, sighings, clenched fists, knotted brows, broad grins, and red eyes should we see in the market-place!
quote by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Suicide
Young friend of mine
Your thoughts are dark
You drank some wine
Somewhere in the distant park
You took a knife
Slit your wrists
It was night
You clenched you fists
Fearless fellow
My darling friend
Lowered to the ground
But did you repent?
You lie still
Under starry skies
Beneath a green hill
Your body resides.
poem by Anne Harkonen
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A Bridge-Crossing
Gaining a bridge will keep us apart,
Open this only now
Describing us totally and satisfactorily,
With arms in the hope of reaching
I concern the older generation.
My wizardry fetched intelligence
As this brings mathematics, farther than the eye
Inside of which is super fluid,
Glue to make the hearing and over.
A blind crossing will enter the book
Fists clenched and covers handled.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Small To Big!
small hands, trust...
big hands, afraid,
clenched to fists...
small eyes, see...
big eyes, blinded,
confined to conceptions...
small hearts, love...
big hearts, possess,
clipping the wings
of their own dreams!
small to big, return to small
finding our way home!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When you are in a state of nonacceptance, it's difficult to learn. A clenched fist cannot receive a gift, and a clenched psyche grasped tightly against the reality of what must not be accepted cannot easily receive a lesson.
quote by Roger John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Military Death
He marched along
to the cadence of the drum.
He clenched his fists
so overcome
with sorrow and grief
and so much pain.
And as he marched
he felt the rain.
It fell with precision
like the tears in his eyes.
For a friend lives
and a friend dies.
When they reached
the final resting place
the final beat of the drum
did erase
all sound but the weeping
and his long deep sigh
as he gave his salute
and said goodbye.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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We Once Had All These
bridges that fell down to the river
roads that end
dead,
ships that sink and touch
the bottom of
the ocean
abandoned houses
forests and murky waters of the lake
misty mornings
foggy nights
floating states and nowhere thoughts
fists clenched
sewn lips, bored teeth,
bound legs, and tangled hair
bruises and wounds
scars and fluffy eyes
deaths in November
a December that failed to connect.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Angry Man
Fists clenched tight, real tight
Jaws locked, this primeval
urge to fight, beating the wall
it wont give in, but neither will I
strike after strike, with each drop
blood then sweat, nothing else
no one else, nowhere else
seems to matter
true enough these are motions of man
but not of a good man, not of me...
in the shattered glass, the puddle of blood
A reflection, wild and lawless
cold and heartless, I have to
beat this, to see this
for what it is, though powerful and relentless
Not strength, not strength at all
simply weakness
poem by Craig Parmisan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From The Italian
AS a little child whom his mother has chidden,
Wrecked in the dark in a storm of weeping,
Sleeps with his tear-stained eyes closed hidden
And, with fists clenched, sobs still in his sleeping,
So in my breast sleeps Love, O white lady,
What does he care though the rest are playing,
With rattles and drums in the woodlands shady,
Happy children, whom Joy takes maying!
Ah, do not wake him, lest you should hear him
Scolding the others, breaking their rattles,
Smashing their drums, when their play comes near him--
Love who, for me, is a god of battles!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Battleground
Black nigger white nigger standing in the dark
Listen to the rhythm of the bass boom
Black nigger takes a hit sending up a spark
In the dark heat
Swaying a little to the bass beat
White nigger takes a hit takes money out
Says this is what its all about
Rots your brain - who cares
Black nigger stares
White nigger sighs
I like your music
I like your style
I crack a joke so why dont you smile
White nigger dancing out on the floor tonight
The bands not good but the beat seems right
The bands all black and the floors all white
Clenching fists unite and fight
Rock agianst racism rules tonight
But in the real world
No-one rules
But fists are clenched all right
Down in the underground
Out in the playground
The common ground
Is a battleground
Now you dont have to be black to be a nigger no more
The writings on the wall
Say - black is power
White is flower
Diveded we fall
And behind the wall
Behind the door,
In the dark heat
In the rhythm of the bass beat
Something is wrong
And no-one is taking the blame
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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listening to Bob Marley's exodus
i reminisce the power of the people
clenched fists of the masses
sisters and brothers
nuns and priests holding arm to arm
children in the streets bringing flowers to the soldiers
women bringing food for the marchers
tanks and guns face
and furious words of the dictator
i reminisce the ouster of the oppressor of the people
i see the plane carrying him out to another faraway island
no blood is shed
the flowers have power
the prayers have weight
the masses have the voice
God watching over.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Unanswered Poem
She was at a distance
Walking On the road
Eyes glued on my house
Seeing her
My heart started singing
My mind in ecstasy
I prayed to god
Hoped
Today she would
Knock at the door
Nearing my house
She turned her face
The other side
Smilingly
Passed my house
Did not even bother
To have a look it
Seeing this
My heart started choking
Ecstasy of the mind
Turned into gloom
Writhing with pain
In my heart
In sheer despair
I clenched my fists
And said
Oh! God
When will you listen to
My prayer?
30-06-2012
601-51-06-12
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Things That We Cannot Change
the establishment
is at it again
deaf ears
strong hands
stiff minds
hard bodies
resisting change
of the clenched fists
there they are again
on barb-wired fences
defining boundaries
of thoughts
exclusiveness shutting out
variations of the race
this is the political science
of exclusion
of prisons and walls
here they are again
at the emphasis of penalties
and fines
setting aside the art
of compassion
the fusion
the inclusions
this art of loving
and giving meaning
and welcoming whatever
differences
in colors and creed
the magnanimous
art of toleration
here we are again
back to the beginning of time
the age of
renaissance
the flowering of hope
the blooms
of thoughts
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Complain About The System
i agree there are so many things wrong about the system
i agree when you complain about it
how it smells like a carcass of a stolen goat slaughtered in the field
how it executes without any question at all
the dragging of due process in the streets of nowhere
you have no name for it. it does not deserve any christian name
at all. The priests are too compromisings anyhow. Blessing it.
and pouring it some of its holy drops.
the lords are too many for its slaves.
there will be nothing left for your children who will be born tomorrow.
you complain with your clenched fists. Locked jaws.
you have unlearned tears. You are drawing anger
in the walls with your blood and sweat.
look at you? with all your doubts, and anger and fears
and curses
you are like a house burning
and they are not calling any fireman.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life Is Not As Simple As You Think It Is
life is not as simple as you thing it is
there is no proven formula for it
so you may live
happily everafter
there are no asphalted and cemented roads
for you to take and be confident about your
certain destination
there are always potholes to give you bruises
and muddy ones to stain the white shirts
that you wear
you feel you need to stop and take some washes
you sometimes think that you want to cry
and shout and box the world with your
clenched fists
you look for your love ones along the roads
of your emptiness and you find that
they are no longer there
looking also for their own paths to fulfill their destinies
and oftentimes you want to simplify life with
death
only to find that with it life indeed has become more
compicated
you are having the hardest time to write the note
to say goodbye
some businesses are yet unfinished
some loves have not yet been said
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem on Rain - Pictures
The birds on the trees
Where did they go?
They stayed undaunted
All through the dry spell
But at the sight of rain
Where did they huddle?
I drew my car aside
Listening to the rain
Rattle on the window pane
There sped by a youth
On his two wheeler
His fists and teeth, clenched
The road wore a deserted look
Just like all those trees
With not a bird in sight
An occasional car
Made some watery-sound
Breaking my revelry
Stray animals-
Donkey, dog
Cow and buffalo
Stood in meditation
Offering themselves
To the rain
In my fancy
I crawled like an infant
Towards the rattling sound
With my tongue
Ready to lick
A dropp or two!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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When The Blues Get Me
How many people get the blues like I?
When bad things happen I want to cry.
But when I cry the blues don't go.
They stick around for too damned long
and so
I shake my fists and say, 'what's wrong? '
Sometimes those blues go away for days.
Sometimes I'm happy like spring bouquets.
And when those blueless days appear
it makes me want to stand and cheer
'Hurray for life.'
My fists are unclenched and I persevere.
I enjoy these times when the blues are gone.
I praise the sunset and the light of dawn.
I expect the best out of myself
and place those blues in a bottom drawer.
But the blues aren't satisfied.
There are more in store.
Blues, you make me hate how I feel.
You settle in and then you steal
peace, contentment and harmony
like a cascade of dissonance
that comes over me.
So I clench my fists and cry.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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