Greetings!
Do you hear the soft rustle
beside your table?
Don't bother to write
for I'll come to you.
Is it possible you are angry
with me like the last time?
You say that you don't want to see my hands,
my hands or my eyes.
I am with you in your bright, simple room.
Don't chase me away
to where the cold, murky water
flows under the bridge.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Related quotes
Our Hands
My hands once warm,
And clothed in yours,
my hands once full,
and held in yours.
Empty hands,
Cold hands,
my hands have lost their,
Partner as you once were for me,
Your hands at once rough,
and soft,
Always gentle when in mine,
our hands would meet to fill the cold,
My hands now empty cover tears,
my hands once warm now with
a freezing touch,
your hands are gone,
the warmth they held has left,
these hands of mine.
poem by Rebecca Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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These Hands
Given by God -are these hands!
One can do many things -with these hands
With love one can help a strangers' hands-
Allay and comfort the elders' gnarled hands
Clean sweep and mop with these hands
Decorate and embellish with these hands
Cook and serve food to all with these hands
Clasp a loved one with these hands
Applaud one with pleasure with these hands
Dig the soil and form a garden with these hands
Hold a book to read with these hands
Write and post a card with these hands
Type a poem to cheer someone with these hands
Draw a picture and sew clothes with these hands
Paint a beautiful scene to amuse with these hands
Play a game of volley ball or cricket with these hands
Swim the waters and row a boat with these hands
Pick the harvests and fruits with these hands
Feed the animals and birds with these hands
Seek the warmth of dear ones with these hands
Feel the soft petals of a flower with these hands
Fold the palms to pray with these hands
Given by God - are these hands!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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til The Season Comes Round Again
(john barlow jarvis, randy goodrum)
Come and gather round at the table
In the spirit of family and friends
And well all join hands and remember this moment
til the season comes round again
So let us smile for the picture
And well hold it as long as we can
May it carry us through should we ever get lonely
til the season comes round again
Bridge:
One night, holy and bright
Shining with love from our hearts
By a warm fire lets life our hands high
And be thankful were here til this time next year
May the new year be blessed with good tidings
til the next time I see you again
If we must say goodbye let the spirit go with you
til the season comes round again
Repeat bridge
May this new year be blessed with good tidings
til the next time I see you again
Well all join hands and remember this moment
And well love and well laugh in the time that we have
til the season comes round again
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Til The Season Comes Around Again
til the season comes round again
(john jarvis, randy goodrum)
Come and gather round at the table
In the spirit of family and friends
And well all join hands and remember this moment
til the season comes round again
So let us smile for the picture
And well hold it as long as we can
May it carry us through should we ever get lonely
til the season comes round again
Bridge:
One night, holy and bright
Shining with love from our hearts
By a warm fire lets lift our hands high
And be thankful were here til this time next year
May the new year be blessed with good tidings
til the next time I see you again
If we must say goodbye let the spirit go with you
til the season comes round again
Repeat bridge
May the new year be blessed with good tidings
til the next time I see you again
And well all join hands and remember this moment
And well love and well laugh in the time that we have
til the season comes round again
til the season comes round again
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lay Your Hands On Me
Sat in the corner of the garden grill, with plastic flowers
On the window sil
No more miracles, loaves and fishes, been so busy with the
Washing of the dishes
Reaction levels much too high - I can do without the stimuli
Im living way beyond my ways and means, living in the
Zone of the inbetweens
I can see the flashes on the frozen ocean, static charge of
The cold emotion
Watched on by the distant eyes - watched on by the silent
Hidden spies
But still the warmth flows through me
And I sense you know me well
No luck, no golden chances
No mitigating circumstances now
Its only common sense
There are no accidents around here
I am willing - lay your hands on me
I am ready - lay your hands on me
I believe - lay your hands on me, over me
Working in gardens, thornless roses, fat men play with their
Garden hoses
Poolside laughter has a cynical bite, sausage speared by the
Cocktail satellite
I walk away from from light and sound, down stairways
Leading underground
But still the warmth flows through me
And I sense you know me well
Its only common sense
There are no accidents around here
I am willing - lay your hands on me
I am ready - lay your hands on me
I believe - lay your hands on me, over me
Over me
Lay your hands on me
Lay your hands on me
Lay your hands on me, over me
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet Tree
Rustle, little leaves above, rustle in the breeze...
Rustle, little leaves of love, rustle mid God's peace!
Rustle, every night and day, rustle every hour...
Rustle, rustle, come what may, rustle mid God's power!
Rustle, for then wise words are formed,
Great expectations made!
Through such as these, men's hearts are warmed
And children's prayers are prayed!
Rustle upon the Poet Tree,
Above the poets' ears,
So they may learn each melody,
These God-picked volunteers...
Rustle sweetly, and gently on,
Persist from age to age -
Let all God's poets write upon
Their separate nearby page...
Rustle until all humans die
And no more poets live!
Until no soul would question, 'Why? '
And there's no cause to give!
Rustle until God tells you stop,
'Dear friends, at last, be free...
'Tis time for you to fall, to drop...
Beneath the Poet Tree...
I've loved each poem, every one...
And Jesus loved them, too!
You've blessed the world! Your task is done!
Your rustle days are through...'
poem by Denis Martindale
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My heart is my hands
My hands
Is
Only my hands...
Not for
your hands....
So...
I want too work
My hands...
I want too serve
My hands...
I want to do about
Somthing of my
Hands...
My hands is
Free for only
Sleeping time only...
my hands is
working all the times
My hands not only
Hands...
It is human workers...
Allways for my friends...
My hands...is my heart...
My heart is my hands.....
Ok...How is your hands...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Whats Simple Is True
Turn to me with frozen lips
Your hands are so icy cold
Your eyes burn bright against the frost-bit sky
You never seemed more lovely than you do tonight
Pale on the horizon
Like leaves frozen in the snow
Our two shadows merge inserparably
Will time stand still if its pierced with cold?
The more I live
The more I know
Whats simple is true
I love you
Theres a warmth in my heart
It haunts me when youre gone
Mend me to your side and never let go
Say time knows nothing, well never grow cold
The more I live
The more I know
Whats simple is true
I love you
Twilight descends on our silhouette
How soon spring comes
How soon spring forgets
I wanna hold time, say itll never begin
Old man winter be our friend
Old man winter be our friend
cause the more I live
The more I know
Whats simple is true
Whats simple is true
I love,
I love you
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Neglecting Oneself
I stop by the mirror
to wash my hands
on a public comfort room
I have no intention of looking at myself
like a map
trying to find the path for a
treasure hunt
there is none i think
that makes day
a story for a pot of gold or what
but by chance i am caught by the face of the mirror
looking at me
copying me
mimicking me
as though i am not myself in there anymore
I dread
and so i washed my hands too quickly
and did not bother
drying them
with that paper or cloth hanging on the side
the face is angry
and it is asking
for my
apology
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pen funney
Pen is
Not write a poem...
The hands will write...
The road...
The walk...
The kiss...
The rap...
The sky...
Theay all are write
The hands...
Pen is not write
Without hands and
Brain and heart...
Pen is only tool
The tool do to do
Some time funney...
Also...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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To A Baby.
I.
Two hands that hold the world in fee,
So tender, yet so bold:
Whatever life has now for me,
Two hands that hold.
What magic lies in them enroll'd —
What wondrous alchemy
Transmuting thus life's lead to gold!
Until that thought shall cease to be,
Until my heart is cold,
I'd only clasp (how tenderly!)
Two hands that hold.
II.
Two soft blue eyes whose light has lit
Two hearts, as stars that rise —
Love's lights within the infinite,
Two soft blue eyes.
No fancy may their charm surmise,
But those who have felt it
Breathe as it were in Paradise.
Life's meanings there like shadows flit,
As in a dream's disguise
Two spirits lurked in them — to wit,
Two soft blue eyes.
poem by Robert Crawford
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As We Fall
as we fall into the water
let us clasp our hands together
bright day is done,
black night has come
washing over our heads
an icy wind is blowing
grasp the liferaft we are throwing
we'll make it through, with one another
though our minds may start to sever
and float off into space
keep your head above black water
keep it steady, do not falter
we'll help you float, if you try to try
if we help each other, we cannot die
I know it seems absurd now
as we fall through frigid water
see the surf is getting harder
see the sad vieled moon that is not glowing
if we must survive, we must keep rowing
through the murky water
shadowed creatures grap our legs
wieghing them down, sinking like kegs
gasping for a breath of air
splashing in the witch's lair
NO! keep your head above the water
the sandy shore is not in sight
a sky, and in it, no shining light
this world we must survive
stay together as we dive
into dark & murky waters
poem by Gina Prettybrowneyes
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Holloween poem
She loves to move alone over cold water,
She knows to move over the dark, cold water;
She loves to toss a coin into the cold, dark water,
To know it is lost beneath the water,
To later know it alone beneath the dark water.
Under the city, in the dark,
Water flows over perpetual rock.
She knows her tower above the city,
She loves to hover over the city, to see
The marrow pulse and glow, she knows
The death moan of the city, how it jewles,
How it counts, how it stretches over the shuttered provinces,
To the farthest border.
Under the city, in the dark,
Water flows over perpetual rock.
She is a ghost in the air, an Ariel;
She tells the screamers till there is silence,
She silences the wolf and the seal, the fouled horse;
She stares the hollow to remorse, to
Recall the cold, the dark, she loves
To move alone with the dark, cold water.
Under the silk-crack, the skyscape,
Under the cry-field, the tool room,
Under the city, in the dark,
Water flows over perpetual rock
poem by Rozen Maiden
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Fog Holds Lights
FOG HOLDS LIGHTS
Fog holds lights in soft hands stroking
the bay, floating across waters alive
with flickering rays. The night air whispers
of ancient sand castles and the gleam
of small stars stirring the romance of darkness.
It clings faithfully to the rise and fall
of waves washing in, swinging to
the rhythm of a sea singing love songs.
Fog holds lights in soft hands, clasps love
in tender touches, grasps hope in strong
fingers as it rolls in. Reality
blurs, an impressionist painting
lying just under the murky paint of fog.
Fog holds light in soft hands, embraces
dreams carefully as they swoop
across our sleep like moonbeams prowling
the night sky. It smothers the future and remolds
the past, leaving us in a blurred limbo.
Fog holds light in soft hands wet with tears.
When it is time for it to be gone,
it lifts silently and disappears.
poem by Raynette Eitel
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Difference Between You And Me....
perhaps we have the same vices,
we write to confuse, but we drive some points,
like nails on sandalwood,
not those rusty ones that make the sound
of 'trying hard'
we are original in these, competing only with
our own syllables,
we may have the same vices
i may have written all those words to confuse
but mine is a series of stairs
leading to the door to the room to the window
to the skies
and then everything i am is gone
but you do not notice it
you think that i am still the chair and the table
the napkin and
the spoon.
my wings are hands
my hands are winds,
my mind are planes,
my soul a boat,
what i write are mirages
you see, you cannot touch.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Friend
We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking at things.
they might touch me.
I said yes.
Food grew cold on the table.
he said, burn your body.
it is not clean and smells like sex.
it rubs my mind sore.
I said yes.
I love you, I said.
That's very nice, he said
I like to be loved,
that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?
poem by Marge Piercy
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His Hands
His hands should have
their own identity,
a name perhaps,
befitting each vocation
they enjoy.
Skillful hands -
finely tuned, they hold every tool
with equal panache.
Each callous earned, a trophy,
yet self-aware, they're gentle
as they browse my every curve.
Comical hands -
the right one scraping whiskers,
razoring down a field of white
revealing trails of pink-skinned angles.
I laugh at the silly poses
skewed by the left
so the right won't miss a spot,
my just reward, a foamy kiss.
Angry hands -
his driving hands,
hands that slap the wheel
as assholes go too slow
or cut in front,
directionals up their butts
with their heads.
I'm glad the angry hands
are only known to live in cars.
Those hands...
I love his hands.
Too Much Time On My Hands
Written by tommy shaw
Lead vocals by tommy shaw
Sitting on this barstool talking like a damn fool
Got the twelve oclock news blues
And Ive given up hope on the afternoon soaps
And a bottle of cold brew
Is it any wonder Im not crazy? is it any wonder Im sane at all
Well Im so tired of losing- I got nothing to do and all day to do it
I go out cruisin but Ive no place to go and all night to get there
Is it any wonder Im not a criminal?
Is it any wonder Im not in jail?
Is it any wonder Ive got
Too much time on my hands, its ticking away with my sanity
Ive got too much time on my hands, its hard to believe such a calamity
Ive got too much time on my hands and its ticking away from me
Too much time on my hands, too much time on my hands
Too much time on my hands
Well, Im a jet fuel genius - I can solve the worlds problems
Without even trying
I have dozens of friends and the fun never ends
That is, as long as Im buying
Is it any wonder Im not the president
(hes not the president)
Is it any wonder Im null and void?
Is it any wonder Ive got
Too much time on my hands, its ticking away at my sanity
Ive got too much time on my hands, its hard to believe such a calamity
Ive got too much time on my hands and its ticking away from me
Too much time on my hands, too much time on my hands
Too much time on my hands
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eyes Here
Eyes here, eyes before me,
Eyes everywhere and behind me-
Looking into mine,
Stealing away my thoughts- I know that
My time is running short.
Voices speak like irate monsters and
Voices threaten to kill me,
They are with me wherever I go, threatening me-
Only I can hear them and I fear that
My time is running short.
Angry animals surround my bedside,
Lions, snakes and wolves-
Severed hands reach out to grab me
That only I can see, and
My time is running short.
Somebody came into my room last night,
Grabbed me and took me away-
Screaming out with trepidation-
I was alone in my rage and my plight, as
My time was running short.
Eyes here, eyes before me,
Eyes everywhere and before me-
Staring and making certain I do not escape,
I could hear the sirens blaring -and I knew that
My time was running short.
Locked inside an unfamiliar place,
Trying to discern veracity,
I see the clock upon the wall-
Too bewildered to even weep-
But now I know for certain-
I have entered the door towards madness and
I believe that my time has just run out.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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