The Fury Of Abandonment
Someone lives in a cave
eating his toes,
I know that much.
Someone little lives under a bush
pressing an empty Coca-Cola can against
his starving bloated stomac,
I know that much.
A monkey had his hands cut off
for a medical experiment
and his claws wept.
I know tht much.
I know that it is all
a matter of hands.
Out of the mournful sweetness of touching
comes love
like breakfast.
Out of the many houses come the hands
before the abandonment of the city,
out of hte bars and shops,
a thin file of ants.
I've been abandoned out here
under the dry stars
with no shoes, no belt
and I've called Rescue Inc. -
that old-fashioned hot line -
no voice.
Left to my own lips, touch them,
my own nostrils, shoulders, breasts,
navel, stomach, mound,kneebone, ankle,
touch them.
It makes me laugh
to see a woman in this condition.
It makes me laugh for America and New York city
when your hands are cut off
and no one answers the phone.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Passing Of A Heart
O touch me with your hands--
For pity's sake!
My brow throbs ever on with such an ache
As only your cool touch may take away;
And so, I pray
You, touch me with your hands!
Touch--touch me with your hands.--
Smooth back the hair
You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair
That I did dream its gold would wear alway,
And lo, to-day--
O touch me with your hands!
Just touch me with your hands,
And let them press
My weary eyelids with the old caress,
And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way,
That Death may say:
He touched her with his hands.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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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
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Hunger
Your stomach stretched thin
Your rib cage pronounced
A bewildered gaze tell your story
Where are your parents?
Where are your friends?
You are dying from hunger
And there are no outstretched hands
You were dealt losing cards
Although you played to win
Some will say it's because you sin
On your back you lay
Hands on belly
Dead but breathing still
What type of life you lived?
Have you ever smiled?
Ever laughed uncontrollably
Because you were filled with joy?
Ever been out on the town?
If you did it does not show
Your body does not tell
Of happy times
It says grief, loneliness, abandonment
And pain
Ever gazed at the sky?
Dreamed of greatness and significance?
A time without lack
Or bitterness?
Maybe so but your body disagrees
Hunger, hunger is what I see
What if you could dream again?
Hope again and laugh?
Would you?
Could you?
If you are going to die anyway
Why not just laugh?
Laugh uncontrollably
This is your last hour
Hunger wins
Cannot receive food now
Cannot digest
Thirst cannot be quenched now
So laugh
Laugh for the first time
Laugh!
poem by Buxton Shippy
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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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Empty Hands
He rode in town on a white horse
With nothing in his hands
He came to gather his people
And take them to their promised land
When he came he knew there would be bloodshed
But still no violence made his plans
He came to fight in a battle
With no guns or money
But with his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
They said hey boy what you lookin'at
As they eyed his dreaded mane
He said my father has sent me
I've come back to reclaim
The children whose hearts
Were so whole and pure
Now it's you who'll die in pain
So they lynched the man
Who fooled the word
And all the children gathered
In his empty hands
In his empty hands
The children ..... empty hands
In his empty hands
With his empty hands
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Let Love Rule
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Near You Always
Please don't say I love you
Those words touch me much too deeply
And they make my core tremble
Don't think you realize the effect you have over me
And please don't look at me like that
It just makes me want to make you near me always
Please don't kiss me so sweet
It makes me crave a thousand kisses to follow
And please don't touch me like that
Makes every other embrace seem pale and shallow
And please don't come so close
It just makes me want to make you near me always
BRIDGE:
And please don't bring me flowers
they only whisper the sweet things you'd say
Don't try to understand me
your hands already know too much anyway
It just makes me want to make you near me always
And when you look in my eyes
please know my heart is in your hands
It's nothing that I understand
song performed by by Jewel from Pieces Of You
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hands That Built America
Oh my love
It's a long way we've come
From the freckled hills
To the steel and glass canyons
From the stony fields
To hanging steel from skies
From diggin in our pockets
For a reason not to say goodbye
These are the hands that build America
Ah ah ah..... America
Last saw your face
In a watercolored Sky
As sea birds argue
A long goodbye
I took your kiss
On the spray of a new lined star
You gotta live in your dreams
Don't make them so hard
And these are the hands that built America
Ah ah ah..... America
Of all of the promises
Is this one we can keep
Of all of the dreams
Is this one still out of reach
???
Its early fall
There's a cloud in the New York skyline
Innocence...dragged across a yellow line
These are the hands that built America
These are the hands that built America
Ah ah ah..... America
Ah ah ah..... America
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Losing Love
cellphones cannot keep love.
emails cannot substitute for lunch
just the two of you
over a plate of spaghetti
a cup of coca cola
skypes are imitations of
our sounds
sometimes we are not the way
we sound in
cyberspace
there is nothing like it
when we keep love burning
upon a tryst in
a cottage on the side of a hill
inside a room
with the light of a candle
it is a warm bed of hay
away from the city
the android cannot sum us up
in facebook uploads
we go back to holding hands
strolling upon a mountain trail
under the trees
how can we lose love? how can life slip from
our grasping hands?
tell me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Other Lives And Dimensions And Finally A Love Poem
My left hand will live longer than my right. The rivers
of my palms tell me so.
Never argue with rivers. Never expect your lives to finish
at the same time. I think
praying, I think clapping is how hands mourn. I think
staying up and waiting
for paintings to sigh is science. In another dimension this
is exactly what's happening,
it's what they write grants about: the chromodynamics
of mournful Whistlers,
the audible sorrow and beta decay of Old Battersea Bridge.
I like the idea of different
theres and elsewheres, an Idaho known for bluegrass,
a Bronx where people talk
like violets smell. Perhaps I am somewhere patient, somehow
kind, perhaps in the nook
of a cousin universe I've never defiled or betrayed
anyone. Here I have
two hands and they are vanishing, the hollow of your back
to rest my cheek against,
your voice and little else but my assiduous fear to cherish.
My hands are webbed
like the wind-torn work of a spider, like they squeezed
something in the womb
but couldn't hang on. One of those other worlds
or a life I felt
passing through mine, or the ocean inside my mother's belly
she had to scream out.
Here, when I say I never want to be without you,
somewhere else I am saying
I never want to be without you again. And when I touch you
in each of the places we meet,
in all of the lives we are, it's with hands that are dying
and resurrected.
When I don't touch you it's a mistake in any life,
in each place and forever.
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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Those Hands Joining
Great grandma’s hands
Grandma’s, mama’s,
sister's hands
Aunt’s and niece’s
Hands, they join today
An epic telling the stories
About touch, about prayer,
About reaching, about the years
Of caressing and holding on
To love, persevering and
Resting the hands on the
Hands of the other hands
Those moments of silence
When the hands speak more
When the mouths accept
The loss of the power of words
When even the hearts give in
Because the hands are warmer
And so comforting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hands Across The Sea
(findon/wilkins)
And therell be hands, hands across the sea
Touching everybody, joining you and me
If we could build a new horizon
Id like to see some changes made
When nations hear the voice of reason
And all the world live unafraid
And therell be hands, hands across the sea
People joined as one, innocent and free
And well have love, love and sympathy
Touching everybody, joining you and me
If we could share that new tomorrow
You with your troubles, me with mine
Then we could face the world together
With open heart and easy mind
And therell be hands, hands across the sea
People joined as one, innocent and free
And well have love, love and sympathy
Touching everybody, joining you and me
Hands across the sea
Hands across the sea
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Shall Have These Hands That Shall Write About Hands....
must have i forgotten
from where all these come?
ah, i have read about your hands
and now i shall have to mind about mine
once i had these hands
whose name is
work and struggle and
sacrifice
they lifted rocks
outlined by Sisyphus
and roll them from
atop the hill
and put them again there
in senseless
labor
when i got reason
my hands began to think
as though they have brains
under their nails
these hands begin the
questions
grapple for answers
and got
no satisfaction
they dabble in poetry
trembling and tense and
looking for
a compromise for some
fetish
must have i forgotten from where
these hands come?
someone says these hands are from
the hands of God
whose hands hand what we do not have
in hand yet
these hands did what was wrong then
and covered the face of the
penitent and the remorseful
these hands that slap a face that
triggered a gunfire
that lay upon the hardened breasts
and held breaths
these hands that write now for you
face upside down not asking for anything in return
these hands that speak for you
as you turn your head for someone else.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Twist 5
he lives in two worlds
he has one body, his hands
break when he changes places
his heart is tough
his mind always finds
two explanations
two worlds never reconcile
it is this
neither nor situation
whatever his eyes see
are beautiful
his hands cannot touch any one
when he touches it
there is death
somehow for all those years
there must be a compromise between
water and oil
and so he lives in two worlds
every morning he rises to live
at night
he sleeps to die
and it has been happening
since then
in the house everyone like to love
him
in one condition that there must only be
one world
and so every hour he lives in fear
every minute
but like a dog he learns the tricks
he is young
two worlds live within him
one body one imagination
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Race
Thinking on the childish longings,
Makes me laugh and takes again,
To the golden age when I played,
With the boys of the same size and age,
All we often ran and raced,
To see the end of the ball of the Earth,
Or touch the bending horizon,
Too blue, too near, too clear,
And to attain crimson hue of twilight,
Ah! But returned,
Out of breath with empty hands.
When we played in the meadows green,
The wings of the Moon-soon winds,
Did bring on the plains of the Punjab,
Flocks of clouds thick and dark,
Drifted by shepherds with sticks unseen,
That seemed landing upon the pastures,
We ran and raced under or along,
To possess the lowering object in hands,
Ah! But returned,
Out of breath with empty hands.
Oh! My friends I have been convinced,
To the thought that the floating world,
Is made of vapour or condensed clouds,
For in the days of youth, grown up age,
I ran the race with the faster pace,
After the world but could not catch,
And brought me now to the brim of grave,
Ah! But out of breath with empty hands.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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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.
Everyday Is A Poem To Me
the people i love
and talk to, in some ways, do not talk
candidly, perhaps because of too much love, not really unspoken
because they want to hide it,
it is just because, i know, there are no exact words
to describe
what they feel,
it is
the same with me, feelings thriving but the inability to speak
is there, and so we use such symbols as a touch
of the hand
or a blush on the cheek, or some fingers landing at the back
of our soft skins
one need not say what longing and loving is
the lips have more to say
in fact, than the words coming from the mouth
or the mere
laying of her head on my shoulders
oh, the hug and that gaze and the clasping of my hands
to her hands,
such sensitivity that makes us feel
every rising of the hair
not in fear, but in the absence of letters fit
for the feeling
breakfast together
and then the parting and meeting again
tonight
they are all metaphors
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Girl With The Weight Of The World In Her Hands
She wont recover from her losses
Shes not chosen this path
But she watches who it crosses
Maybe move to the right
Maybe move to the left
So we can all see her pain she wears
Like a banner on her chest
And we all say its sad
And we think its a shame
And shes called to our attention
But we do not call her name
The girl with the weight
Of the world in her hands
Cause were busy with our happiness
And busy with our plans
I wonder if alone she wants it
Taken from her hands
But if things didnt keep getting harder
She might miss her sacred chance
To go a consecrated martyr
The girl with the weight
Of the world in her hands
I wonder which saint
That lives inside a bead
Will grant her consolation
When she counts upon her need
It makes us all angry
Though we feign to care
But who will be the scale
To weigh the cross she has to bear
The girl with the weight
Of the world in her hands
Is the glass half-full or empty
I ask her as I fill it
She said it doesnt really matter
Pretty soon youre bound to spill it
With the half logic language
Of the sermon she delivers
And the way she smiles so knowingly
At me gives me the shivers
I pull the blanket higher
When Im finally safe at home
And shell take a hundred with her
But she always sleeps alone
The girl with the weight
Of the world in her hands
I wonder which saint
That lives inside a bead
Will grant her consolation
When she counts upon her need
It makes us all angry
Though we feign to care
But who will be the scale
To weigh the cross she has to bear
The girl with the weight
Of the world in her hands
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Praying Hands
I had a dream with my lord CHRIST
He touched my head, not once but twice.
I felt my body jump up in bed
I saw the nail holes in his hands that bled.
I felt the power of his healing hands
He showed it to me so I could understand.
With faith in our hearts he will heal
And his hands you will feel.
I awoke that morning with the spirit inside
Those praying hands I had to find.
I found a figurine of his hands
And put it upon my night stand.
In my prayers that I say day and night
I squeeze those hands with all my might.
Now when I feel life s pressures are getting me down
I touch those hands that I had found.
And when I feel an ailment or two
Then I know what I must do.
I touch those hands and say a prayer
This is the bond that we share.
There is no other feeling like the love of GOD
When you have him in your heart.
poem by Louis Rams
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Harvest Of Friendship
For Carol Gall & Patti Masterman
Friendships can come
from many places near and far,
sometimes even half a world away
with faces we cannot see,
but their touch we can always feel.
Invisible hands reach out
across the miles to gently touch another’s.
Unbreakable links are forged,
bonds never to be unbroken.
Silent voices of strangers are suddenly heard,
welcomed in from the silence
to a voice never heard.
Strength is gathered in
to defeat the demons
of a sometimes lonely life
as we harvest friendships into our lives.
Friendships and distance no longer matters.
Hands now link to chain a message
that no matter who we are
a candle of hope is on the horizon
to light up many lives.
8 December 2009
poem by David Harris
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