Quiet Hands
Her work worn hands are quiet now.
Something I never thought to see
She used them so industriously
no idleness would she allow.
Except on Sundays, even then
she used her hands to underline.
The tales she told of Holy Men
from the Good Book she thought divine.
Although in fact she could not read
her versions were from memory.
She still held firmly to her creed.
Her brand of Christianity.
Which she expressed practically.
Not words but deeds her chosen way.
In the event of tragedy
she offered help without delay.
She will be missed by everyone
whose life she touched in some small way.
or all the acts of kindness done.
To other people every day
Her work worn hands lie quietly
in prayerful pose upon her breast
As mourners pass respectfully
to say farewell as they think best.
24-Mar-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
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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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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Exile
My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands, --
No, -- nor my lips freed laughter since 'farewell',
And with the day, distance again expands
Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell.
Yet, love endures, though starving and alone.
A dove's wings clung about my heart each night
With surging gentleness, and the blue stone
Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.
poem by Harold Hart Crane
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Carrier Letter
My hands have not touched water since your hands, -
No; - nor my lips freed laughter since 'farewell'.
And with the day, distance again expands
Between us, voiceless as an uncoiled shell.
Yet, - much follows, much endures… Trust birds alone:
A dove's wings clung about my heart last night
With surging gentleness; and the blue stone
Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.
poem by Harold Hart Crane
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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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We Aint Much Different
(gary rossington -- johnny vanzant -- hughie thomasson -- rickey medlocke -- mike estes)
This is a story bout livin
A tale of a long hard road
Aint a whole lot of misgivins
Of the things that I thought I sowed
My daddy was a real hard worker
He said son there will come a day
Talk aint always cheap
And heres what daddy had to say
With these hands Ive made my livin
With these hands Ive held a child
With these hands Ive climbed a mountain
Sometimes we forget
We aint much different at all
He likes grits, you like the apple
There aint nothin wrong with that
He says yall, you say youse
It all depends on where youre at
Well a little bit of music is a whole lot of fun
And its always good for the soul
From new york city out to california
You know its only rock and roll
With these hands we come together
With these hands we can change the world
With these hands I play my music
Sometimes we forget
We aint much different at all
Oh, not at all
So what Im trying to tell you
Is that Im only one son of the south
Its gonna take more than you me and you
To work this whole thing out
With these hands Ive made my livin
With these hands Ive held a child
With these hands Ive climbed a mountain
Sometimes we forget
With these hands we come together
With these hands we can change the world
With these hands I play my music
Sometimes we forget
We aint much different
We aint much different
Aint much different
At all
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Too Shall Pass
In the middle of the turbulence surrounding you
These trying times that are so hard to endure
In the middle of what seems to be your darkest hour
Hold fast your heart and be assured
This too shall pass
Like every night that's come before it
He'll never give you more than you can bear
This too shall pass
So in this thought be comforted
It's in His Hands
This too shall pass
The Father knows the tears you cry before they fall
He feels your pain, His heart and yours are one
The Father knows that sorrow's heavy chains are strong
But with His strength, you'll overcome
This too shall pass
Like every night that's come before it
He'll never give you more than you can bear
This too shall pass
So in this thought be comforted
It's in His Hands
This too shall pass
So set your eyes upon the mountain
And lift your hands up to the sky
And let His arms of love surround you
And take you to the other side
This too shall pass
Like every night that's come before it
He'll never give you more than you can bear
This too shall pass
So in this thought be comforted
It's in His Hands
This too shall pass
song performed by by Yolanda Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Too Shall Pass
In the middle of the turbulence surrounding you
These trying times that are so hard to endure
In the middle of what seems to be your darkest hour
Hold fast your heart and be assured
This too shall pass
Like every night that's come before it
He'll never give you more than you can bear
This too shall pass
So in this thought be comforted
It's in His Hands
This too shall pass
The Father knows the tears you cry before they fall
He feels your pain, His heart and yours are one
The Father knows that sorrow's heavy chains are strong
But with His strength, you'll overcome
This too shall pass
Like every night that's come before it
He'll never give you more than you can bear
This too shall pass
So in this thought be comforted
It's in His Hands
This too shall pass
So set your eyes upon the mountain
And lift your hands up to the sky
And let His arms of love surround you
And take you to the other side
This too shall pass
Like every night that's come before it
He'll never give you more than you can bear
This too shall pass
So in this thought be comforted
It's in His Hands
This too shall pass
song performed by by Yolanda Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rings
Little fragile, Flimsy bands,
Worn on shapely hands,
More despair to men have brought,
Than all the battles ever fought
Still bestowal of a ring,
Has more joy contrived to bring
In one ne'er-recurring hour,
Than have knoledge, wealth or pow'r
Little emblem of Romance!
Wherein thy significance?
Gold? Most fickle metel known!
Diamond? Coldest, hardest stone!
Whereas plain gold wedding bands,
Gracious caring, work-worn hands,
Countless home sustain and bless
With real and happiness.
poem by Howard Johnson
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All In My Hands I Hold
All in my hands I hold
Money, silver, Jewell, and gold
All those things that man can love
I still have more though some I sold
All in my hands I hold
Brackets and jackets to drive all the cold
To keep me warm and act like a stove
That when you talk all I do is to nod
All in my hands I hold
All great names in the world I'm called
Angels can know who I am from above
And tell my deeds to the might lord
All in my hands I hold
Stories I made but some I was told
Tales still fly in my head like a dove
And some still hang in my brain they're stored
All in my hands I hold
Everything in the world to you I showed
All have
But still I'm bored.
poem by Walani Ndhlovu
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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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My Father
The memory of my father is wrapped up in
white paper, like sandwiches taken for a day at work.
Just as a magician takes towers and rabbits
out of his hat, he drew love from his small body,
and the rivers of his hands
overflowed with good deeds.
poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Work Dignity
Hands!
I see many hands
Watching fingers
Graciously playing
piano flute or harps
Writing molding painting
sounds and colors
to brighten and lighten
every heart
Those arts are
to become a special present
for those similar fingers
similar hands of our parents
grandparents
or grandgrands..
hands taking so much pride
in building, feeding, cleaning,
carrying in any way they could
for those inspired ones..
for our earth..
Those working hands
the finest souls
Could never scream out their
happiness or pain
because the lack of time
to even catch a breathe
But they too
expressed themselves
and done their best, oh yes
through work
own love and kindness
never stoped to spread.
Truth:
The Hard Workers!
Are Masters of the World!
Let's recognise
and value them
at Real price.
poem by Elena Sandu
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(Better) Done Than Said
(better) done than said
the sounds between the lines
of the words i speak
reminds me of the lines
i spoke in thought and trials
and the lines
within the sounds of spoken word
touched mine heart
mine dreadlocks started skanking in joy
of the music in mine thought
but til done, i thought
next to mine were time and rhythm
for less than never it were missing
the sense to do than say
and mine legs kept me in transit
mine hands touched to pick a way
whence my eyes long seen
besides, talk were amass
done; far less
than which that caught mine
til done, i do and did
done than said
the inner mine person done me
a thought to catch mine power
and grab to proceed a synergy of our
own belief to mine self and stronger
than the sounds behind the lines
of the words i speak
but from the deep lines
of the metaphor, line by talk
with mine hands holding that thought
to keep it moving and done
long before said, as done
opn01112012/0849
poem: (better) done than said
'roots of mine tree' book no.12 of 2012
november 2012
ntema's unique poetry
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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The Words Of Aaron
Maybe the years have told you
Do you remember when life was just a new day?
You know the story dont you?
The one they told you when life was slipping away
Aah! look at the brand new day
Sitting here upon the milky way
Aah! look at the dancing girls
Sitting holding hands across the world
You got a brand new lady
Just like the one you left down in some other place
Reading all the letters
Saw your face coming through on the ouija board
Aah! look at the brand new day
Sitting here upon the milky way
Aah! look at the dancing girls
Sitting holding hands across the world
You heard the words of aaron
He spoke the truth in these things both great and small
You can throw away the ashes
You sweep them over the world on your own accord
Did you know the real answer?
Youd see the kind of mistakes that you cant afford
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hands
Inside a cave in a narrow canyon near Tassajara
The vault of rock is painted with hands,
A multitude of hands in the twilight, a cloud of men's palms, no
more,
No other picture. There's no one to say
Whether the brown shy quiet people who are dead intended
Religion or magic, or made their tracings
In the idleness of art; but over the division of years these careful
Signs-manual are now like a sealed message
Saying: 'Look: we also were human; we had hands, not paws.
All hail
You people with the cleverer hands, our supplanters
In the beautiful country; enjoy her a season, her beauty, and
come down
And be supplanted; for you also are human.'
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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My mother's hands
My mother had thick, wide, hands,
callused from years of hard work.
I used to like to hold them,
feel their strength and warmth
Those were the hands that cared,
caressed and held her me close.
Those were the hands that scrubbed
and washed, cooked for us and nursed.
My mother had beautiful hands
and would paint her nails light pink.
They were warm, artistic hands
that could crochet well and knit.
Those were the hands that created,
made beautiful shawls and clothes.
Those were the hands that altered dresses
I wore ‘til they were old.
My mother had beautiful hands
that cooked and cleaned and scrubbed,
and within the things that those hands did
were bundles and bundles of love.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Not Someone Wanted Permanently
Stranger hands have touched you.
In places to me you keep off limits.
And I had been a one night stand,
I admit.
But I thought those days between us ended.
I thought we were in this with seriousness.
Stranger hands have touched you.
In places to me you keep off limits.
And I had been a one night stand,
I admit.
But I thought those days between us ended.
I thought we were in this with seriousness.
Do you find a touch from strangers missed.
And find my closeness.
Something wished,
To leave.
And your actions tell me...
You wish from me to be more like a stranger.
And not someone wanted permanently.
I don't think you mean it.
In the heat of passion...
You tell me its mine.
And mine not to let go.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My heart beat
It all seems like today
Ages have passed by…
My heart missed a beat
When I first saw you
When you stretched out your hand
When you spoke to me first
When you said you look good
When you stood talking for hours
My heart missed a beat
My heart missed a beat
When I met you
When we started dating
When we went on shopping
When we spent time in each other’s company
When we were in each other’s arms
My heart missed a beat
My heart missed a beat
When I wanted to say something
When you found that life was miserable
When you thought I should live with you
When you enjoyed my company
When you proposed to me
My heart missed a beat
My heart missed a beat
When I felt your love
When we first had a talk
When we had a long walk
When we never heard the waves on the shore
When we knew we loved each other
My heart missed a leap
My heart missed a leap
When I lost words
When you found them for me
When you touched me first
When you blew in my ears
When you kissed me first
My heart missed a beat
My heart missed a beat
When I saw the ring
When we decided
When we finalized things
When we knew everything was fine
When we heard the revolt
My heart missed a beat
My heart missed a beat
When I saw you parents
When you said your mother’s decision
When you were thinking twice
When you wanted to satisfy both
When your thoughts wavered
My heart missed a beat
My heart missed a beat
When I understood you
When we decided to go ahead
When we said this is the right time
When we told our friends
When we held hands
My heart missed a beat
My heart missed a beat
When I became your wife
When you were all to myself
When you said you love me lots
When you and your mother accepted me
When you became my world
My heart missed a beat
My heart missed a beat
When I knew a life in me
When we realized the fact
When we understood our culmination’s fruit
When we were to be too proud
When we heard a heart in me
My heart missed a beat
My heart missed a beat
When I first heard them cry
When you saw with sparkling eyes our babies
When you said they resemble me
When you said I am now a proud father of two
When you said I love you for this
My heart missed a beat
My heat missed a beat
When I heard them call me mom
When we were proud parents
When we shared happy moments
When we saw them grow
When we heard good things about them
My heart missed a beat
My heart missed a beat
When I knew it was time for marriages again
When you said just both of us now
When you saw me with love
When you said you look young still
When you whispered I love you
My heart missed a beat
You are a part of me
Even in our ripe old age
My heart beats only for you from day one
The day yours stop so will mine stop
For my heart beats only for you…
It all seems like today
Ages have passed by…
poem by Leena Bose
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The First Jasmines
Ah, these jasmines, these white jasmines!
I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands with
these jasmines, these white jasmines.
I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;
I have heard the liquid murmur of the river thorough the
darkness of midnight;
Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of a road in the
lonely waste, like a bride raising her veil to accept her lover.
Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines
that I held in my hands when I was a child.
Many a glad day has come in my life, and I have laughed with
merrymakers on festival nights.
On grey mornings of rain I have crooned many an idle song.
I have worn round my neck the evening wreath of bakulas woven
by the hand of love.
Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh
jasmines that filled my hands when I was a child.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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