The Touches Of Her Hand
The touches of her hands are like the fall
Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down
The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall;
The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp
Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown
The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp.
Soft as the falling of the dusk at night,
The touches of her hands, and the delight--
The touches of her hands!
The touches of her hands are like the dew
That falls so softly down no one e'er knew
The touch thereof save lovers like to one
Astray in lights where ranged Endymion.
O rarely soft, the touches of her hands,
As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands;
Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs;
Or--in between the midnight and the dawn,
When long unrest and tears and fears are gone--
Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dear Hands
The touches of her hands are like the fall
Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down
The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall;
The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp
Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown
The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp.
Soft as the falling of the dusk at night,
The touches of her hands, and the delight--
The touches of her hands!
The touches of her hands are like the dew
That falls so softly down no one e'er knew
The touch thereof save lovers like to one
Astray in lights where ranged Endymion.
O rarely soft, the touches of her hands,
As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands;
Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs,
Or--in between the midnight and the dawn,
When long unrest and tears and fears are gone--
Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her Beautiful Hands
Your hands--they are strangely fair!
O Fair--for the jewels that sparkle there,--
Fair--for the witchery of the spell
That ivory keys alone can tell;
But when their delicate touches rest
Here in my own do I love them best,
As I clasp with eager, acquisitive spans
My glorious treasure of beautiful hands!
Marvelous--wonderful--beautiful hands!
They can coax roses to bloom in the strands
Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine,
Under mysterious touches of thine,
Into such knots as entangle the soul
And fetter the heart under such a control
As only the strength of my love understands--
My passionate love for your beautiful hands.
As I remember the first fair touch
Of those beautiful hands that I love so much,
I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled,
Kissing the glove that I found unfilled--
When I met your gaze, and the queenly bow,
As you said to me, laughingly, 'Keep it now!' . . .
And dazed and alone in a dream I stand,
Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand.
When first I loved, in the long ago,
And held your hand as I told you so--
Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss
And said 'I could die for a hand like this!'
Little I dreamed love's fullness yet
Had to ripen when eyes were wet
And prayers were vain in their wild demands
For one warm touch of your beautiful hands.
. . . . . . . . .
Beautiful Hands!--O Beautiful Hands!
Could you reach out of the alien lands
Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night,
Only a touch--were it ever so light--
My heart were soothed, and my weary brain
Would lull itself into rest again;
For there is no solace the world commands
Like the caress of your beautiful hands.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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With Some Passion That Touches Me
Try my love song from the heart inside
Let it touch here through its going
Feel the gathering of its truest glide
As it is willingly and knowing
With some passion that touches me
With some passion that touches me
Let the beauty from within come right here
Through the deep of the dark night
With its flowing and its limits to share
Till all its touches become alright
In the end of its limitless deep
Of the hours from down dark under
With its dances and beats to keep
As we drift though the waves asunder
With some passion that touches freely
With some passion that touches freely
I might be in heart feeling lonely
Though I had my luck in its try
You are touching my soul here and only
Filling moments with each their try
With some passion that touches me
With some passion that touches me
Try my love song from the heart inside
Let it touch here through its going
Feel the gathering of its truest glide
As it is willingly and knowing
With some passion that touches me
With some passion that touches me
With some passion that touches me
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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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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King Midas In Reverse
The Hollies
King Midas In Reverse
(Allan Clarke/Tony Hicks/but mainly Graham Nash)
Single release 1967
If you could only see me
I know exactly where I am
You wouldn't want to be me
Oh, I can assure you of that
I'm not the guy to run with
'Cos I'll throw you off the line
I'll break you and destroy you
Given time.
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
It's plain to see it's hopeless
Going on the way we are
So even though I'd lose you
You'd be better off by far
He's not the man to hold your trust
Everything he touches turns to dust
In his hands
Nothing he can do is right
He'd even like to sleep at night
But he can't.
{Interlude with 'all he touches turns to dust' 4x}
I wish someone would find me
And help me gain control
Before I lose my reason
And my soul
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
He's King Midas with a curse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas in reverse (all he touches turns to dust)
{fade out}
He's King Midas with a curse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas in reverse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas with a curse....
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O Good Solitude
It is hard to pay tribute
To the silence here and peace
The mind fresh and fair
The heart, soul so clear
O great solitude thanks
To recollect the flowery moments
And touch the face of dreams
We can bring joys to this world
When we sit side by side, hands in hands
O great solitude! so cute you seam
And the burden of griefs
We throw away the dust of mind
The spirit remains so kind
For hours we can whisper
For long we can stay together
There is no one to part us
Let us feel together
The next century will remember me
When it touches your soft empty hands
poem by Abdul Sattar
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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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The Hand Of Love
The young woman intertwines her hands with her older man
Smiling laughing at his funny charming jokes
The cool rain is the only relief her boiling heart has
His hand softly squeezes hers
He smiles, she smiles
The sun in both of their eyes
Warming them from the inside out
He touches the side of her face
With the hands of steal
But the touch of silk
With stars in her eyes
And the rain soak their innocents
He gently presses his lips to her hand
Baby you are me unspoken princess
She sighs
Has he’s still holding her delicate hand
He be believes that is made out of gold
He knows she is the other half of his soul
He says I love you to her heart as no words are spoken
Looking into her green eyes
That night in the warm rain of mystery
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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I Can Never Get Out Of This
This flesh, its demands, its whims
And caprices,
I despise, this flesh, but how can I
Ever get out of this flesh,
When this flesh is in me,
Wrapped by my skin,
And loved by the senses of my mind
The taste of wet, the whispers I hear,
The smooth touches I feel, the
Sensual sights that I see,
How I promise to be true to
The longings of my pure soul
To pure grace
And sublime wishes, as white as light flinging
Seraphims and Cherubims,
Hands praying in God’s garden,
This flesh
Throbs and thrusts like sin, like demon’s
Favorite poses and twists
This flesh imposes, like these fidgety hands
Arguing again, not wanting to be held,
These hands now ready, willing
For the caprices of my flesh,
These hands shall now touch the secrets of
The night and how my eyes pretend
Not to know,
In such delights, they all now close.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Its Not A Song
Day turns to night, and I turn into bed.
Cant get to sleep; somethings in my head.
Pacing the floor, I try to force a rhyme.
Why do I fear this time?
Its not a song till it touches your heart.
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
Now close your eyes; look into your hand.
What do you see?
Life is our song, to give and learn to take.
Time will not wait.
Oh, wont you please come dance,
While the songs still playing,
Wont be long till the silence falls.
Its not a song till it touches your heart. (its not a song.)
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
Its not a song till it touches your heart. (its not a song.)
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
Its not a song till it touches your heart. (its not a song.)
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
Its not a song till it touches your heart. (its not a song.)
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After That Earthquake In Haiti
tears fall from
the weary eyes of the world
as its million ears
hear the chant
and songs of the
strong people
of Haiti
God is with them
always
with its billion hands
ready
for a trillion cares
the zillion touches
& living thoughts.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Medical Virginity
I undress each month for my doctor
and he either feigns disinterest
or is blind to what he sees.
This is a particular kind of intimacy;
one where I undress on demand
and he looks
but does not see.
I turn,
wanting some acknowledgment
that he sees me
wants me.
But he does not acknowledge my need.
He touches me then
in intimate spots
and I feign
not feeling his hands
which he pre-warms just for me
before he touches.
I get dressed slowly
and he watches me
for a second and disappears
leaving me
with a tiny bit of my virginity
restored.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Two, three steps ahead before me
wonder i receive the dream that leads me to see the three steps
ahead before my first step landed in the sand, gaze i believe is
a footprint, slowly drifted to each feet passing wave along the
shore
the future never stop, moving forward where the direction of the
sun goes by, and the air that touches every high and low tide, the
heavens breathe moisturizing face of the clouds beneath the
cooling face of the sun
oh! let my foot gallops every feet i step, the endless distance take
me there, and my hands pointed me to reach; a place where my
feet has to take it rest, beautiful land that almost all have gone, so
friendly that every one want have to save, the hands that hold
every other hands to step, each footprint i take and lead me to a
little mark in the dunning sand, gently hold to my foot to the
dream land i want to step
open wide my inner pulse i remembered, the two feet i have, make
it three, sight comes so quickly, like lightning my eye have seen,
the two steps i touch, somebody carried me, and extra footprints
watches me, even angels touches my feet
the future is friendly; lovely to see, though it’s empty, but then full
of memory and easy, just leave it to God....the footprints you'll
see count it three.... two from God and one from the angel....and
sure you'll be carried away
be the first step in going to the Father's home; the very breath
you take, will takes you there and the paradise of today will soon
bring us to the future of no return
poem by Antonio Liao
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He Touches Me
He don't bring me anything but love
He don't bring me anything but love
If you offered me the stars I would decline
I don't need 'em I got mine
1 don't know where to start
But I know what's in my heart
So keep your silver and your gold
Cos I got my man to have and hold
And even if you promise me
the wonders of the world
It's not enough
Not enough
No poetry, no diamond ring
No song to sing
He don't bring me flowers, oh no
But he touches me, he touches me
No crazy dreams, no limousines
He makes me feel I can do anything
And that's power, oh yeah
When he touches me, he touches me
I know they'll say I'm crazy letting go
Of a man like you
Who seems to have it all
But they don't see what I see
No, they don't feel like me
find even it you promise me
the wonders of the world
And all that stuff
It's not enough
No poetry, no diamond ring
No song to sing, no
He don't bring me flowers, oh no
But he touches me
He touches me
He don't bring me anything but love
He don't bring me anything but love
No poetry, no diamond ring
No song to sing
He don't bring me flowers, oh no
But he touches me
He touches me
No crazy dreams, no limousines
He makes me feel like a beauty queen
And that's power, oh yeah
And he touches me
He touches me
No poetry, no diamond ring
No song to sing
He don't bring me flowers. oh yeah
Cos he touches me, he touches me
No crazy dreams, no limousines, babe
And that's power, oh yeah
When he touches me
He touches me
He don't bring me anything but love
He don't bring me anything but love
song performed by by Lisa Stansfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Manji
Mystery woman!
Manji is my name and,
I want to see you;
For, you are gradually taking over the muse of love in this town! !
And like a nation's political landscape in the land of peace.
His touches,
Her touches,
Your touches,
With the muse of your love to enjoy,
But lot of things are done in the name of your love!
However, i want to see you and know who you are.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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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Nothing Touches Me
Nothing touches me man
These walls are three feet thick
Wouldn't take one of them little drills to get through it
I try to make her listen
When I turn away she's split
I try to make her listen
When I turn away she's split
She went..
Nothing touches me
Nothing touches me now
Nothing touches me man
No matter how you split
Sticks and stones can get through bones
So I've given up looking out of it
I try to make her listen
When I turn away she's split
I try to make her listen
When I turn away she's split
She went..
Nothing touches me now (x4)
Laugh if you can, if you can, if you can, at me now (x4
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Touch Of
The Touch of Your Kiss
A Touch of Your Hand
The touch of your Soft Hair
A Touch of Your Beautiful Eyes
The feel of your hair touching My Face
The Sweet smell of rain that touches Your Soul
A soft touch of a babies skin
Touch of our hearts since we met
The Touch of your smile
A Touch of your love is all I Really Need.
By Charles Kuehnle AkA xxwhitestallionx
poem by Charles Kuehnle
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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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