En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Winter Of The Sun

Glacial sighs mantled the breaking light
in a soft dislmning abrasion
Like whispers lifted from the frost
that sheathed the slumbering sun
behind the solace of our sequence
and tedium of our shenanigans,
but the austere silence it brought
had drifted with a lack of euphony
and calm for macabre had conquered
the prying eyes and mangled with
the atrocious affliction brought
by the premature winter of the sun

The ice sheets that I meander started
to shatter and thaw, but the kingly fire ball
remained suspended on his veracious
gesture of absence, his superfluous fingers
pointed with a jeopardy through
the unlocked and opened barricades
where the black embers futilely honed
its red eyes like devils lurking inside
the curtains, and the veil was ripped
to divulge what weeps soundlessly
behind the tatterdemalion tapestry

There was nothing but a lifeless smoke
climbing the svelte ladders of time,
Smoke that seethes with anguish and
wrecks and lusts for the shallow heaven
that the cinders spat and denied;
Smoke from incinerated hands -
hands that wrought words feigning valor,
hands that rocked its own trembling cradle,
hands that grew iron from caliginosity,
hands that are empty and flimsy
where everything sifted like a formless wind
indifferently passing through the windmills,
hands that can only quell the warmth
of the sun when it tries to break from
the winter inside its eternal frame.

poem by Norman Santos
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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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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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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 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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Helping Hands

these hands
these so sore helping hands
and these eyes
seeing through all the black and white,
a monovision more incommon than not,
these hands like talons ripping as fast they can
fish
trapped inside
the barrel
as he cocks his wrist,
that tiny gap of silent air
and in an instant these fish know they're goners,
full of holes
that what this life of mine has been like...
a great tapestry to the biggest moths
and the kindest spiders
as well as the coldest eyes
and the softest hands
however these hands,
rough and dry
witnessed it all first hand
and then the other.

poem by David Thomas
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Hands!

Hands! Gentle Hands!
When the Field at covert stands,
When your four-rear-old is sweating,
Foamed and fidgety and fretting
As a stray hound jumps the netting -
You can steady him and soothe him with your Hands!
Hands! Clever Hands!
When your tiring hunter lands
Over wall or ditch or double
With his noseband in the stubble,
That's the moment you're in trouble
If you have not got the saving gift of Hands!
Hands! Steady Hands!
When your reins seem useless bands,
With a mad brute going faster
And a toss-up which is master,
You may still avoid disaster
If Providence has given to you Hands!
Hands! Talking Hands!
At the fence below the Stands,
When you call on him to lead them,
That's the moment when you need them,
That's the time a horse will heed them
As you bring him up and help him with your Hands!
Hands! Horseman's Hands!
When the stooping fairy stands
At the cradle of a baby,
She has richer gifts, it may be,
But she never brought a better one than Hands!

poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Inspired by Issa - Winter Wind

winter wind -
pet cat hogs
its warmth

winter wind
her hands in his
warm her up

winter wind
enveloping her hands
the warmth of his heart

winter wind -
pet cat reclines
in its warmth

inspired by

winter wind-
wearing a straw bag
on Mount Hakone
-Issa,1813

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Song For A Winters Night

The lamp is burnin low upon my table top
The snow is softly fallin
The air is still within the silence of my room
I hear your voice softly callin
If I could only have you near
To breathe a sigh or two
I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
Upon this winter night with you
The smoke is rising in the shadows overhead
My glass is almost empty
I read again between the lines upon the page
The words of love you sent me
If I could know within my heart
That you were lonely too
I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
Upon this winter night with you
The fire is dying now, my lamp is growing dim
The shades of night are liftin
The mornin light steals across my windowpane
Where webs of snow are driftin
If I could only have you near
To breathe a sigh or two
I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
And to be once again with with you
To be once again with with you

song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The most beatiful hands

There are no more beautiful hands
than the hands that caressed you
and rocked you when you were little.

There are no more beautiful hands
than the hands that guided you
when you took your first steps in life.

There are no more beautiful hands
than the hands that bathed you,
clothed you and fed you,
during childhood.

There are no more beautiful hands
than the hands that hugged you
and wiped away all your tears
throughout your life.

There are no more beautiful hands
than your mother's hands...

poem by Viorel Vintila
Submitted by Viorel Vintila
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What's A Heaven For

'Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp-
or what's a heaven for? '
-Robert Browning

This life
is all
in my hands
It's where I held
dreams desires
Too many mysteries
Losses lives loves
Where I've held words
like broken heaven heart
Lifted up every moment
like a feather or cloud

These hands
once opened
themselves
into yours
Entered
your fingers
one by one
Embraced
each one
as though
unfolding
heaven

I still reach
for you
in the night
My hands
empty
But I keep
dreaming

Or what's a heaven for

poem by Ari' Anna Arena
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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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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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Flora of the Eden: Antwerp

Eyes that sought my eyes, an-hungered, as a fire;
Hands that sought and caught my hands in their desire;
Hands and eyes that clipt and lipt me as a hungering fire!

But I turned away from your ecstatic eyes,
But my heart was silent to your eager sighs,
But I turned to other eyes from your imploring eyes.

Hands that I rejected, you were fain to give;
Eyes that for their moment loved me, as I live;
Mouth that kissed me: Flora of the Eden, O forgive!

poem by Arthur Symons
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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
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Ad Manus Puellae

I was always a lover of ladies' hands!
Or ever mine heart came here to tryst,
For the sake of your carved white hands' commands;
The tapering fingers, the dainty wrist;
The hands of a girl were what I kissed.

I remember an hand like a _fleur-de-lys_
When it slid from its silken sheath, her glove;
With its odours passing ambergris:
And that was the empty husk of a love.
Oh, how shall I kiss your hands enough?

They are pale with the pallor of ivories;
But they blush to the tips like a curled sea-shell:
What treasure, in kingly treasuries,
Of gold, and spice for the thurible,
Is sweet as her hands to hoard and tell?

I know not the way from your finger-tips,
Nor how I shall gain the higher lands,
The citadel of your sacred lips:
I am captive still of my pleasant bands,
The hands of a girl, and most your hands.

poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Empty

try looking at my hands
they are empty now
for i have released
what fullness was there
what fist
what clenched hands i had
once they were so
beautiful
in bravery
but
then
there is always a threshold
of courage
suddenly you find hands opening
to the sun
hands without a grip
hands that wave goodbye
to all your friends
hands that
grasp nothing.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Smoke & Mirrors

When I was a boy, all the books I read
I followed like a blind man
To heed the words my father said
Those golden summers faded into night, words become a dream
The echoes of my childhood and where the path is winding
May God bless you, keep you safe from harm
I stand by you always
Time and motion
Hands touch, lips find a way to heaven on high
Watch the children play, the child becomes a man
And all the tangled webs we weave
You swear it as you live and breathe
We stay together, death until you part
Winner takes the prize
The futures at your fingertips, right before your eyes
(chorus)
No more sorrows
(smoke and mirrors)
No more nights with no end
(I really learned a lot, smoke and mirrors)
I see my tomorrows
And nothing from nothing
And ashes to ashes they say
All the more that you reach out
The more that it runs away
(smoke and mirrors)
(chorus)
No more goodbyes
(thats all I ever got, smoke and mirrors)
No lies, you find your way there
(show me what shes got, smoke and mirrors)
Heaven on high
May God bless you, keep you from all harm
I stand my you always
Time and motion
(smoke and mirrors)
Hands touch, lips find a way to
(thats all I ever got, smoke and mirrors)
Heaven on high
No more sorrows
(I really learned a lot, smoke and mirrors)
No more nights with no end
(show me what shes got, smoke and mirrors)
I rise or I fall
No more goodbyes
(she really makes me hot, smoke and mirrors)
No lies, you find a way there
Heaven on high

song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Smoke And Mirrors

When I was a boy all the books I read
I followed like a blind man
To heed the words my father said
Those golden summers fade into night, words become a dream
The echoes of my childhood and where the path is winding
May God bless you, keep you safe from all harm
I stand by you always
Time and motion hands touch
Lips find a way to heaven on high
Watch the children play, the child becomes a man
And all the tangled webs we weave
You swear it as we live and breath
We stay together death until you part
Winner takes the prize
The futures at your finger tips, right before your eyes
No more sorrow (smoke and mirrors)
No more nights with no end
(I really learned a lot, smoke and mirrors)
I see my tomorrows
And nothing from nothing
And ashes to ashes they say
All the more that you reach out
The more that it runs away
(Smoke and mirrors)
No more goodbyes
(Thats all I ever got, smoke and mirrors)
No lies, you find your way there
(She show me what shes got, smoke and mirrors)
Heaven on high
May god bless you keep you safe from all harm
I stand by you always
Time and motion
(smoke and mirrors)
Hands touch, lips find a way to
(Thats all I ever got, smoke and mirrors)
Heaven on high
No more sorrow
(I really learned a lot, smoke and mirrors)
No more nights with no end
(She show me what shes got, smoke and mirrors)
I rise or I fall
no more goodbyes
(She really makes me hot, smoke and mirrors)
No lies, you find a way there
Heaven on high

song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Smoke Comes Out

when the smoke comes out
they are there to say that there is fire
on the chimney
when the smoke is black
they all say i have decided
when the smoke is white
they keep on praying since
no one is chosen
to lead the lost flock
without their grazing ground
during winter time

what if the smoke comes out
from my eyes and the smoke is black
and there is no fire in my heart?

what if i am lost? shall you care?
please don't. I must tell you i am happier
when left alone.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lightning Thief

These intrepid hands caught
the descending forks of light
and subdued the harrying cloudburst
like how a child grasps things
out of instinct - from hunger, for safety
with a dire silence in lieu
of the inevitable cleaving
because jeopardizing eyes delve
in the lattices of injured acceptance
for the gnawing pain that scored pride
and the unpaid obeisance

These flimsy hands are burned out
as it steadfastly held unto
the arrowheads of lightning -
the soldering bell rope of alarm
And the treacherously valiant soul,
cautiously and vigilantly, weaves
the heaven's spilled fire of blue
to craft a pall of false pretense:
a gradient of varied palettes
that shall suppress the black hole
siphoning all the scintillating lights

In the limbo of these guzzled suffering
lies an immeasurable abyss
where darkness devours darkness
fecundating the filigree of mistakes
and lost perchance of corrections,
these hands fell suspended
from its larcenous struggle to knot
the ends of heaven's unwoven tassels -
these hailing lightning that
crackled with a shattered frame
and dangles blithely from a tattered tapestry -
for my desire to redeem the casted crown
is deemed futile every time
the blue electric wires slip away
from the pleading grip of my thieving hands

Wuthering for the weeping cicatrix,
these sorry hands vied against
the inertia of predetermined sequence
and still, the old ailing bones
and progressive states of senescence
defeated all the pure endeavors

The sky hurled a riling fist
and stabbed the glassine walls
of these somnambulistic eyes
and the bellicose mangling
was no different than the lightning
I stole in the most intimate privacy.

poem by Norman Santos
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