Escaping From Your Hands.....
i have escaped from being
one of those marionettes
and so i proclaim that
i
do not need much
i
have enough
of me
and you
and i do not wish to prolong
our
agonies
in the luxuries that have numbed
us into
wood and tin cans
and
scarecrows
i have finally escaped from your hands
slipping like
mud
and with my own hands i sculpt
a face
that you will never love.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Since I From Love
Since I from Love escaped am so fat,
I ne'er think to be in his prison ta'en;
Since I am free, I count him not a bean.
He may answer, and saye this and that;
I do no force, I speak right as I mean;
Since I from Love escaped am so fat.
Love hath my name struck out of his slat,
And he is struck out of my bookes clean,
For ever more; there is none other mean;
Since I from Love escaped am so fat.
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Rondeau III
Syn I fro love escaped am so fat,
I nere thinke to ben in his prison lene;
Syn I am fre, I count hym not a bene.
He may answere, and sey this and that,
I do no fors, I speke ryght as I mene ;
Syn I fro love escaped am so fat.
Love hath my name i-strike out of his sclat,
And he is strike out of my bokes clene :
For ever mo ther is non other mene,
Syn I fro love escaped &c.
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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To Take The Place
To take his place you are against him,
Three more rushed to take his muscle,
His hands were on his head and they were big,
His hands shook like feathers and more.
Many escaped and exposed their face,
Like a captain stepping closer.
Because that’s the name of science,
As if an old woman snarls and purses her mouth
From an awe or thought, an action.
All we had was more knowledge,
Kicking its madness and skimming the pages
Of thought.
poem by Naveed Akram
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It is easier to catch an escaped horse than to take back an escaped word.
Barney Hainsfeather
If the excursion train to Peoria
Had just been wrecked, I might have escaped with my life --
Certainly I should have escaped this place.
But as it was burned as well, they mistook me
For John Allen who was sent to the Hebrew Cemetery
At Chicago,
And John for me, so I lie here.
It was bad enough to run a clothing store in this town,
But to be buried here -- ach!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The Chamber Of Hell
The chamber of extreme sin is like Hell,
Going on would excite my shoulder.
This escaped, this I know, this I know,
This escaped and let Hell loose.
The chamber of horrific comfort
Expelled members of sin, those who sinned.
This sinning person wants to know why
He is a devil, but why is he something evil?
poem by Naveed Akram
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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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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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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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Middle Aged Lovers, II
You open to me
a little,
then grow afraid
and close again,
a small boy
fearing to be hurt,
a toe stubbed
in the dark,
a finger cut
on paper.
I think I am free
of fears,
enraptured, abandoned
to the call
of the Bacchae,
my own siren,
tied to my own
mast,
both Circe
and her swine.
But I too
am afraid:
I know where
life leads.
The impulse
to join,
to confess all,
is followed
by the impulse
to renounce,
and love--
imperishable love--
must die,
in order
to be reborn.
We come
to each other
tentatively,
veterans of other
wars,
divorce warrants
in our hands
which we would beat
into blossoms.
But blossoms
will not withstand
our beatings.
We come
to each other
with hope
in our hands--
the very thing
Pandora kept
in her casket
when all the ills
and woes of the world
escaped.
poem by Erica Jong
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Take A Chance
(dieter bohlen)
Producers for bonnie: dieter bohlen & luis rodriguez
Rain is such a lonely sound
Falling on the ground
Youre slipping away
Youre slipping away
Driving through the midnight rain
Oh I call your name
Youre slipping away
Day after day
Youre like a candle in the wind
Why dont you stay
*take a chance it lasts forever
We could be so good together
Take a chance
The greatest love is in your hands
Take a chance and be my lover
There will never be another
Take a chance
My lonely heart is in your hands
Please dont tell me its the end
And we cant be friends
Youre slipping away
Youre slipping away
If you ever change your mind
Oh Ill give you time
Youre slipping away
Day after day
Youre like a candle in the wind
Why dont you stay
(* repeat)
Take a chance and dont be cruel
Oh Im waiting just for you
Take a chance and take my soul
Take a chance, oh baby
We should lose control
(* repeat)
Oh yeah
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Free Restless Spirit
there are people ahead of us
and who enjoy their own fame who like to teach us
how to make frames
that there are desired shapes of words
with their own colors and tones
and like light we ought to mix them
to their own
precise delight
when i was new i had always been clumsy
because i always want to think like them
each hour i command my hands to take their
own shapes of fingers
there are always desired sizes and colors and tones
and for years
i have lived in so much restraint that i finally discern
that i am not free
because i must live the way i ought to be like by them
too suffocating
like i am covering my head with
a helmet
so as not to harm myself
from their preconceived accidents
my voice thinned out and my hands
became moles
then too tired to take their commands
i escaped
into the mountains
and i learned the language of the birds and the trees
the songs of the wind and wilderness
my arms become rivers and my feet mountains
my hair the forest and my eyes the sun and moon
my breath is the wind
this is what freedom does
this is the fruit restlessness
this is the poem that you are reading now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Enclosed Within
So out of touch and numbed by bling,
Are those attached...
To images, symbols and material things.
And,
On the other side of a widening mind divide.
Sliding under what is believed,
Protective cloud cover.
It is as if exits have been closed.
And those who have escaped towards the light...
Can see clearly,
Without assistance or direction needed.
While those closed within,
Can not detect their points of view...
Continuing to dim.
There are too many of them,
Dancing in neglect and sweating expectedly...
In the corners of chosen dark shadows.
And they remain...
So out of touch.
And decisively free,
From reality.
A choice many sought successfully to seek.
With a love for scriptured darkness bought.
And preached with a delivery to suit acquired tastes.
So out of touch,
And numbed by bling.
Sliding,
Without denial...
Under what is believed,
Protective cloud cover.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Moving On
The cycle of life from birth to death
is different for everyone.
You count the days that are in between
and feel them come undone.
For some there are many.
For some there are few
and as they pass you think
'Boy time flew.'
I always think when I attend a wake
and see the body that's gone.
Wow they've finally escaped this scene
and I'm thankful they've moved on.
For I know there's a place
where they won't have to face
anymore pain,
anymore fear
of just having to stay right here.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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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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In Good Hands..
In the hands of a gifted teacher
A classroom is a magical place! ! !
In the hands of a gifted teacher
There's a smile on each child's face.
In the hands of gifted teacher Creative energy is every where.
In the hands of gifted teacher
There's a catalyst who genuinely care.
In the hands of gifted teacher Desire and wonder is awakened.
In the hands of gifted teacherEducation agenda is shaken.
In the hands of gifted teacher Self managment skills are manupulated In the hands of gifted teacherThe best of reality is modeled.
In the hands of gifted teacher Gifts and talents are refined.
In the hands of gifted teacher The desired future is designed.
AND YOR THE TEACHER GIFTED TO MY HANDS! ! ! !
poem by Maanasa Bhaskar
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Keep Your Faith Placed Safe
Fortunes meant for you,
Are not for anyone else to keep.
Unless they are holding it,
To be released to you.
And you are within reach.
People numbed from their surroundings,
Sleep.
Intoxicated by medications,
To ensure they stay away...
From wishes to be on top of the heap.
And lay under burdens tolerated,
With a sharing of addictions...
That has convinced them not to leave.
Don't dropp a tear or weep for them.
Stretched to the max,
With their pockets getting thin...
They are
And this they confirm,
Enclosed in minds suffering within.
With a slow burn inside they earn.
Afraid to relax their grasp that holds,
Onto old routines...
From them they can't let go.
As most routines on some bestow.
But a fortune meant for you,
Will come...
And that is true.
If your faith is placed,
In the hands of The Maker.
If your faith is placed,
In the hands of the Maker.
Yes a fortune meant for you,
Will come...
And that is true.
If your faith is placed,
In the hands of The Maker.
If your faith is placed,
In the hands of The Maker.
Whatever you need The Master will feed,
If your faith is placed,
In the hands of The Maker.
Refuse to brood like so many do,
And keep your faith placed safe...
In the hands of The Maker.
Whatever you need The Master will feed,
If your faith is placed,
In the hands of The Maker.
Refuse to brood like so many do,
And keep your faith placed safe...
In the hands of The Maker.
Keep your faith placed safe,
In the hands of The Maker.
Keep your faith placed safe,
In the hands of The Maker.
Keep your faith placed safe,
In the hands of The Maker.
Keep your faith placed safe,
In the hands of The Maker.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The meeting point
Time had escaped from me,
as if it was somewhere else
and I wasn’t anymore the kid I had been
when I went to war
the person that I was before
and time had left me
to become someone else.
Before the leaving we were two people
with shared thoughts, shared dreams
two people with a similar destiny
beating as the heart of one
but time had escaped from me,
as if it was somewhere else
the world had changed
and now you belonged to another
as if time had left our destiny
and I saw a pretty girl looking at me,
wondered about what she did see
while I bought her a drink,
lit her cigarette
and time stopped, it did cease
while on satin sheets she offered me peace
and about killing, about life and death
why good men fall and I live on
I couldn’t understand
and you were gone,
she offered me her hand
and led me to a nice hot bed
and time had escaped from me,
as if it was somewhere else
while she was still there
etched by the window
and outside the rain was falling
and for moments I was free
from this world with hardship and pain
[Reference: Meeting Point by Louis Macneice.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Slipping Away
I said I wouldnt cry
The day you said goodbye
Its not like Ill never see you again
I guess the things you need
You just cant get from me
But you still can reach out to me now and then
Chorus:
My head is spinning round
All my defense is down
I have held the world in my hands
But I cant keep you from slipping away,
Mmmmm. . . .
If time will show me grace
And you to a better place
Then I can live knowing it wasnt in vain
It hurts so much to know when love means letting go
And no one can tell me that they felt my pain
No strength can stop you now
Will someone show me how
How to live it over again
Cos I cant keep you from slipping away
I will never break your power over me
I could never shake the thought of you burning in my mind
Youre all I see
(repeat chorus)
Oh, I cant keep you from slipping away
Oh......slipping away,
Mmmm.......
song performed by by Richard Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shaping Of These Pots Of Mud
friend, we still decide
what we become
though what we are
is shaped by
them
there is a time when
we awake and have the sharpness
in our senses
we sculpt a face a body
we articulate a soul
we use this will and we will it
we become because
we like to be
there are things-in-themselves
within-themselves
that grow and become parts of us
but that is not all
neither is it the end of something hopeless
our hands shape the pot
our mouths say the words
at this point
let us say
we are fulfilled.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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