The Pride Of Men
Field works dimly camouflage attrition
These pomegranate hands who cultivate
Trenches of dusk squeal to those lesser seen
In Labyrinths of detachment
We feed upon this which but only grows
These pomegranate hands who cultivate
Our strength is swoon but stars do also rise
From our hands we pass on to daybreaks next
We feed upon this which but only grows
Our march is marsh, to scavenge the land
And when demised the green for moments
From our hands we pass on to daybreaks next
And in that moment of such starry watch
Thus bares the seeds to that of all we strive
Though strength still meek through stripe of strife
We stature ourselves upon what we heap
poem by Scott J. Shepard
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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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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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Its All in Her Strength
Before the sun rise she stumbles in the dark
The light of the day is the fire which burns her hands
Its dark she knows but the light has to shine
The pride of being a mother to her young
Its all in her strength
By the fire she holds the lectures
The lessons that change the society forever
She is not at all wise she knows but dares
For ts the shame of morons she can't bare
It is all in her strength
Noon time the sun scotches
She tills the ground hard in hope of a feed
Its too barren and dry, the blisters on her hands tear
But its provisions she must offer
Its is all in her strength
Evening the dark loiters
Oh the day is gone but not further
For tonights' dinner she's labored
Its all in her strength
The strength of an African woman
poem by MaryVivien Namata
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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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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My City Of Ruins
Theres a blood red circle
On the cold dark ground
And the rain is falling down
The church doors blown open
I can hear the organs song
But the congregations gone
My city of ruins
My city of ruins
Now the sweet veils of mercy
Drift through the evening trees
Young men on the corner
Like scattered leaves
The boarded up windows
The hustlers and thieves
While my brothers down on his knees
My city of ruins
My city of ruins
Come on rise up!
Come on rise up!
Now theres tears on the pillow
Darling where we slept
And you took my heart when you left
Without your sweet kiss
My soul is lost, my friend
Now tell me how do I begin again?
My citys in ruins
My citys in ruins
Now with these hands
I pray lord
With these hands
For the strength lord
With these hands
For the faith lord
With these hands
I pray lord
With these hands
For the strength lord
With these hands
For the faith lord
With these hands
Come on rise up!
Come on rise up!
Rise up
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Stalemate
I do not give thanks to the hands that feed me
I work for those
Hands anyway
Writing his letters
His own contents
Not to my delight
I love somebody else, her hands are soft
Her thoughts so graceful
Touching me
Penetrating the deepest recesses of my brain
My soul jumps with joy
To the sight of her,
She eats me, I am half-consumed yet I
Sing of her
Kiss her all day
Yet what does she give me?
This death unto myself,
The hands that feed me caress me to no end
Helping me live, I understand this kindness perfectly
How I wish to love the feeding hands
How I wish to reeducate myself & learn to live on these hands
I am hardheaded, as always thinking about her all day all night long.
The heart has its own foolish reasons, while the feeding hands
Are patient, and silent, understanding my true longings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Land Is Green
The land is green
It is just green
Do not see any other colour
That will make you not to cultivate
The land is green
It must be green
Avoid the deceit of the unpatriotic
They have only their interest at heart
The land is green
It will remain green
Speak not with the double minded.
Nothing positive will come from them
The land is green
For our crops to grow
For our next generation to feed
Our land is meant to be green
poem by Chika Ogbonna
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H o p e
my little hands are always looking for you
my little hands always want to hold you
my little hands will never let you go
I want to walk and be comfortable
together in your grasp
while my little hands have not been able to conquer the world
but at the moment my little hands into a future force
hands that will always hold you
and will not let you go
smile and my little hands is hope
who will take care of you
someday - is my devotion to you
Eat The Music
Split me open
With devotion
You put your hands in
And rip my heart out
Eat the music
Does he conceal
What he really feels?
Hes a woman at heart
And I love him for that
Lets split him open
Like a pomegranate
Insides out
All is revealed
Not only women bleed
Take the stone out
Of the mango
You put it in your mouth
And pull a plum out
Take a papaya
You like a guava?
Grab a banana
And a sultana
Rip them to pieces
With sticky fingers
Split the banana
Crush the sultana
Split em open
With devotion
You put your hands in
And rip their hearts out
Like a pomegranate
Insides out
Hes a woman at heart
And love him for that
Take a papaya
You like a guavva?
Grab a banana
And a sultana
Rip em to pieces
With sticky fingers
Split the banana
Crush the sultana
All emotion
And with devotion
You put your hands in
What ya thinking?
What am I singing?
A song of seeds
The food of love
Eat the music
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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Say Hallelujah
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Close your eyes
And bow your head
To rest your soul
And to praise the dead
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Dry your eyes
And stand upright
Put a smile on your face
He wouldnt want us to cry
The sun will rise
The stars will shine
Turning day to dusk
And night to dawn
Well pass on
But until that time
Say Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Say Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Have mercy
Its a wonderful life
Eternal rest for the weary
Mourners party tonight
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Wave your hands
But dont say goodbye
Were all gonna meet you
On the other side
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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My Father's Hands
I see my father's hands
Long fingered, elegant beauty
Shivering tremors replacing strength
Once they held the world
Once they held my hands
Safe in their elegant length
when I first faced this world
My small hands in his
shivering tremors, giving me strength
I see my father's hands
When I look at my own
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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Old Hands And Old Eyes....
old hands unbutton
the blouse of the day.
old hands make coffee,
open the dusty blinds.
old hands wash a few dishes,
make breakfast for the dogs...
old hands feed the stray cat,
make toast and wait.
old eyes caress the sunlight
as if an old friend.
old eyes see the work,
yet stop, to touch the morning.
old eyes kiss the trees,
the squirrels, and distant mountains.
old eyes ache with longing,
and amazement.
old hands and old eyes
begin the journey anew.
listening intently for the footfall,
for another candle, a hoe.
for the scent of nearness,
perhaps only remembered.
old hands and old eyes,
take the plow, the hammer,
and the nails....
old hands and old eyes,
waiting for love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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