hands
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You make me smile in a time I forgot I knew how.
A twinkle in my eyes and a sweat on my brow
To stifle a laugh under breath made of steel
You taught me to laugh, to smile, and to feel
These hands.
These hands hold so much.
These hands can hold the world, a heart, the power.
So much counts on these hands, your hands, and yours.
Fingers frozen to keys .
I fall in love with hands .
I care not for faces , breasts, genitalia
All I need are your hands.
His hands are calloused and torn,
browned by the sun as always but
now they are stained red with blood
Silent, he grips
the butt of his rifle with one hand
and a dirty cloth with the other
I didn't want to think about the way you said my name;
the way your soft, rose-pink lips moved and curled in a way,
a way that made my heart stop and start so abruptly.
How strange
That hands so gentle could touch with such fury
And damage so intensely.
How strange
That hands so rough could touch the hearts of so many
SO tenderly.
How strange
Dear hands,
Stop shaking stop picking.
I wish you'd be still and
Stop scratching stop flicking.
Listen,
Dear Hands,I have never acknowledged you as I should
Sometimes I have even hurt you
You’ve been burned
Bruised
Sliced
And cut
Big hands,
Soft like
Clouds that
Quickly turned
Into violent
Fists scarred
With the
Old memories
Of us.
Sometimes, I wished that I can hold your hand,
with our fingers interlocking,
time just stopping,
and I was wondering, if you'd be okay with that?
Because when your palm is pressed against mine,
When I here Swiss Army Knife, the word strikes a cord with me
bringing to mind a device for wilderness survival, a catch 22,
a real man's man tool,
the peak of human ingenuity
A year has passed
I was always told hands for holding,
For calling,
For comforting.
But now I belong to someone else
My conscience will always point its way back to you.
My year
My year?
A roller coaster taking a nose dive off a pier.
I've lost some,
Far and near.
Some close and dear.
But I persevere
I ask myself, why am I here?
Baptism, my soul washed clean
a new life ahead of me of spreading my faith with
my mind, my heart, and my hands.
My Catholic hands
that properly became Catholic on the day of my baptism,
I remember drawing masterpieces at only age five; bumpy stick figures with lines for appendages and no noses.
The shakes, the nerves, the trembles of absolute fear I feel in the tiny hands attached to me.
They control me. They make one motion that consumes my focus entirely.
I am drowning in a sea of my anxiety.
What once began as a thought
flourished as the words were wrought
like cascading raindrops
falling from a single spot
The words my hand created
told a story that was dictated
I hide my face from you
in an attempt to forget
the way your hand
perfectly in mine.
You promised
to never let go,
but instead of using
my hand to hold yours,
Wiser hands with more experience mold younger ones into shapes
positions designed to mimic their own
The paintbrush between my hands is not angled quite like hers
She makes a single, long stroke across the white page
the lines of her hands
whisper of pinky promises
the good
and the bad
the cold nights of tears
broken hearts, hands, love
the days thoughts are smothering
"do you promise?"
"yes."
You asked me why I am shaking.
Because I am unable to sit still with you.
I want to be closer.
So close the only air I breathe
is the air you exhale.
I want the only space I take up
My light skinned skinny little fingers intertwined with his dark long fingers.
Our hands rested on his long dark jeans. His hand was warm and soft. Sort of comforting.
I don't remember
Most of the dream.
Just that you
Were in it.
Alive.
I think I met
Your parents?
Your brothers?
I don't remember
Most of the dream.
in white she was to be in
in a different place
eighteen of the ninth
month it was to be
white as an angel she was
having papers of white
time took its time
My reflection is in my eyes
And in my hands
They are always moving
Trying to find an abode
Trying to find a cause
Looking upon the distant faces
With no color to define them
Let flowers grow from your hands
from love and care each stem stands
Some may break
and your hands may ache
When you let another take a flower
One more will grow within the hour
those hands
the way they hold me when we kiss
tge wa they tingle me into bliss
the way they tell me to get frisk
those hands
they tell me everything
your hands
These hands you'l never hold
Whenever it feels cold
These hands you'll never hold
Until it gets so old
I am Unfinished.
My edges aren't sanded smooth
There are creases and circles worn into my eyes,
There are scars and callouses on my hands
There are stripes of uneven bronze across my skin
I have sweaty palms.
The very thought of shaking hands shakes me to my very core.
My heart thumps as he comes closerpalms sweating, breath quickening.he sits at my table and glances at mewith eyes as blue as the ocean.
I like to think i know you
and that you know every dark corner of my being.
how much is exchanged
when gazes collide?
Little hands
so cold and frail
against the snow, they seem pale
then the numbness comes
as senses fail
I was in a jar
No hands could untwist my lid
Trapped.
I was in a car
No hands could break glass
Save me
I was in a house
No hands could crack through
You held me
Caressing flesh
Tracing curves
Turning your porcelain skin in circles
around mine
My body, scarred
lived in
Yours smooth
She looks at her hands
Delicate hands which haven’t done much
Shy hands which could change the world with just one touch
Any act they make
Could be a mistake
Quick, hide them. Back in your jean pockets.
At times,
hands cannot express
more than the heart.
However,
at others,
the hands become merely
tools of passion used on a lover.
The hands are oft accompanied
by other tools
They provide defense
They build shelter
Survival lies within the hands
They pluck oranges from the furthest limbs
Creating a sweet nectar juice, derived from a simple fruit
His hand in mine,
I feel so small.
Like a baby,
My hand wraps around one of his fingers.
He is safety.
He knows how to keep me out of harm’s way,
He would never hurt me.
HandsThey are taken for grantedWe use them everydayAre they what keeps us so candid?HandsThey actually define us commonersThey can be rough, soft, dry, moist, cold, warm
You Only Write Once Scholarship Slam
These hands carried my wife through the threshold on our wedding night and comforted my daughter whenever she had a bad dream.
Days fly by and nights linger coldly, And I stand watching through the window, As the sands of time slip through the hourglass slowly, And yet I am ever-still as I keep vigil over those below.
And to this day
I will admit that all I ever wanted was to hold your hand
For the thought of my fingers playing in your palm
Sent shivers everywhere
Postage stamps weren’t cheap
Hands- young and taut, thick and thin, wrinkly and not-
They're almost comical-their capabilities-
A Surgeon heals and stitches, your wounds away,
And mends the broken body.
Hands are beautiful...
They touch and caress.
They love and hold.
They grasp a hand and hold it firmly to ensure.
They touch a face sweetly and move the cascading hair gently from a face and ensure something.
You were the prophet
With the truth of life written
Across your palms
And I would pray that
Your overlapping sentences
Would complete my broken ones
And replace time with
Perfect memories
She paused beside the coffin as a tear ran down her face.She gently touched-then held a hand; it's lines she softly traced.The same hand her father had once held upon a bended knee,as he nervously had asked the girl, “Will you marry me?”The touchi
My brown calloused hands stare back at me,
Each little groove caked with dirt,
Scratches filled with muck,
Blisters oozing their complaints,
after a grueling day of work.
They are the hands of a rancher,
Bam, the door closes
Your toe is in between
Oww, oww, you yell and jump around while holding your leg
Sensory nerves from your toes
Shoots up your body to the brain
What if the canyons that ran on our hands
Were scars from the crusades we never fought?
And due to the restraints of our commands
We never dared explore what we ought not.
They are little blankets
for when the weather turns cold
to wrap you fingers in
warm and snug.
Sometimes cotton red, or berry blue
most often a color so bold
you could find it in the snow.
Four childish eyes
Looking at their own child
Eight hands kept the baby standing
Wrinkly hands against smooth skin
Loved by six people
Raised by six parents
Two created her
come along and we will speak,speak words that flatter, so fluently.and i take it all in as i am prone to do,an effect of falling so easily for you.
They are the only two who don’t know. I am the only one who knows their hearts’ desire. Two shy hands with sparks in their eyes and secret hopes.
Walking through life,
Dealing with people with up-turned noses,
With their pants too low,
With their attitudes hanging lower than their earrings,
and their riches hanging from their finger tips.
A landscape for madman in my mind
and the genius in yours.
Kept short and trim and orderly,
most days.
A brush of his plumps makes thy drown in thought.
Savoring sweets off thy flesh though aren't dame.
Melting in cold hands one's soul does not rot.
Embracing, peering at movement in frame.
There are some drives
Down the open flat of
The coast highway, where we had hair
Whipping against our cheeks, stinging,
As the effect never shown in pictures.
Mouths
slightly open
like pitchers
holding whatever happens to be on our
tongues
waiting for words
to cool
to room temperature
as to not shatter
the glass
we pour them into.
These Hateful Hands and its Hateful Heart
A galaxy of thoughts
Rushing through my head
As my trembling, pitiful hands
Sought what was ahead
I hold my pool stick funny
The way my dad
showed me
the little V my thumb and
finger knuckles make
I sometimes hold
your name
there because my fingers can't
seem to find
a note to sing
These hands delve into the ground to remake what I once found
When I was better and my conscience was light as a feather
I made this as empty as I feel, but now I'm not alone
I am a weight eroding those
The little girl you see over there,
Yes, the one with the vibrant, shiny, red hair.
She's not much different from you and I
Everyday she goes home and cry.
A year ago, just like this day,
Mommy, why are my hands so small?
Why does everyone say I look like you when I don’t see it at all?
Why do you say I have ocean blue eyes
and run your hands through my hair when it’s nothing but dry?
My hands are for writing,
For painting,
For greeting,
For holding,
For waving,
For creating and destroying.
With a fist they can hurt,
With a poke or a tickle they can tease,
I've seen those hands before
In a different country far from here
I've smelled that scent before
But it's not like he's standing beside me
Flashbacks through my senses
Tears streaming down her face.
Seems like everything is pulling her down.
Staring up at the sky,
Praying for a chance that things will get better.
Don't worry,
Give it time.
Life is a rollercoaster.
To Hold.
To Feel.
To Write.
To Draw.
To Move.
To Clench.
Mine to Own,
Yours to Hold.
God’s best tool He’s given me.
Hands.
Bandaids swirl around the sugar bowl
Brightly colored strips wearing white textures
A warm and worn comforter
Cocoa and petals inside motivation
Salt-flavored showers drain while blossoms begin stretching wide
Your hand holds mine so tightly I think you might crush it
But I know we both need it
Our hands are an anchor
To know we're both there
There for each other
There forever in each other's hearts
Why can't I understand The things that are happening. It's when I try to understand That makes me feel unhappy. I'd rather live in a dream, Soar in a book, Than live in this world. Rather than look. See, I'm not really happy Though it may seem.
Both ironic and congruent in how the black mans hands bled in the same manner Jesus' did. Broken skin, a result, not of barabaric acts, but of the extended handshake with peace. Peeling along the life line, good-bye my brother.
Oh how I dream to pass
No longer with the dream of Jesus
To see and be
With my beloved Jenny
To stand at my own grave
Think on earth how I behaved
To see Willow and Knox
One tear fell
I was alone
Harsh words shattered,
my perfect dream, and selfish reality was lain
before my turbulant mind
