Invisible hands

 Tearing my heart
Into two pieces
Harming my love
Blocking my needs
from reaching me

Invisible hands

Mauling my sanity
Searing my body
Dragging me down
Paths I loathe
And cannot avoid

Invisible hands

Pulling me up
Forcing me down
Pushing me on
Holding me back

Why won't these hands just leave me alone?

Hello, hello
My little no-one
Shall I take the time
To get to know you?
Or do I just walk by
And forget what I've just seen?

Hands
Touching, seeking
Searching for a warmth I cannot feel
Grasping at air that holds nothing

Fingers
Bending, tired
Writing things that I cannot use
Pushing words out of my mind

Nails
Polished, chipped
Costing me money I do not have
My only vaniity , besides my hair

Hands, together
Holding, rubbing
A spark of contact with my love
Tying me to sanity and family

Fingers
Probing, stroking
Seeking places upon my body
Places I won't talk about on this board

Hands
Reaching, Touching, Seeking
Our conduit to our lives, point of realization
Our lifeline to the reality we have

Hands
Touching, seeking
Searching for a warmth I cannot feel
Grasping at air that holds nothing

Fingers
Bending, tired
Writing things that I cannot use
Pushing words out of my mind

Nails
Polished, chipped
Costing me money I do not have
My only vaniity , besides my hair

Hands, together
Holding, rubbing
A spark of contact with my love
Tying me to sanity and family

Fingers
Probing, stroking
Seeking places upon my body
Places I won't talk about on this board

Hands
Reaching, Touching, Seeking
Our conduit to our lives, point of realization
Our lifeline to the reality we have

Poem: Entiteld: This is not a strawberry.
Gravy on my hands.
Gravy on my feet.
Gravy meats the body.
Gravy thorugh the heat.
My hands are coverd,
in gravyiouse delight.
My hands are coverd,
don't be quick to firght.
Gravy gravy
on my toes,
Gravy Gravy.
Where it goes..
hands and gravy, everywhere.
Gravy is, in gravys hair.
Gravy gravy, like the murky depths
Gravy on my hands so wet.
From gravy, not sauce nor pepermint.
No sailors in my garden tent.
Gravy on this poem spill.
Gravy from my hands to nil.
Naught, or whatever you wish.
Gravy is top 'o' the list.
Hands come second, hands come first.
Gravy coverd, eternal thirst.
Etheral mist, the hands of time
Turn and twist, the gravys vine.
Eat it on a silver platter.
Eat it off a burger, splatterd.
Use it as a topping, on your food of choice.
Gravy is the masters voice.
Gravy from a plastic tube.
Squuezeed by skinny hands (so few..)
Liters , Galons, Tones and more.
Gravy comes , in many forms.
By hand or by maschine,
Gravy comes like molten stream.
Of lava or, another thing,
palm trees swinning, in the wind.
Cats are here, they always are.
I think they eat gravy.
but I havent seen thus far.
Gravy comes and gravy goes
but altogether, no one knows.
Gravy through my hands.
Gravy through my feet
Gravy meats the body.
Gravy Through the Heat.

~Fin~

"soup for two"

brain stew gravy,
all that's left in here.
i lost whatever you gave me,
and i lost all my fear.
everything degraded
into this oozing stew.
and i'm not afraid of anything,
now i'm not scared of you.
too dumb to know what's good for me,
stupidly step into whatever i might.
brain stew gravy, all that's guiding me,
leading me tonight.

gravy sweet gravy, by-product of roast
gravy not gravox, the bane of a good host

gravy on meat, and mash 'taters too
gravy on roast carrots, and all the peas through

gray sweet gravy, we love you so
gravy sweet gravy, i'll never say "whoa"

gravy my gravy, just soaked up in bread
gravy dear gravy, it's gone to my head

gravy from my roast, simmer the juices
gravy gets better, add master stock
gravy made thicker, a pinch of nice flour
gravy good gravy, just a tad o salt
gravy oh gravy, im ready for you


finnally, my poem on hands...

the human hand
stop and look at it now
one could think it was planned
just like our friend towel

a hand can do many things
and working together, can do many more
look at all the joy hands bring
and all the terror, for sure

a hand that strokes a loved one's cheek
can still be used to destroy and hurt

ok, so my gravy poem was better, but there you go.

Hands:

Dirty, bloody, sticky again
I wash my hands, but I can't get the guilty feeling off
No memories of last night, nothing in my head
What have I done, and what for?

I search my pockets, find a bloody knife
I do things I dont remember, I think I am cursed
Why me? God, why?
I hear voices from the back of the hearse
I hear someone cryin'
Sounds of people dying
But I cant remember hurting anyone
Oh, what have i done?

I light a match, throw it on my bed
Time to take my very last rest
I breathe in, jump in the flames
Fire will clean my hands, and burn the demon in my brain...

done...

#3
Water spills through my hands
As I cup them and drink from the spring
And my hands fall apart, fluttering in the air
I imagine a butterfly sailing on the wind
Though it’s only my hands.
And on the rock, a shadow falls
A bird flutters down to drink from the spring…

#2
My hands are cold,
I shiver.
I blow on them, trying to find some heat,
You take my hands in yours,
You are warm, comforting,
Rubbing my hands.
My hands are warm,
I smile.

#1
I reach out to you in a dream
Hands open, trusting, nothing to hide
Hoping you will reach back
Hands clasped
Touching
Sharing
I reach out to you in a dream

There once was a man with big hands,
Who liked to fondle his glands,
When he got married,
This habit was buried,
And now he grabs his wife's cans.

... round one!

hand it over,
give it back.
when i said you could have it,
i didn't mean that
you could take it out
and stomp it apart,
no, i want it back,
give me back my heart.

... hm, that was okay, but let's try for two.

you put things in my hands,
you take them back out.
i watch, i listen, i love, and
i never know what you're about.
you are the quietest man i've ever met,
you are the most confusing friend of mine.
i watch, i listen, i love, and
i fall for you every time. do
you know what i am about? do
you really understand?

... well, i've never been queen of love poems. so a third attempt.

hands down,
i can hardly handle you.
and i don't know whether or not
you even try to handle me.
doesn't matter,
i'm pleased with the good things we do,
even i can never tell if you
ever feel similarly.
hard to read,
you put the simple in japanese.
crazy american,
why do you do this to me?
hand over hand, i try
so very hard to please.
but you are closed like a book
in a language i can't read.

hands down, hands held,
i'm confused,
but pleased.

Hands

For years they have copped abuse,
From all throughout the lands,
People have taken them for granted,
I'm talking about your hands.
We talk about getting the point,
Of being under the thumb,
We plant palms in our garden,
Our familiarity made us numb.
Until the hands went on strike,
The leapt up from our arms,
And skittered to somewhere quiet,
Immune from all our harms.
With stumps we tried to survive,
Cornflakes were no fun,
The door we could not open,
To frolic in the sun.
A visit to the toilet produced,
Frustrated howls of, "F*ck!",
Getting dressed took dexterity,
And more than a little luck.
Computer time was not allowed,
The keyboard proving hard,
Writing was similarly elusive,
And clapping also barred.
Beverages were not accessible,
People just ate sugar lumps,
For wrestling with the hot container,
Merely burnt your stumps.
You're getting the point of the exercise,
On you the image has grown,
So I don't need to describe,
What happened when you were alone ....
The hands saw the trouble caused,
And returned from their retreat,
We clapped our feet in celebration,
For now our hands just can't be beat.

Hands

Young hands,
Smooth-skinned, supple,
Fingers spread wide to catch the morning sun.

Strong hands,
Powerful and direct,
Gripping tightly the reins of life's Carousel.

Gentle hands,
Softly stroking, lightly touching,
Safe and considerate, hands to hold the beats of a heart.

Knotted hands,
Twisted, scarred,
Legacy of a life lived grappling at the edge.

Cold hands,
Limp and damp,
Their touch can drain laughter and freeze the soul.

Old hands,
Pale and thin of skin,
Time's lines worn like translucent lace.

Cruel hands,
Sharp of nail, taut of sinew,
Claws set to the world's face, tearing, rending...

Newborn hands,
Pink and delicate,
Tiny balled up fists like seeds, life's potential gripped within.

Many, many hands,
Each unique yet all alike,
Builders of dreams, weavers of thoughts,
their touch is mankind's signature in the sands of time.