Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
marshal-gebbiePoems
Manacled the hands Which intertwine with one another now, Hands that come to grip with issues Locked within the soul, somehow. Manacled, the hands that hold her Manacled in blood and bone, Hold the baby’s head so gently Veined and scarred with love intoned. Hands of strength that strike the anvil Shape the shoe to fit the hoof Hold the stallion’s head commanding Strong control to stay aloof. Hands that wield the sword of vengeance Hands that feed the wood to fire, Work the field with ox and plough Stroke her body to desire. Veinous hands, so strong and calloused Locked within his every day, Hands that clap to merry music Hands that to the piper pay. Hunter hands to snare the rabbit Catch the carp in yonder lake, Pen the words of love to paper Knead the dough of bread to bake. Quiet hands that rest in evening Sitting by the fireside, Listening to the snoring hounds Which on the mat, asleep, reside. Manacled, these hands, he ponders Locked within the ways of sin, Reminiscent recollection …Quiet smile on whiskered chin. Fingers cooled in fresh spring water Feel the rays of rising sun, Stride across the purple heather These hands, a goodly day begun. Marshalg FOXGLOVE, Taranaki. 4.20am 17 February 2013 © 2013 Marshal Gebbie
0
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
Manacled, the Hands....
Manacled the hands Which intertwine with one another now, Hands that come to grip with issues Locked within the soul, somehow. Manacled, the hands that hold her Manacled in blood and bone, Hold the baby’s head so gently Veined and scarred with love intoned. Hands of strength that strike the anvil Shape the shoe to fit the hoof Hold the stallion’s head commanding Strong control to stay aloof. Hands that wield the sword of vengeance Hands that feed the wood to fire, Work the field with ox and plough Stroke her body to desire. Veinous hands, so strong and calloused Locked within his every day, Hands that clap to merry music Hands that to the piper pay. Hunter hands to snare the rabbit Catch the carp in yonder lake, Pen the words of love to paper Knead the dough of bread to bake. Quiet hands that rest in evening Sitting by the fireside, Listening to the snoring hounds Which on the mat, asleep, reside. Manacled, these hands, he ponders Locked within the ways of sin, Reminiscent recollection …Quiet smile on whiskered chin. Fingers cooled in fresh spring water Feel the rays of rising sun, Stride across the purple heather These hands, a goodly day begun. Marshalg FOXGLOVE, Taranaki. 4.20am 17 February 2013 © 2013 Marshal Gebbie
marshal-gebbie
Written by
marshal-gebbie
81/M/Australian
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem