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Tommy Randell Jan 2020
There was a hand in the darkness once
That reached out and held my hand -
That was a hand of caring.

There was a hand at the playground gates
Took me by the hand the first day -
That was a hand of sharing.

      A Father's hand I never knew
      A Mother's hand I lost too soon
      Of Lovers' hands there have been many
      My Brother's? Everytime & always ready.

There was a hand pushed my hand away
Then pushed again and kept on pushing -
That was a hand of warring.

A time of loneliness when no hand came
When my hands held themselves and
When my hands learned about mourning.

      My Children's hands reassuring me
      My close Friends' hands knowing All this
      More tenuous Friends not getting me yet
      Colleague's hands getting the fist bump flip.

A lifetime of hands coming and going
A poetry of hands speaking more than words
That death and all of life is but a hand away.

Giving hands, hands taking, years of hands
Speaking incessantly good and bad
And I have listened to all they had to say.

      When I give my word I offer my hands
      When I greet a friend, when I take my leave
      Equally I see myriad hands upon the page
      Time flowing from this Poet's hand displayed.
      
There was a child holding a pen once
That needed a family to write about -
That was a hand  of shaking.

There were two fists raised to the world
That was a young man out of control -
That was the poetry of me in the making.
Some people are Face & Eye watchers, some are hand watchers - For me, the hands never lie. Watch any person's hands... it's all there. When I was a Customs Officer it was one of the secret tools of my craft of a quick assessment of a stranger. From their grooming to how their hands move can be seen so many things.
Dreams of Sepia Sep 2015
Carrot dances in a sweat
an onion laments it's death
potato sings the potato blues
the parsley is dreaming
of some tea for two
the cabbage is tired
of the baggage
it's lovers bring with them
& remembers the knife
cutting through it
the stock cube
listens to the chatter
of the bubbles
rising through the ***
& the salt & pepper
are feeling a bit hot
I have another poem about soup which is probably even more quirky & far better than this - it's called Tomato Soup if you want to look it up.
It's here: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1353298/tomato-soup/

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