"handhold" poems
Whispering to each handhold, "I'll be back,"
I go up the cliff in the dark. One place
I loosen a rock and listen a long time
till it hits, faint in the gulf, but the rush
of the torrent almost drowns it out, and the wind --
I almost forgot the wind: it tears at your side
or it waits and then buffets; you sag outward...
I remember they said it would be hard. I scramble
by luck into a little pocket out of
the wind and begin to beat on the stones
with my scratched numb hands, rocking back and forth
in silent laughter there in the dark--
"Made it again!" Oh how I love this climb!
-- the whispering to the stones, the drag, the weight
as your muscles crack and ease on, working
right. They are back there, discontent,
waiting to be driven forth. I pound
on the earth, riding the earth past the stars:
"Made it again! Made it again!"
4.4k
*the state or quality of being elastic.
flexibility; resilience; adaptability: a statement with a great elasticity of meaning.
buoyancy; ability to resist or overcome depression.
Physics. the property of a substance that enables it to change its length, volume, or shape in direct response to a force effecting such a change and to recover its original form upon the removal of the force.*
are you ready?
here it comes!
Slap!
having slapped you
with, to kind attention,
you may now recover
your original form,
when there was
no grief, no distress,
the great clarity
of eying the day's birth,
sweetly and innocently.
once again, you are
buoyant,
molecules of polluted memories,
erased.
wind scattered, gone,
blackboard erased,
whiteboard replaced.
you have been reminded,
even reprimanded,
for forgetting your
elasticity.
life, what ever that be,
is constant motion,
a reshaping of the heart,
for the heart has
no unique shape.
it's adaptation,
it's elasticity,
it's genetic forgive and forget ability,
is legend, is you,
you are legend,
You are elastic.
the human hallmark impressed
in the palms of your hands,
that cannot be erased
by time, fatigue, failure, or anger,
the hands that mold,
re-form for every need,
for every handhold,
for different are:
The hands that open closed fists
The hands that wave hi
The hands that are first to touch
and the last to leave,
waving goodbye,
elastic - tender when tender needed,
strong when strength essences.
so be elastic,
remember to be
ecstatic
remember
when you do,
you need show proofs.
Prove it to me.
Prove it to yourself.
shake, kiss, dare hug,
the one who needs reminding
that life is elastic,
even more than you.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
~
dark early pre-dawn
body suspended between the-dark ochre earth tones of night,
and the teal pealing notes of warning of an impending morning,
signs aborning, me rising with urgency of the leaden half deaden,
torn from the bed casket to venture into a different kind of twi-lights,
nature demanding both intake and outtake, a restoration of balance
but first a bumbling wobbling, the body as carnival bumper car,
installing soon-to-be-bruising for later examination-exhumation,
lurching from handhold crevices in the walls like crazy cliff climbers,
my balance disturbed, eyes try tearing apart the sticky glue of night,
my sense of direction keeping me from free falling into green glass
edges of glass tables, barely, and not always, red cuts evidentiary
“my balance disturbed” words fresh formed, and a poem expulsion
required to balance the unjust scales of spirit soul and the body cage,
patch an negotiated agreement between warring cousins, just a
twenty four hour ceasefire to retrieve the wounded and the
corpses unfounded in the small copses of false shelter,
like my ancestors expelled from Spain, making escape to be
strangers in strange lands, or remain hidden in place neath disguises
of clothes of new poems, prayers for old and new gods
this new poem comes quick like a young man making first love,
for the poem has been written by thousands nights of practicing,
so ready for quick retrieving in a smattering of a few minutes,
expulsion expulsion
what a perfect verbiage to capture the night terrors, the differentials,
the procession path between what was and what will be,
when my balance restored and this poem’s completion installation
in the body of my work, as a nail disguised in the works of my body,
entering by command of the pitch black gods
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 8:42 AM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a little straight slip of a thing,
red, a quartier inch wide,
red, a quartier inch thin,
suggestive, inquisitive,
a political and philosophical,
lovely provocation to conjecture
as if it were a colored arrow,
pointing strangely down,
instead of up,
to the next handhold
on a rock climbing wall,
in this case,
handholds on a
woman's body
this way,
follow me,
to the barricades!
a tourist mapped-path to follow,
visit the glories of the republic,^
and the charming Quartier Latin!
entrap and entice,
the eyes willful blinded,
taken away to thoughtful solitary,
on-one-side-only,
does the
bra strap
conveniently,
consciously,
haphazardly,
(yes, that's it,
a hazard,)
invitingly, speaks to,
looks to me,
inquiring will you vote,
RSVP to red?
as if a line of lipstick on the body drawn,
the directive points,
this way, perhaps,
always, just perhaps,
this way tourist,
to the dome of the pantheon,
where the statutes
are the course,
or perhaps
disguised, well-placed, statuesque, (ha!),
improvised explosive devices,
purposely presented,
needy for a desired
psychological high impact detonation
If
that is its purpose
under heaven,
under sweater,
under halter,
under cutoff gym top,
under liberty,
to tempt and remove
the blindfold from the womanly scales of
under justice
to tilt him favorably one way
If
it, is theater,
I, the audience
then whatever is on stage,
(Ibsen's Doll House, ironie délicieuse)
is a failed distraction, naught to naughty,
to no avail,
his eyes fastened, stapled wide
to the quarter inch thin
red path
from her slender shoulder,
leading, stepping him ****** down to
his I-magination,
for which unknowingly,
he, ticket purchased,
months ago for
two hours and one intermission
He must go again,
the show was
superbly acted,
for so the reviews said,
Ibsen's play,
"an unremitting portrayal of the suffering of a women"
^republic ~ a state in which the power rests in the body,
of those entitled to vote, exercised by their representatives, their eyes, chosen directly by and for them.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
I've said some bold words in my time -
Made tragedies of pantomime.
I've kissed some morons in my day -
Too young I thought I'll lose the hay.
I lived as the greatest lover
(Or the most pathetic, rather) -
Mad walks in the rain and letters
Oft took judgement from my betters,
Let's add to the pile morn roses,
Bookshop rushes ere it closes,
Philosophy and late night talks,
And still more mad, but sunny, walks,
Journeys on the train to Glasgow,
Two tickets to Panic!'s last show,
Bekhôled reading Thomas Hardy,
Sapphires costing a fair farthing,
And now, and then, in your study,
I'd be your debating buddy,
Then your patient, then a girl:
An embrace set you in a whirl.
Our first kiss was in tears, my love,
Our confession was at a shove,
Our first handhold was without hope,
You always said we had no scope -
And yet you'd loved me, lover mine,
Or begged for it upon my shrine,
Conceived it in my breast of stone -
You conquered, and I lost, and won.
I never spoke more equally
With any man, but now my plea
Falls down on your attentive ears
As would a rusted pair of shears.
I do not mean to **** you, love,
I meant to raise you up above
The idol that my head construed -
I've held you, never rough or rude
As loving is, but passionate
And real and true, and I, to date,
Have never felt more like a queen
Than in our kisses, sweet and keen.
And all my verses do abuse
This love of mine - I have no ruse
For I am rendered dumb by you,
And know no truth but in your view.
Sweet Uiginn's son, whom I must meet,
Swept sev'ral times from off my feet
But never truly, only now -
Why say you "No", and ask not "How?"?
Jul 16, 2024
Jul 16, 2024 at 1:17 PM UTC
Day debt
night wept
sleep crept
Attachment.
Where is my attachment?
evening out of balance
The line of my life has broken
off into separate identities
Flower feather
Hollow weather
Moonlight Canyon
Skylight childhood nostalgia
Stolen star
Battered cheekbones
Of weary workers keeping to
The hornet's nest
Reality a constant terror
Of city structures swallowing
them whole.
Blackbird rests
on an Autumn branch of
hidden meadow
checking its wristwatch obsessively for the
Hydrogen Volcano
INEVITABLE.
Termite Corporations
Cavernous Hilltops
All that green is gold
(A straw man in Byzantine robes approaches
the frosty Manhattan
to become a relic in it's Libraries)
People fall in Love with coincidence,
(The illusion of order beyond our field or reach)
All that love is kept in a
Conservatory somewhere...
Glossy stems connected to palpitating blossoms.
Our tired eyes are focused to the asphalt confluence
whether fever or handhold.
Hymns ring throughout the forests of
Vancouver Island
Dreamers hang from the Niagara Trestle caught in
overwhelming sunlight
Doused in spirit.
Holy Melancholic September
Sweeps away the dusty Summer,
everything seems renewed
In the rain..
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
I've spent the past decade
And then some
Drowning.
I'm curled fetaly,
Cradling the anchor seared
Against this inside of my ribs.
I've managed to keep my head
Above the waves,
Even with a tempest
Crashing,
Beating,
Breaking,
Forcing
It's
Way
Into
My
Lungs,
If only just barely.
There have been so many
Failed lifelines,
False shore sightings,
Ghost ships burning bright on the horizon.
But I continue to tread water,
Resigning myself to a life of chocking.
One day you floated by,
Quietly in time with the sunrise,
And I felt lighter
Simply from your proximity.
You stayed a while,
And as hours passed
I felt myself falling for you.
You reached your hand out,
Gave me a lifeline,
Gave me a handhold
With you.
Whispered promises
In the middle of the night,
Hushed attempts to cease my crying,
To assure me you wouldn't let me sink,
Even as I screamed at you
To let me go
In the midst of the thrall.
I pushed you away,
Fervent in the desire
To save you,
To get you to the eye,
So I could drown guiltless.
k.f.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 2:38 PM UTC
I cannot get to you. You
are like Jerusalem, a
misguided city. Your name is exposed
to the sun while i call to you in the
silence of the volcanic pre-dawn.
You have slides of affectation.
A pilgrim might mistake
you for the safety of a handhold
hammered in the sand.
Other
travelers knew the peril of
your affection.
You don't reply. So cold the
monument, so silent
the wall of your response.
This is all I know
and so do you that the
messages of the world fall
like the snow on the ground
white with shadows. Mute
replicas of shared emotion.
Drink to us the sour
vinegar of the sponge.
Caroline Shank
June 16, 2022
Jun 16, 2022
Jun 16, 2022 at 12:05 PM UTC
The grass is always greener
As far as you can see
but you always sit there whining
Why him and why not me?
A better job a better life
A better house and car
You know just what you have to do
If you're gonna get that far
If you want to make an omlette
You have to break an egg or two
You have to work to earn it
Not just sit there feeling blue
Nothing is a given
You rarely move on up by chance
You've got to get a handhold
Go grab life by the pants
Just sitting waiting idly
Never gets the job done well
You can not sit and listen
You have to ring that bell
If you want to make an omlette
You have to break an egg or two
You have to work to earn it
Not just sit there feeling blue
One who sits and wonders
Why someone else gets all the fame
Has never tried to leave the bench
And get into the game
Stay hungry, do your damndest
Do not strive for second place
But, if you don't move at the starters gun
You're not even in the race
If you want to make an omlette
You have to break an egg or two
You have to work to earn it
Not just sit there feeling blue
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
I had held in my hands,
The bitter shards of my heart.
I had thrown them away,
To be forgotten in the dust.
I had cried for an answer,
A solution
A plan
A direction
A reason why I failed.
I had seen no road other than alone.
In my self-hate,
I had lashed myself,
For my ignorance and naievety.
For being a fool in love.
And then,
I found a light space in my soul,
I glimmer of warmth.
A handhold out of the dark.
I found a comfort in your smile,
A place where I fit in your hand.
A safety in your arms.
I want to say to you,
That you had brought into my life,
Something I had thought was lost
And I was never to find again.
I have peace,
That I am safe with you.
That I can trust your smile.
That I can believe your words.
That your hands are for care,
Not pain.
Thankyou,
For being in my life.
You make me happy.
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 12:58 AM UTC
I'm freezing from the inside out
as cold seeps into every pore,
spreading its dark tendrils inform of creeping numbness
that suffocates my soul.
Everywhere feels like a suffocating chill
and it's wrapped around my heart.
Leaving my breath in a startled gasp,
The air around me thickens, refusing to fill my lungs,
And my chest tightens in a vice grip that won't relent.
Each heartbeat a drumbeat,
echoing fear and desperation.
My thoughts turns to fragment,
shattered like broken glass,
Showing reflections of a mind in chaos.
Memories linger, taunting me with happiness,
that's lost in the haze of anxiety's relentless grip.
Emptiness consumes me, and turns me to a hollow shell,
Soulless,
devoid of warmth or light or hope,
that echoes with every heartbeat,
A chasm between what was and what is.
Time becomes distorted, stretching each moment,
Minutes become hours, hours become eternity,
Then the world retreats, leaving only darkness,
and a neglected landscape, lacking comfort or solace.
In this hell, I search for a lifeline,
A thread to cling to, a beacon to guide me through,
A reassuring voice, a gentle touch,
Anything.
But every handhold slips away,
leaving me falling, as my body trembles like a fragile leaf,
Shaken by the winds of fear and uncertainty.
My mind screams in a silent cry,
Drowning in silence, and desperate for rescue,
I strain to recall calm moments,
Serene skies, peaceful nights, loving arms,
But they fade like mist in morning sun,
Leaving only the stark reality of this panic.
And the realization that I'm fighting for a breather,
to remember and to forget,
And if God's willing,
Then I won't slip away,
or get lost like these tears that slipped away.
Oct 25, 2024
Oct 25, 2024 at 7:18 PM UTC
dear god, you humble me into quietude
she says it’s sunny and 75
nearing 3’o’clock, cooling,
let’s go for our usual constitutional,
for a lovely afternoon walk to Shell Beach
*can’t can’t can’t walking now in
a bottomless pit, every handhold,
poems, newly commissioned, newborn,
broken off the wall, revealing a gleaming,
light of iron pyrite, really good fool’s gold,
cause only fools write good poetry, or even try*
but tonight I’m gonna feed you bucatini bolognese
babe, you gotta walk, make some room for all the words
that will come tumbling free falling while I’m sleeping next,
you’re up prowling looking for rhymes, lines, unheard of before,
you’ll need energy to bite, write, and make loving poetry and then,
then, sleep late, my laddie-baddie, new ones on my nightstand,
for my perusal, my usual unusual man who gifts me them to
in quantities of ‘more galore,’ that I accept, adore...adore
so afterwards, I must say my morning prayer, as an atheist forgiven,
the one I commissioned, and you composed, for me:
Dear God: you humble me into quietude, with gratitude...
Jun 19, 2020
Jun 19, 2020 at 3:37 PM UTC
Honored companion:
When you return,
let us go down to yon forest,
as our hearts have yearned.
I know a girl of the green
bright balms and flowering hair;
when spring comes to the valley,
she will wait for you there.
As hunter shoots the stag,
so huntress strikes the lad's heart;
leaves crunch beneath their boots,
in crisp handhold they won't part.
Grass drinks the gold dew flood,
orange sun never wants to wane;
but far beyond the verdant wood,
a martial voice calls out your name.
So grasp your sword by hardened hilt,
and with pike upon your shoulder,
live not for the joys of life;
live but to grow older.
Then mount the hills with me,
cast aside your roving bow;
for ours is a life of misery,
and in summer we must go.
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 6:45 PM UTC
Halfway up the cliff face
That's as far as I've ever gone
Because halfway up the cliff face
Is where the easy route ends
The only way forward beyond this point
A daring leap to the next handhold
Abandoning the safety of the ledge under my feet
Taking a chance
Other climbers have made their way past
Taken the leap and kept climbing upward
And others have scrabbled at the wall, just short
Falling away to God knows where
How easy to say to each one who comes by
"The climb has been pretty easy so far
I could make the jump if I wanted to
But I'm good here, thanks"
Celebrated for climbing as far as I have
Lauded for doing it with such ease
That's enough for me
Isn't it?
Refusing to jump means I won't ever fall
But I won't ever get anywhere, either
What's up there, anyway? Curiosity
Is starting to get to me
My muscles have gotten cold
I've been sitting here far too long
I try and shake the stiffness out
It's time to move forward
That handhold up there seems awful small
I'm not so sure I have what it takes
To make the jump anymore
But I'll never know if I don't try
Catch or fall I will hold my head high
Knowing I gave it everything
I crouch, taking a deep breath
There's no going back
Muscles explode into motion
Propelling me upward
And I stretch, reaching
For the next hold
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
All choked up inside because
there is so much I never say, wanting
to share everything and grow up
way too fast, that's not how
things work around here, not
now under microscopes
I love you to the point of
not breathing, a precaution to
ensure such radical notions remain where they
are, but today you
told me the greatest thing you could
ever have brought to my ears, that you
recognize
the simple truth, the difference, this
wonderful knowledge you and I have of each
other, something others chase for so much
time, and yes we have some of
that loosely-defined handhold on
reality, the ticking, but
I need you to know, I
still cannot find words.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
Miyagi
Deep inside the recesses of my mind,
My many thoughts lay dormant --
Unwilling to be heard;
My precious thoughts, they're blurred.
Numb to reality,
Gums hit with a needle.
My feelings I cannot express,
My words they find no footing,
A limitless climb of rhythm and rhyme,
Where a handhold at one means to elevate my purpose,
And a handhold at two means to obscure my view,
Of not just the handholds, shrouded by fog
But of the view of the mountain, hidden by the gods.
Self protected thoughts within a shrine, within a castle, never to be revered, never to be revealed.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:19 AM UTC
One more moment of whispered silence,
One more handhold, squeeze, release.
One more thought to unplanned failure,
One more tear from you to me.
One more step to clear the doorway,
One more goodbye, tears, we're free.
One more drink to ease to sorrow,
One more motel room door-key.
One more pill to fill the emptiness,
One more wrist slit, bleed, relief.
One more mourner on my grave mound,
One more thing I don't believe.
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 3:59 PM UTC
Normality
Is how he stays
Awake and warm
Coated in the
Sticky sweat and
Grimed residue
From thoughts of you
The touch he craves
He can picture and
Violate your
Pure young image
Immorally
Is how my mind
Stays plagued with
A cloud of love
Wispy and soft
Adoration
From thoughts of you
Attentions craved
I can’t wish for
One **** handhold
It is a sin
Perhaps this is
Insanity
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 10:44 PM UTC
Lacy steel over black water -
A boy once wondered
If it was a way over
Or a step closer
To soul-lulling sleeping
A launch to lose
Wrenching torments within
A rain-swelled flow of
Dark currents to wash
When other remedies had failed
But warm water laughed
She rushed through open skin
Easing weeping wounds
And, leaving scars for tomorrows,
Returned the repaired to surface
To see the dim haze of street lights
And maybe the moon in fog again,
To fight to find a handhold
Up over the steep bank
Soggy shoes spoke
All the way
Home
Sep 12, 2009
Sep 12, 2009 at 8:19 PM UTC
Some nights I forget my way to the home
home? where is that? which side of the road?
I keep straying away empty streets I roam!
Where is the ****** moon? I shout
the moon is gone but the stars are out
stars, please, handhold me and guide
tell me my home is on which side!
Am I awake or a pawn in a game?
why every house looks the same?
my steps fall on some window light patch
I must go back must start from scratch!
window? ah, is there one with a face?
so I can say it's my address
hey stars, be this seeker's guide
lead me to my home, take me to her side!
may be a door for me kept ajar
two eyes are staring one guiding star
one heart that knows the night is not out
two ears keenly waiting for a shout
catch me from falling put me on bed
despair seizing yet hands on my head
*moon is ****** stars gone to fetch morn
I don't see her tears her nights forlorn!*
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 10:36 AM UTC
Off from the crimson rose drops a last petal
Twirling, spinning into a void
Once there was brightness, fading only to black
A mind once busy left blank
Teetering on a razor sharp edge
Breath held in life’s longest wait
Searching for anything to occupy endless wait
Then down drifts the crimson petal
A handhold to pull away from the edge
Distract from the pastime of staring into the void
Grasping for any detail there in the blank
Looking for a spot of hope in the deep black
Further fall to the oppressive black
Weaving a story to carry through the wait
Though that thick blanket is better left blank
A song dependant on one lonely petal
The only thing to ever survive the void
Sitting, singing there so close to the edge
An evil beaconing urges, jump over this edge
Fall through through the black
Came through the void,
The body freezes, it is committed to it’s wait
By feet settle a single crimson petal
The mind shies away, thoughts are safer blank
Why do we wait for the world to go blank?
Oh, but what harm over this edge?
When hope only appears as a lonesome petal
One speck of crimson to soften the black
Why be plagued by this wait?
Not even a whole rose to draw from the void
Don’t look longingly into the void
Knowing that it will finally be true blank
Is this all to life, an endless wait?
Until a simple, small step over the edge
Waiting to fade from grey existence to black
Searching for hope in the symbol of a petal
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC
Frowns caused by:
Not being able to reach the rocks in the bottom of the prettiest ocean to draw you the path that suits your existence
Not being able to show you the orchids you grew beneath my skin, the dead stars that's tucked underneath my eyelids or the half dead butterflies that keep feeding on the shivers down my spine
Stepping on the tips of my toes to grab a handhold of the cloud you named after us, I have a taste of the disappointment
We get high on thoughts we seek
Frowns caused by everything but you
I am the smoke you breath in then out and disappear for you to take another puff
I am the dried tears on your cheeks that's caused by sanity and nonsense
I am the night clouds that cover the moon and stars and everything that's beautiful
I am the seaweed in that ocean of yours
I am
Perhaps
Not what belongs to you
Perhaps
Not yet
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
As we fast forward in life
Event after event happens and we move on
But I have decided to use a knife
Just to let go, and never grab on
Some people say that it is wrong to trust it
But all I could say is that it was an escape
Whenever the red drops, I think 'what a masochist'
And you will too, if you see what I had made
The red cape blows, and the devil sings
For he now had caught me in his trap
Sadness is all that silver brings
When the crimson flows, he laughs and makes a loud clap
For he had made your head think red
To inflict pain upon yourself, so that you could blame you
Only you, but not the one who led
You to think that this was your cue
Only one thing can stop the blood from flowing
You need a companion, one that will stand by you
No matter what is happening
And his pretty smile will be your clue
His hugs will be you handhold
In this fast-flowing river called life
His words will be all that is told
For a good friend will gladly trade himself with that knife.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
It taunts me. To rip tendon from limb.
High climbing inspired without and within.
My feet are dug in as I press to the wall. Exhale and
Cling tighter or else I will fall.
Purchase.my right index finger must reach out now and grasp
The next handhold swiftly or the moment will pass.
To hesitate now is a plummeting fall.so
Seize the moment.
Now....Now....Now...........................
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC