Ditch the ads, upload images and much more - upgrade today from 5.95/month!
Read Contests Groups Learn Forums Store Help
 

MotelShow poetry




A Hand
by Jane Hirshfield

A hand is not four fingers and a thumb. Nor is it palm and knuckles, not ligaments or the fat's yellow pillow, not tendons, star of the wristbone, meander of veins. A hand is not the thick thatch of its lines with their infinite dramas, nor what it has written, not on the page, not on the ecstatic body. Nor is the hand its meadows of holding, of shaping— not sponge of rising yeast-bread, not rotor pin's smoothness, not ink. The maple's green hands do not cup the proliferant rain. What empties itself falls into the place that is open. A hand turned upward holds only a single, transparent question. Unanswerable, humming like bees, it rises, swarms, depart








Language
by W. S. Merwin

Certain words now in our knowledge we will not use again, and we will never forget them. We need them. Like the back of the picture. Like our marrow, and the color in our veins. We shine the lantern of our sleep on them, to make sure, and there they are, trembling already for the day of witness. They will be buried with us, and rise with the rest.









My Poetry

1 - 4 of 128   Show all Search

Guest Book

1 - 4 of 16   Show all
  • Violet Lace : Hey honey...:) on August 20
    Thank you for all of your kind comments. Sorry I have not gotten back to you, 1, I have been working all the time and 2, I was not even sure I was going to keep my page up. I just am not sure how to get poets I like and that like me together on such a large site. Anyway, you are very kind. ~Daina
  • CovertEnmity on June 18
    Thx a lot for the commentaries!!! ^_^
  • Suzanne Dia on March 27
    where's the new poetry?
    hm?
  • Suzanne Dia on March 7
    hey... nice remodeling
    love the new words up there, too.

Subject: