A map, a galaxy of loose lines
slithering, like snake-track,
like less-pressed weft and weave,
little crooked paths
pointing which way to turn
to cup of palm
wherein, lines stories
cut deep with handling
whispers and hard-held secrets
my hand went from smooth and supple
to this crackled crusade of truths
one broken-hearted moment after another
Author notes
I worked with troubled youth For 23 years: One hand on my heart, the other on theirs.
Picture is of my birth mother's hand. My hand will look like that when I am 90.
Prompt - in the form of a thought.
A contest entry
- Free Verse Contest (10 poets only) by McRae by nature.
900 points, ended November 26, 2008, 8 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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my hand went from smooth and supple
to this crackled crusade of truths
one broken-hearted moment after another
This is a stunning stanza of a sad truth and very well writren
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One of the cherished memories of my youth was my Grandmother's hands, I too saw many things...many paths, many lessons... wonderful...PK
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The path of the world carved in flesh, the energy that flows from heart through form to protect others from harm -- once joined by kismet and choice create a very distinctive voice.
You my friend bring a world of difference to what others would see only as an obstacle. We are given the pieces and then we become puzzled by what to create: an excuse, a reason or a difference. I will always be thankful that you brought the full force of your spirit to the world and changed where you touched.
Love,
Tom B.
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This is an amazing piece. The last stanza is very sad, only because it is so true. Very good write
Carrie
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