Best Callouses Poems
Today was a good day
Today he walked on legs unbent
And erect spine of a man intent
On stilling the cacaphony of monotony
And smoothing the callouses of convalescence
For today, we both forgot
The wasting rate this cancer's wrought
Today, he teased and squeezed and poked
Fun at his trademark old school jokes
Laughter's remembered warmth evoked
Today he drove his rattling truck
His feet sure on the pedal's pump
And carried boxes of tradebooks and tools
With hands that know weighted control
Today, without a splint or cane
He tamed steps of receding pain
Today, through a briefly calm sea
He is the man he used to be
So today, I can foresee
The luxury
When days like these
Are ordinary.
1/23/21
I’d like to pretend that my hands aren’t dirty
from the soap of mental suppression,
that the callouses are from hard work,
and not from picking my bones back up
off the floor on a daily basis;
ragged, dry, and weary.
Every fairy tale has a root,
stapled into the hard soil of truth.
They all have a moral,
some sort of clerical error
born from life’s shadow.
We watch, hoping to learn
from the missteps of someone
else’s intrepid imagination,
some 4D revelation singing
lullabies to the young heart
of humanity.
And they bend to the fickle
will of greedy creativity,
making the yoke less bitter
so that we can tongue the purge
of denial without pouting.
I’d like to pretend that my hands are clean,
that I don’t whisper cold lies into your palms,
watch you drink from the frosted glass
of my sincerity; Hope that you don’t blink,
that you won’t notice the blood bubbling
up, and over my shiver before you finally
finish this story.
I just want you to understand.
This isn’t poison.
This is merely me bleeding out,
and hoping you’ll learn to love the
taste of fire kissed oxymoronic metaphors,
served up with juiced will and the vegan
flesh of my inhibition.
So that you can see through my eyes,
know where I have been,
and how it felt to be consumed.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
Not beautiful in the physical sense
is the woman of my merciless dreams.
Flowery words don't do her justice, hence
my futile attempts at expressing love;
she be like a star that glistens and gleams,
mocking a lonely man from high above.
But a welcome wave to my callous heart -
indeed, a much needed crash upon so
still and bleak a shore, long deprived of art.
She needs not ruby red lip, nor pink blush;
to attract mine eyes you must simply show.
It's your smile, dear, that turns my shell to mush:
not beautiful in the physical sense,
but a welcome wave to my callous heart.
NOTE: I don't write sonnets very often, but this particular one is a lesser known format, called a Cornish Sonnet. It has 14 lines following this rhyme scheme: AbacbcDedfefAD. What makes this sonnet rhyme scheme more distinct is that the 1st and and 7th lines are actually repeated in the last two lines, becoming the final couplet.
From head to tips of toes,
On to the fingertips of closed fist;
Callouses of earthly foes,
Sadness embedded, no place missed.
Night turns to day,
Day turns to night;
Staying where I lay,
Moving not a might.
Blackness of nothingness dimming,
Time looping in endless bouts of sleep;
Want to awake to life brimming,
Body, self, sinking evermore deep.
Too weak to move, slowly nodding head,
Cannot see the ending;
Only death could free the soul of this bed,
Edge of reason bending.
8/28/17
Choose a Topic
Depression and Sadness
Natural love
Love cooked over a wood-fire
Smoky, smoked, well-preserved love
Well-worn love that fits just right
Like an old leather jacket
Love with wrinkles and smiling lines
Freckles and blackheads
Love with all kinds of kinks and twists
Love that writes love-letters in blue ink
Love so enduring it has callouses
Hard-working love
Love on vinyl, the gramophone kind
Love with no expiry date
No warranty required
Love that embraces the tedium of life
Slow-brewed love that numbs the aches and pains of life
(The elixir)
Love that flows from an infinite source
Natural love
~ Papa ~
Dawn broke uneasy o'er damp, dreary lane
Fish markets open, the merchant a-bustle
Hawking his fresh catch to eke out a gain
Daily routine, one of stressed, ceaseless hustle
Perils of prepping each fish for display
Callouses, cuts and old scars that he'd hide
Leathery skin soaked in brine and dismay
Profits already had started to slide...
Meanwhile at home wife and children slept sound
Knowing that Papa was busy at work
Earning a living straight up, pound by pound
Back-breaking labor which he would not shirk
Papa Giovanni, a man oh-so-proud
His praises be sung in the fish market loud
August 15, 2020
Strand Completely New (#25) Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Make sunrise early and the sunset wait;
make summer early and the winter late!
Allow the crops to sprout and thrive
and give me hope to man the drive.
Please let the raindrops fall at night
and keep the ground firm in daylight.
Make all my callouses a bit more tough
when times are hard and life gets rough.
Please, bless the plow that parts the furrow
and earth in which our hopes shall burrow.
Supply enough of sweat and blood
to drive on when bad luck should flood.
Dear Lord, I ask you bless the seeds
and spare them from the choke of weeds.
Help them arise from in the ground
and bear enough to go around.
But most of all...
Please keep my spirit in your palm
my will intact, my body strong,
my family close, my faith untaxed,
my heartbeats tight, my laughs relaxed!
I want to scrape my hands raw,
peel away the loops and whorls,
make it scarlet
Scrape it
as you would fish scales,
but bloodied
Pour antiseptic on it
Let. It. Sting.
Then wash it away,
letting it flow
down
the
drain.
.
.
Let it form callouses
to numb it,
Then start anew.
Scrape. Lather. Repeat.
***
Me in a funky mood.
Written while waiting in line at a bank.
For one whole hour.
We sure were one bunch of bored people there.
235p24008122013
Adam, take the dust and
blow into tomorrow's winter world
the intruding consciousness
is evolving, embroiling a vainity of values,
who are we now, why this
language of redemption ?
the truth hurts once we
were exhiled from God's perfect garden,
the roads behind are
cold and alone, its you and me against the wind,
Adam, how will we survive
the hail, and 40 days of raging rain ?
In every emerging
evening I see a new face when I close my eyes
my intuitions are crystal
clear, Adam
I can feel the needing
agony of anticipation from my womb,
these shoes are worn out
from this journey, lets build
I will praise the
callouses of your hands once the walls reach heaven,
lets ride, make new
native noise, simply splashing love
lets harvest the future
drink from the wealth of cheap wine,
making choices knowing right - to wrong
Now that we are free, we
can enjoy the goodness before it fades,
the voices inside are
called, they can befit the beast
God intended us to be angels, alienating us away
lets grow upward,
testing the sound of silence, I want to eliminate the echoes,
with the sounds of laughter and tears,
I'm willing to take a greater
risk of falling,
hurry Adam, put a child
in my arms, and soothe the agony of absence,
its time to grow and generate
the human race,
this is my new chapter, unfolding
the Continuing Saga
By Poet - Eve
Disappearing Ship With Shadow At The Prow
I sit with setting sun in evening twilight
gold and orange rays vanishing now
On comes the mysteries of this lonely night
disappearing ship with shadow at the prow
The night breeze so cool and silently calm
churning waters flow by with ease
Hardened heart like callouses on my palm
this dark time suddenly sets to please
Sailing on into each new imaginitive realm
constant pain tags doggedly along
Captain of my fate stirs slowly at the helm
past spirits sing their soulful song
I sleep deeper into this long flowing dream
ages fly by in streaks of enlightening rays
Serenity and solitude blessings of this stream
ship protected as its kneeling captain prays
Robert J. Lindley, 12/28/2014
Note- Reflections of a life now gone and
future time that must be wisely used.
No time for wasting efforts or foolish wants.
The mountains I sought to demolish stand as
sentinels to the futile vanity of a man and his
ego...
Amazing how things work. I've been in a dump for weeks
now and suddenly one comment gave me cause to reflect and write this poem.
Thank you Arthur Vaso....
Tingling toes
of the megabyte cavalry
callouses scraping
along private roads
Cascading matrices
on the plasma periphery
peasantry bleating
on official commands
Stewing a cauldron
a festering foment
watering nations
from acid-soaked cans
BE SAFE!
say the oracles
so buying a check
but electing the cavalry
leaves the infantry wet
Aching hands, aged and scarred
Wrinkled, arthritic with callouses so hard
Knuckles swollen from times being broken
Now weathered and weak, quite painful to open
In days of youth, they used to pick flowers
From weeds in fields in warm summer showers
An offering for mother, to make her smile
Attempt to gain favor, a precocious child
They worked in the garden, cleaned game and fish
Chores of all kinds, when needed made fists
Championed me well at work and play
Pointed to heaven as I clasped them to pray
Held hands with young girls, pleasured some ladies
Which got me in trouble, then diapered some babies
Efficiently used for support and guidance
Tender for comfort and firm for defiance
Broken bread with many, friends and foes
Preachers, teachers even girlfriends ex beaux
Never failing me once, whatever the use
That is until now with this damn bottle of juice
an original poem from the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
the arguments and the spittle
they are our muscle
the curse words and the raw harshness
they are our multivitamins
the accusations and the confirmations
they are our truth serums
the holding on and the letting go
they are our inspiration to work
the laughter that we share
the positive memories we declare
the forward movement with the freshness of a spare
the quality time now handled with thorough care
building blocks are heavy
cinder blocks are heavy
roadblocks are challenging
around the block is challenging
the doghouse and the worn sofa
inspires contemplation and marination
the circle drives and the cooloff walks
inspires strategy sessions and blueprint brainstorms
the attention deposits and the attention withdrawals
inspires infinite lessons and next time remembrances
the long talks and the informative conversations
inspires the next day and the next workload
simple assembly still takes time
simple maintenance still takes time
the screw and the screwdriver can still cause callouses
the hammer and the nail can still cause callouses
however and nevertheless, it all can never go wrong
as long as God is the Foundation on which the Bond stands strong....
There was a time
I saw my mother's hands and
noticed quite a difference
between hers and mine
hers were fine
soft and smooth
with lovely nails, refined
While mine-
so rough and dried
no lotion could soothe or hide
the blisters and the callouses
while hers were fit for palaces
mine were like a scullery maid's
accustomed to hard work
I often thought looking at her
that we must have been made
of different stuff
for even though
she was a simple woman
no frills or fluff
she seemed somehow
to be made of finer clay
Like porcelain-
delicately enchanting
but prone to chips and cracks
while I, more like a
sturdy stoneware
strength and durability
making up
for what I lacked
I never knew just how true
this was until she died
never realized just how fragile
she really was, because
she was the vessel
that originally
carried me
Tim had entered the state of a corpse while
the chorus assaulting his purulent soul festered
Callouses on his corpus callosum pretended
there was no connection just chaos exhumed
Corpuscles splattered astray ice in his vessels
in the same vein of demise as so often before
He stood at the pons dissected in cerebellar
disconnection nauseous detached from brain’s stem
A sequence of rapid succession seceded left overs
Hailstorms of concussion hailed hell freezing over
Snow gathered fast only that the crystals were black
Thunder and lightning electrocuted his passions
A squall out of nowhere invited rapidly raging squalor
Violent tempest arrested in sunken emotions
Blistering blizzards invaded the shelter of survival
Flooded with emptiness he crouched in the corner
of his neuro-toxified mind complicit of oblivion
He had tried the loneliness of a desolate desert
but then sand storms seeped through his pores
poured increasing abrasions towards ashes from dust
A vicious assault broke all defences’ containment
as he listened to the dispatch of an exploding skull
Caustic corrosion dangled from sockets of blinding sight
Tim attempted to drown himself at the oasis only
to find the mirage dispersing convoluted conclusion
But whirl winds returned him to the point of departure
He lingered at the crux of pontificated bridges
crucifix in hand and resolved to jump from the past
Ready to escape from judgement he stumbled and
fortunately the overpass had collapsed due to the storms
Faced with the murky slate of destruction he
gathered the debris and waited for fate to abate
04th October 2018