Best Gesturing Poems
Cool raindrops kiss my cheeks
A warm breeze rises within me
As I recall the moments
Which linger in my heart forever
The pulsating sphere of light and dark
Polar opposite lovers in the circle of life
Encompassing magnificent visceral nuances
Infinite shades of gray, slate, and steel
With mauve interludes
An elegant intimate tapestry
Complete with tears of joy and pain
Sharing love and grief
Gazing upwards I join my brothers and sisters
On jagged bare branches
As cool wind rustles our feathers
The white hawks, eagles, vultures, and their tribes
The birds of prey who gather
Sharing tales of their journeys through time
We all stare out
Our senses prickling with anticipation
A silence hovers
A shared glimpse
A collective inhale
Our ears and hearts awaken
Virgin raindrops fall on thirsty ferns
Their limey tendrils outstretched
Quenched in gratitude
A low rumble
Footsteps below
A clearing in the forest
Created by children gathering
Giggles and dust rise
Excited young mouths
Speaking in pantomime
Gesturing with kind intentions
Young creatures of the world kingdom
Unconcerned with language barriers
Sharing evolving consciousness
A wink of an eye
Hands on chest - feeling our heartbeats
Laughter emanating from within little bellies
Spinning freely in circles
Arms outstretched wide, heart open and exposed
Vulnerable in delight and anticipation
A low cello vibrates nearby
A gentle breeze rustles leaves
Which float in the air embracing light rays
Mesmerizing all
Pine boughs perform shadow puppet dances
On cascading rock walls nearby
Elders lean contently against tree trunks
Smiles slowly emerging as silent tears flow
A young child skips over
Tenderly grabbing her grandfather’s arm
Opening his hand, she plants a wet kiss
On his age-stained palm
Then gazes up at his toothy grin
Before returning to the gathering
Wild beasts arrive and quiet
Kneeling by water’s edge
To drink and watch
Hands clasp
A sharing ensues
A vibration rises
As souls gather
Radiating light and hope to all
Categories:
gesturing, animal, appreciation, children, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
A line in a poem must never stray
A word in a line must know its place
For every action we take, we create
We change the order of things
Molecules, atoms, DNA, tones, notes
All connected, like water between ripples
Snow crystals in avalanches
Our hands gesturing in the air
Create movement, small folds in time
All in orbit like the cosmos itself
As gems fill the sky above every smile
As friendship exists without definition
But colours life, world and universe
***
July 6, 2017
Copyright © White Wolf and Darren White
Categories:
gesturing, friendship, inspirational, words,
Form:
Free verse
I told him we were broken, the way
horses can be, and he galloped through
the sentence like a cowboy, less a
heart. I loosed the biggest word I could
think of – so enormous I felt everything
in me squeeze back as it passed by
and nearly choked as it pushed
its way into the outer world -
and he brushed it aside like
errant dandelion snow.
By then, there were at least
four voices within me, ranting,
and the image of myself throwing
buckets of paint against a wall
was blinking repeatedly in my head.
And still he was talking –
with his hands gesturing, gesturing -
talking about places he’d been
talking about what he thinks himself
passionate about
talking about what he learned
in counseling
and talking
talking,
talking
about
nothing.
When he got to Italy, I stopped him
at Michelangelo, thinking, “here! –
here finally is a scaffold we can
throw ourselves off of”. Thinking
if Einstein’s wardrobe wasn’t enough,
if a scrawny white boy singing
the blues wasn’t either and if the
most interesting thing I said that night
was that I never ever set a clock
to an uneven time (and I hadn’t even
said that yet)… maybe the image of
an artist suspended in air with
his heart pointed to heaven
and the myriad of thoughts
that must have run
like a river through him as he
stood there, arm outstretched,
might trigger something.
But, he had no idea that
Buonarroti was a poet
or that he honestly expected
Moses to speak
to him once freed
from the confines
of stone and of
artist himself,
he said
nothing.
Apparently, he was more
Moses than Michelangelo, and
it was all I could do
not to take
a hammer
to his
knee.
Categories:
gesturing, art, hope, life, people,
Form:
Free verse
As I was checking out a father at the bookstore his son began to talk to me…
before I finish…I think it’s time for a little history…
For 39 years I taught Autistic students…a career that was as wonderful as it was long…
My job was to help my students, in spite of their weakness…find what made them strong.
I had successes…I had failures…each made me more compelled…
to see their Autism not as something we needed to ignore…
nor as a place we needed to dwell.
I think the moment I became a good teacher was the moment I learned to see…
not the label but the person who was staring back at me.
I return often to that moment when my understanding and my empathy grew…
for not only did it make me a better teacher…but a better person too.
Which brings me back to the young man talking to me…he was wildly gesturing with is hands…his speech was mostly unintelligible…impossible to understand.
So I listened even harder…his eyes I tried to meet…and when he finished I said,
“Sure…it’s on the corner…just across the street.”
His dad’s eyes widened…his mouth dropped even as he continued paying…
“You mean to tell me you understood…” he asked, “everything my son was saying?”
“Oh God no!” I smiled. “My hearing’s not that good.”
but I believe I heard him mention ‘ice cream’ and those two words I understood.”
The father smiled as I handed him his book…his transaction was complete…
then he and his son headed out the door…to the ice cream shop across the street.
And once again I thanked my Autistic students…
for helping me discover a way…
to look a little closer
and listen a little harder
to what people are trying to say.
Categories:
gesturing, inspiration,
Form:
Rhyme
Years have come and gone, with softly dancing lights,
Gesturing with wonders, bravely swirling flames,
Changing doubt to faith, remembering Christ’s claims.
Reflecting hope, yearning to still the dark nights.
Years have transformed my heart, feelings, and insights,
Showing me to love, without fear that shames,
Giving and forgiving, not playing mind games.
Sincerely sharing takes your heart to new heights.
Transforming shadows to silhouettes of bliss,
Glittering in hearts, like stars in summer skies,
Promises of peace that summer’s sky won’t miss,
Interpreting dreams who wind’s wrath can’t disguise,
Stirring belief in those who know the soul’s kiss,
Transmutation brings joy, much like love implies.
Categories:
gesturing, change, moving on,
Form:
Sonnet
I was just a little girl, when I saw them,
The hands that blessed my heart,
With kindness, compassion and attention,
Hands that sought to protect me,
Bless me with their endless gifts, such affection.
I learned, as the years moved by me,
That those hands were ever a guide for me,
Reassuring me of the love in their touch,
Lending me the wonder of a devotion –
That inspires, soothes and never gives up.
As time gave me reasons to fear,
And my life was sometimes filled with tears,
Those hands wiped away the pain,
With concern that had nothing to gain,
Promising me that, through life, those hands…
Working hands, remarkably strong –
But just as gentle as the whisper of a song,
Coloring my life in faith, my hopes stirred,
Erasing the darkest days with assurance
That, those hands, would ever console me.
I remember those hands of love, hands,
Gesturing to the light where feeling reflects
All the beautiful, the joy, the amazing
That comes to those who appreciate the touch,
From working hands, hands who seek to support.
Those hands, working for all the right reasons,
To give to those who God has given,
The children, the family, the glorious meaning
Of a life filled with affection, adoration and praise,
That abides inside the soul who knows…
Working hands are more than just practical.
They seek to give a hope to those who may lack,
Those who believe, without seeing…
That God is the answer, the reason, the promise,
Love that never leaves – love that always agrees…
Appreciation of the love, the guidance, the prayers,
The promise of a soul who will always care,
The gentleness of a touch from hands that are aware…
even when all hope seems lost, this love – it prepares,
the heart and soul – with warmth that continues to grow,
love that moves the soul to never let go of those hands,
working hands who remind us –
when life is hard, when the struggles come…
down-to-earth gifts from loved ones who insist,
love is more than words – love is heard in hands who pray –
upturned to face the One who always makes a way!
Categories:
gesturing, appreciation, blessing, encouraging, heart,
Form:
Free verse
There I was at work surrounded by a thousand stories of drama, love and surprise
when one of the greatest love stories I could imagine unfolded before my eyes:
They came into the bookstore…a couple old and grand
wearing smiles across their faces…walking hand in hand.
I noticed as they walked the store…their gait was deliberate and slow
and they continued holding each other’s hands…never letting go.
They came in to browse, get out of the heat…look for a story or two
Before they left they stopped to talk to me…as customers often do.
It was at this moment when we spoke that I quickly came to know
why he held her hand so tight…why he would not let her go.
As he and I talked about the store…(he mentioned it’s a beautiful place)
she held his hand, stared at me…and the smile never left her face.
When she did enter our conversation…gesturing with her other hand
she laughed and giggled and mumbled…but she was hard to understand.
I imagine it was Alzheimers…that was interfering with her style
but it hadn’t yet stolen her desire…or her ability to smile.
I conversed with her as best I could…not understanding most of what she said
which meant a lot of looking into her eyes, smiling and nodding my head.
Before they left…her husband shook my hand and thanked me joyously
“For giving her the same attention,” he said, “that you have given me.”
She waved as they were leaving…her other hand he never dropped
and as they left the store I heard him say…”We’re heading to the ice cream shop.”
She seemed to quiver with excitement…the excitement of a child
then gave one last glance in my direction, waved again…and smiled.
I wonder how much longer they have together…
before Alzheimers makes it’s final stand…
But I like to think whatever happens…
they’ll be forever holding hands…
Categories:
gesturing, love,
Form:
Verse
The echo of the river could be heard
Flowing across the sand and stone
Beckoning to my heart’s hope for love
Mystery coloring the moon and stars
With sensations of promises emerging
His work calloused hands touched my skin
With a gentleness that soothed my spirit
Caressing my soul with truth and strength
Discovered within a man who knows passion
Nurtures the dreams as much as the feelings
My skin has never felt so loved or adored
With a sense of total abandon, he whispers
Compassion across my dreams of romance
Taking my mind into places it has never been
Filling my thoughts with visions of inspiration
Delighting my aspirations with discernments
Insights into miracles that come from birthing
Love and adoration for the union of souls
The blending of two hearts, two hopes, two joys
Who will know the breath of genuine affection
He touches me in a way that feels like a song
Dancing across my soul with gentle feelings
Gesturing my heart to know the desire born
Of secret chances, intensity and urgency that knows
God sent us to each other, two who share one fantasy
It is this memory that tortures me with it’s intensity
Dusty Old Memories Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
July 31, 2020
Categories:
gesturing, blessing, inspiration, love, meaningful,
Form:
Free verse
japanese geisha enthrall
with pleasure performing arts
gesturing words without voice
bound in divine thought
legs held tight in kimono
dress of entertaining nights
that graces elegant pace
into dining room
Copyright © 2013 By Caryl Muzzey
Categories:
gesturing, culture, dance, girl, song,
Form:
Dodoitsu
We'd made a dawn start that day, following in his footsteps, as
apparently Jesus used to get up early.
Our group had gathered for a reading, and to pray, along with
fruit and cereals our first staples of the day.
The good Lord had gifted us a painted morning of Coeruleum blue,
and a warm spiced breeze flossed my smile.
I turned and watched the city for a while.
Amidst the pink and beige jigsaw of the old city, the Dome of the rock
had caught the morning rays and was now bragging about it,
shamelessly blinging,
competing with the shouts of Minarets
and Church bells ringing.
Few things can compete with an Israel morning, but you did.
Perched like an Owl on a low wall, cross-legged, your head moved
from side to side, scanning the mount, sharing our glass,
drinking the moment.
You wore white cotton, an arm hung with beads, an evil eye bracelet
and what looked like a Kara, glistening.
Styled by the Gods, with three quarters of a straw hat
wedged in the bricks.
And then I found myself before you,
Lord knows how, and I was trying to remember how my mouth worked.
Your head cocked to one side you watched me for a while
then nodded me a soft hello, and finished with a smile.
Ice broken, we gathered intelligence- you, a 'gap year Guerilla'
on a global reconnaissance , armed with just a shoulder bag and a credit card.
Me, a lapsed Catholic with an empty soul, seeking a childhood faith long discarded.
A shout from the tour guide burst our intimate bubble and I retreated,
backwards, gesturing, as if in the presence of a Shah.
She waved back, almost lost her balance, and a gust of wind would
have placed her gently among the sleeping of the Kidron
if she hadn't grabbed her hat.
And that was that.
I went back to the wall that evening, and the following morning,
I don't know why- she'd be bathed in the rose of Petra by then.
For a short time I was bereft, and stood, fittingly, before the
Basilica of the Agony, and then sat on our wall,
to watch the chosen wake up.
I think my soul woke a little, just then.
For God had left me with a little bit of love.
Unrequited, but worth hanging on to ,
worth building on.
It's been thirty five years, and in those occasional quiet places
I still think of you
For contest 'Love in a far off place', sponsored by Frank Herrera
22nd July 2015
Categories:
gesturing, love,
Form:
Free verse
So my friend said his sister was saying her vows
In a low key church ceremony three weeks from now
No parties, no showers, no flowers, no muss
But I thought to myself she deserved a small fuss!
So I planned a surprise that would redden her face
A Bachelorette Party so hot and debase
She would never forget for the rest of her days
That wee bit of naughty before strict married ways.
I invited her over to casually dine
And not knowing her friends, I invited all mine.
I decorated the place with men's private parts
And hired a stripper from "Bachelor of Darts."
She arrived right on time, a quarter past seven
And I found my friend's sis was a slice out of heaven
And that description is not the slightest bit shabby
As his "sister" was a nun from the neighborhood abbey!
I welcomed her whilst I was gesturing frantically
For my friends to hide all that would shame me gigantically
And to their credit they did, even cancelled the stripper
And we dined and chatted til I was feeling quite chipper
We finished the meal, and I went to the loo
When suddenly a scream went up from my crew
I ran to see sister slumped, white as a ghost
And a room full of people hysterical almost
There in front of the nun sat the special dessert
I had ordered before meeting the sweet Sister Gert
It was fully erect, took a long time to make
And for the first time I found myself regretting cake!!!
8/7/2016
For contest "Regretting Cake"
Finalized 8/14/2016
Now for "Take the Dagger from my heart, Please"
Categories:
gesturing, fun, funny, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
How nice to swim in sea, river, lake and pond!
Floating body, pressing water, moving forward
How nice to enjoy spattering, splashing sound!
Gesturing body, flapping wing, clapping hand,
I remember once while swimming with friend
To cross the local river to go to enjoy local band
Where we saw the singers sang hand in hand
In sweet voice, shaking body, hair, opening mind,
On the way home longitudinally in river we swam
All the while we gossiped and made lots of fun
Then we dove, caught fishes lately returned home
Many happy did return in every sun and moon,
Now, we swim paying money in swimming pool
And in artificial lake without lily though waterful
But funless swimming, charmless time passing
Though it is a game here with heavy contesting.
Categories:
gesturing, memory,
Form:
Pastoral
There’s something unique about the land where death, ritual and myth are close to the living. Time here is slowed to a point that it becomes meaningless; endless, as though it’s seen forever. The land is beautiful and mysterious, silently enduring; tinged with sadness and loss, but also richness that imbues a sense of familiarity; unsure if it’s a landscape from a memory that leaves a feeling that I’ve been here before or some disconnected dream that I had and can’t say when. The ruddy clay is heavily trodden with deep impressions of hooves, wheels and men. There’s a scent of hay under a dark gray blue sky; frost draped narrow cedars and moss covered old stone walls line an ancient path traveled by beggars, thieves, farmers, soldiers and kings; a common road used by many for millennia for daily tasks and ceremony. Here winter comes early to reveal the bones of the landscape and the ghosts that still linger. Where arcane gods once toyed and ruled over men determining the fate of crops, battles and loves. Ramparts in ruin once held strong against pillaging hordes; where much blood has been shed, saturating and feeding the soil. The weather worn bronze faces and gesturing hands of the local people; the furrowed bark of bare broad oaks and shriveled grapes on thick gnarled vines having grown from the same earth, echo each other in their age old tongues of the lost ways. The land and her inhabitants are inseparable even in death; she takes them in, covers and holds them for eternity. When the wind is just right across the clearing, on a night without a moon, the howls of the dead can be heard. Scars in the land continue to tell their tales.
Categories:
gesturing, age, imagery,
Form:
Narrative
Old man, blank faced, gray, balding, bent back,
suspenders holding up loose pants, a half filled
plastic grocery bag hanging from one hand, a
wooden cane companion in the other, limps his
way slowly from the grocery store out to the
parking lot …towards his parked car.
People rushing, back and forth from cars to
store pushing filled and empty carts, using cell
phones, talking, gesturing, texting, hurrying past
him with abandon .
Another balding old man about the same age,
bulging middle, red faced, huffing, crooked visor cap,
chrome cane in hand, head bent low, limps along
slowly from… his car to the store.
People rushing back and forth from cars to store
pushing filled and empty carts using cell phones,
talking, gesturing, texting, hurrying past him with
abandon,
When both men reach a crossing point in their
opposing paths, they stop in mid step, slowly look
up and give each other the once over. As if on cue
they look around themselves at this parking lot full
of hustling, busy actors going about their important
affairs in so much of a hurry. .then turn and look back
into each other’s faces..…
One breaks into a smile that begins to brighten
his weathered face and then the other gent breaks
into a smile of his own to share. From within their
aging shells both spirits break out with child like,
hearty laughter while shaking their heads. They
continue on their journey limping away from each
other without a word, the smiles still embedded in
their brightened faces.
I too find myself smiling as I watch the scene
from my open car window while eating my lunch
as people are rushing back and forth from cars to
store pushing filled and empty carts, using cell
phones, talking, gesturing, texting, hurrying past
with abandon.
It’s time. I have to make a call
and hurry back to work now….
Categories:
gesturing, people, old, people, car,
Form:
Free verse
Holes in both shirt and shorts
Another man of fancy sorts
Not like any other hanger
Gesturing with his left finger
Enemies recoiling in fear
Realizing their end is near.
Categories:
gesturing, clothes,
Form:
Lyric