Best Handed Poems
She can’t be left-handed, my mother told my dad.
Miss Kneeland, the first grade teacher says it’s simply not the fad.
There must be something wrong with her, the whole family agreed.
Look at her right now, 40 feet in the air, upside down in that stupid Oak tree.
So they made me wear a mitt on my left hand for an entire school year,
Forcing me to use the other hand, their reason to this day is certainly not clear.
But I do type 85 words a minute, thanks to that and the meanest typing teacher that ever was.
But that story is for another time, as I’m in a great mood right now, and plan to keep my little buzz.
My paper is always turned so people don't judge;
because yes if it's vertical my work will be smudged.
With the other I've tried to write;
but man it just doesn't look right.
When I bat on that side
the ump runs to hide.
I can't even start on that foot,
my balance pretty much kaput.
And do not get me started on that 'right-handed thinking;'
to grasp that logic's like being on a ship that is sinking!
So over the decades I've often had to interject,
that being left-handed is the obvious 'correct.'
The birdfeeder hung on a narrow limb,
away from deck rails, discouraging squirrels.
No problem for the little robber
who raided the feeder day by day.
Repeatedly, he climbed onto a tender branch,
inching forward until it bent, riding it down.
Each trip, he leaned off and dropped freestyle,
disappearing inside with only a furry tail visible.
He emerged with both cheeks bulging ,
and sunflower seeds scattering below.
On a continuous march of palm-less thievery,
the brassy chipmunk mouthed his loot home,
adding to his cache.
my left handed lover
has a silken
touch
knowing
reaching
holding
and yet
breathless
in time.
Petermännchen handed me over his bunch of key
Hugged me and sent me to the east Aegean sea
There I found a bold golden bull
He was chewing Apollo's tool
He swooshed open his drool I forgot how to pee
My past transgressions
could have led me to negative aggression
released by a smith and wesson
or some other deadly weapon
I instead chose other directions
to expand my minds compression
To escape certain depression
every table served with medleys of lessons
At a young age I was handed more answers than questions
altercations
transparent affection
So I chose my own brethren
multiplyin my stressin
And many a greasy experience
Did manifest
but self respect
kept me in check
I came correct
The Lord protects
I pray for one dusk till dawn
with no blood upon
This world were on
A night so long
left handed scissors
the most wonderful dark green
feel mighty special
You called me handsome,
I don't have a red cent in my hand!
(In response to: "There's an exercise where you write with the hand that is less dominant
that makes communication even deeper...." -Laurie Ginn)
Right-Handed
We ate deeper than before
We crossed our names out
Until there was no one
left standing in the
Light of God
When I was younger I had
an answer for everyone
and everything
A word of wisdom
or encouragement
for every situation
But the longer I live
the less I have to give
Not sure whether
I ran out of words
along the way
simply spent my share
or whether, sometimes,
there are no words
left for anyone
to say
Yes, the longer I live
the less I seem to
have to give
Oh I have love-
and empathy...
Enough feelings to
drown the world
in a Biblical-size flood
of emotion
But nothing more
no other store
of things to say
Seems every time lately I
leave my house
I see someone
homeless, down-on-their-luck
desperate, quietly pleading
voices softly whispering
as not to disturb
their last dangling
delicate shred
of self-respect
and dignity
Which is hard
because there's not
much dignity in
begging for the basic things
like food, or shelter
from the cold
And while not yet homeless
I can't help, as I'm too
down-on-my-luck, too
And I wonder
what the difference is
between me and you
and them-
we're certainly no better
just people, jars of clay
what's to guarantee
that that won't be me...
someday?
Come empty handed leave full
hook: He wanted to teach me
he wanted to preach to me
he wanted to make me a whole
try to hand me the good book
of things that i didn't know
said the word would heal me
hook: He wanted to teach me
he wanted to preach to me
he wanted to make me a whole
he said now in your head
you may think you have find all the answers
but, see here,
my God is almighty and his word is profound
now i know you don't want to hear me
now i know you don't see my halo
but look closer and you may see the light
and one hand stretched out
and he bent over and looked up and said with a shout
Well! lord make her see
ole, lord let her hear
and i heard someone shout
come by hear OLE LORD-Y
and the reverend say
don't stop her, let her BE MOVED,
CAN'T YOU SEE, my God has set her feet
and someone else sang out and she began to dance
and she leaned down as to
get on her knees and she stood up again
through out her hands, lifted up her head
and shouted, in words of rejoicing
they where words only the lord could understand
and still my heart pumped the same beat
and I could not be moved
and with a room, full of joyfullest prayers
i wanted to be moved
so i closed my eyes
and I clapped my hands
and i moved my feet
and prayed as hard as i could
and still i could not be moved
its was only a time after
that i understood the mean, of each and everyone's own joy
you may come with a empty bowl
but surly you will leave with a little of what you need...
.
He could really play
That electric-guitar fine
Left-handed groovy
My boss asked me how old I was today.
When I told him I was 60 he said, "No Way!"
"Tomorrow I'm putting you on a lighter work detail," to me he told.
"I had no idea that you were so frigging old."
plenty of arrows
plenty of remissed mud wraps
its hte dud,japan
I’m a southpaw,
one of those left-handed,
upside down,
have to curl my arm to write,
backwards individuals,
liv’in-the-left-life
in a right-handed world.
Think It’s easy, e.g.,
being a leftie?
Think again...
we’re out of place at dinners,
have to master backwards scissors,
built specifically for righties and
we are forced to learn everything, in reverse.
We wear permanent spiral wire imprints
on our left arm from trying to pen
our feelings into a right-handed
spiral-bound notebook.
One day, I decided to break the rules
and now all of my journals are written
back-to-front, blowing busybody minds.
Forget writing calligraphy,
a left-handed, oblique set of pen nibs
costs twice what the right-handed ones do
and they are about as elusive as garden gnomes;
what, you don’t believe me?
Try to find a set, I dare ya!
I’ll bet there’s not a store in your town
that stocks them, even though lefties
exist in huge numbers.
I spent 20 years trying to do calligraphy
with a right-handed, oblique pen;
(thank God for the web or
I’d never have found a set.)
In parochial school,
the nuns forced me to
turn my paper to the right;
now I am a half ambidextrous leftie.
This did not set well with my Mother
who wanted me to be the individual that I
was born to be...a leftie.
So, I turn my paper to the right, alright,
curl my arm into a question mark and
write upside down.
but , I play a right-handed guitar.