Best Handprint Poems
I awake in the morning at the breaking of day,
I go out for you see it's my time to pray.
With the quietness all around me his voice i can hear,
As i walk thru the dew, I feel his presence so near.
All the beauty i see how can one say he's not real,
For his handprint is seen in every flower, tree, and hill.
"lord, you are my sunshine that helps me to grow."
"lord, you are my refuge when i need a safe place to go."
"lord, you are my shelter when life isn't fair."
"lord, you are the friend i can talk to, because i know that you care."
"i treasure each morning, lord, i spend with you,
Your strength helps me face each day i go through,
I can't imagine how I’d make it without all that you do,
It's a pleasure each morning, lord, just to spend it with you."
Categories:
handprint, faith, happiness, me, me,
Form:
Rhyme
She barks, "Turn your cheek!"
She leaves her handprint on it.
"And now the other!"
Categories:
handprint, anger, child abuse, evil,
Form:
Senryu
We see God's footprints, each and every day
The trees, the mountains, the sea
He made this beautiful world
For me
He made the moon, stars, the sun
I love everything that He have done
I am so blessed, happy and free
He made this wonderful world
For me
Many of us love what we see
Beautiful flowers, even rain on a stormy day
Fresh scent of the green grass
He gave this beautiful world
For us
Categories:
handprint, god, joy, uplifting,
Form:
Light Verse
I was sleeping and dreaming, silently screaming, while violently weeping And mildly feeling that I was honestly grieving I was quitely greeting my anxiety's breathing It was wildy eating at who I was... I could see through the mirrior he was frustrated Feeling devestated, felt isolated, feeled truly aggravated Did I mention the love and hatred upon his eyes Or even the soul teared through a genocide A gemini inside, but set aside he felt terrified But through the lies disguised in your mind He was ultimately petrified...It was you that was scarier then ever, even his barrier Now I'm flying high like a harrier, with you i'm more marrier Was it scary cause of your terror, or your character? See I truly miss you miss, you're a beautiful beautious Broken and brutal, but with you I see what beauty is I love it, cause you're so humorous, is it obvious? I'm operating this auto race Just for you, I'd be dominating...I'd be going pedal to the metal, just till it's settled I just want to win a medal, I'm feeling kind of dreadful I've even beaten my only devil, going crazy, am I mental? Nah, it's where I extract scratched tangets and you stare vast in past pamphlets And you have no answers for your last math's classes, within exams I see you vanishing You close your eyes and drift in planets'n'canvases, and you crash in crafted canyons That clash with granite and imagitive paniced bandits with a habit that granted An attached handprint that reflected my poetic languages They call us anguished animals, but I pass on my damages, on through these messages See I may look different with my clothes that are charred and almost carved off I'm scorching like dark hearts, and warped like barked bronze Can you see I was meant for journalling? I'll be discerning them, as they see me surfacing I'll just be surging in, and it's you that i'd prefer to bring even out of all these earth-a-lings I hope it's permenant, you showed me what my purpose is, I needed the encouragement It was a form of your subtle perfectness, is it courteous that you bring me nervousness? Right now, you got me prouder then, all my extended ends, it's pride from you that i'm conjuring in.... Your loves got me flying high in your turbulence, it's a superb inherent gift, I don't think I could picture it, It has me feeling one with the churches and all my burning urges end...
Categories:
handprint, anxiety, beautiful, change, feelings,
Form:
Narrative
I found a fossil hiding
near something overgrown,
a historical handprint etched
in a slab of ancient stone.
I trace the imprint idly
and marvel at its design-
the grooves coil and curve around,
and then become entwined.
Categories:
handprint, allegory, history, nature, time,
Form:
Rhyme
The Choctaw
never taught me what the
Choctaw would’ve taught me.
The Australopithecine never taught me what
the Australopithecine would’ve taught me of.
The Memories, these Memories,
our Memories are fading songs in
an echoeless cave.
The listeners have tired,
moved on.
The choir sang, regardless...
...for a time.
And, in time, the silence overcame
the joys of recalling and the calling out
was no longer met with the
Response.
The ochre greened-over,
the iron dust fell from frost and
puddled dryly on the floor.
Summer winds, hot and desiccating,
soon scoured the walls and ushered out
the swirling cinnamon sand.
The drums beat to mineral-rich cave-dew,
on occasion. A sometime rain that formed cones.
They stretched with weatherings; sometimes taut,
sometimes loose. Their stories lost, nothing taught.
In time, their skins followed their long-lost bones into
the buried burned and carved, now-broken empty bones
Home. The silent tumulting earth. The cold overlay of the
Singeing Beneath. The singing stalled. The echoes bounced for a time from
voice to ear to wall to child to child to wall to stone to dust.
The stars never taught me what
the stars might then have taught me.
The dreams and dancings, the tremulous and then-credulous
tremolos, the inspirations of ululations, the song-stories of
peoples, of healings, of wilds, of ways...now silent.
This silence, in this echoless cave,
is the most wanting, most missing,
Sound.
Sound I’ve ever heard.
The cave never taught me.
The music never taught me.
The drum never taught me.
The dance never taught me.
The cave never taught me.
The fire is out, the embers lost.
The handprint remains on a wet wall in a dim corner in an out-of-the-way
scree-field crevasse just past the Cree field impasse.
The teachers are gone.
The ancestors quiet.
The cave never taught me.
The silence may
yet.
Categories:
handprint, philosophy, silence, student,
Form:
Free verse
You should feel ashamed.
What are you an idiot?
The woman is standing there with a baby crying in her arms.
The train is starting and stopping, rapid, erratic, uncaring.
Get the hell up and give this woman your seat!
God, you'd think that Tufts education would give you even a shred of common sense.
Unbelievable.
You should feel ashamed.
He is your blood.
You don't turn your back on him.
No matter what he says to you, take it lying down.
Like a doormat with too many footprints,
he'd stomp you into the ground so flat you'd barely qualify as human.
Disgusting.
You should feel ashamed.
I am your elder and caretaker.
How DARE you be fresh with me!
(Smack!!)
There, now your shame is made manifest
in a handprint across your cheek.
Do not misbehave.
Deviant.
You should feel ashamed.
A sinful heartless monster.
She was just a little girl . (i was just a little boy)
All for gratification.
God you make me sick.
Perverted.
YOU SHOULD FEEL ASHAMED, BIG TIME
THE VILE HORRIFIC THOUGHTS IN YOUR MIND
I MADE YOU IN MY IMAGE
GO AND TELL THE PEOPLE
GO AND BURN DOWN THE CITIES
GO RAPE AND PILLAGE THE INNOCENT
THIS IS WHO YOU ARE
BECAUSE THIS IS WHO I SAY YOU ARE
IF YOU QUESTION ME EVEN FOR A SECOND
I SWEAR ON MY LIFE GOD WILL STRIKE YOU BLIND
A SINFUL HEARTLESS MONSTER
I MADE YOU IN MY IMAGE
DEATHWORSHIPPER
(ok ok i get it.
but i don't think i should feel ashamed.
because shame is misdirected anger,
and anger is another name for fear,
none of which are even remotely loving)
(so i'll tell you what we're gonna do...
you can all feel ashamed on my behalf.
you carry the overwhelming guilt, the recorded evidence...
i am a sinful heartless monster)
(just keep repeating that to yourselves over and over again,
and leave me the hell alone.
i'll be outside on a long overdue leisurely stroll.
believe me, i could use a breath of fresh air)
Categories:
handprint, me, woman, education, me,
Form:
Free verse
The stilled portrait tells of a past
A past where the painted girl in blue ran wild
Dandelions clutched in her small fists
A penny in a wishing well
Her ear pressed to a conch
Wanting
Hoping
Needing to know you really could hear the ocean
In Arizona
And the red paint handprint
Told of a day when she held her breath
To quiet her fear
When a bumblebee landed
On her cinnamon dusted nose.
And when she couldn’t stay still any longer
It simply flew away.
A discarded photograph on her bed
Shows two girls laughing and posing
For the awaited flash
Ice cream on the back porch days
Melted strawberry Chapstick
Always in their pockets
Because the cherry tasted like cough syrup.
A grainy Polaroid pinned to the wall
Full of barely visible faces
You could tell she liked to experiment
With boys, looks, and friendships
Heavy lidded eyes and a
Dark color scheme
Mouth frozen in a smirk
Earring made of fake crystal
Purple dyed curls
Arm around the girl on the porch
At a different stage of life
A desktop background,
Brightly lit
Taken in a school hallway
A blonde and a red-head
One hand on his shoulder
His lips pressed to her cheek
Both smiling
Eyes closed
Her guard was down
Her hair like a waterfall
And his hand in hers
A picture slipped between pages of a book
Capturing a torrential downpour
Of graduation caps
Black polyester against
White cotton clouds and a silver-blue sky
And you can almost hear the cheers
Celebrating an old end and
A new beginning.
Categories:
handprint, age, growing up, life,
Form:
Free verse
on my tv
a sticky handprint
her small coffin
Categories:
handprint, death,
Form:
Haiku
Her face showed he'd come off as predal
Now it was too late to backpedal
"Stupid wins prizes,"
She shouts, "of all sizes,"
Her handprint now worn like a medal
Categories:
handprint, conflict, funny, giggle, humor,
Form:
Limerick
Manic canvas daze
Splashing teary blue
Handprint red
Torn out strands of aging grays
Emotions of tirades spent
Manic canvas daze
Cherry change of mood
Orange ray kisses spread
Green sorrys spray
Yellow smiles meant
Manic canvas daze
Really only white or black
Categories:
handprint, angst, confusion, depression,
Form:
Free verse
Never crossed my mind
When I get attached into wind's clothes
While it runs noisy in our courtyard home,
I'll stumble suddenly:
In filament spiders in upper door of home,
In my father's handprint on a table
In the smell of my mother's dress,
In bedroom
I'll stumble
In remnants of bread crumbs on table
In wailing' candles, rustle curtains,
In dark mirrors, dormancy seats'
In cobwebs in corners,
In clothing, shadows,
In every things
Night here in everywhere!
But I woke up dazed, on alarm clock,
Exactly, on completely death
Written by © Fatima Nusairat
Categories:
handprint, lost,
Form:
Free verse
If all of eternity can be measured in the palm of God’s hand,
And if every created world is His handiwork, then who can
Challenge Him in what He creates, what He paints, and what
He destroys?
For our planet, Earth, He set forth a canvas which depicts the
Stories of the foundations of the world, the stories of the elements
Of nature, the stories of nations, the stories of peoples, and the
Stories of you and I.
With God, there is no beginning and no end. Time has always
Existed, and He alone created time. Our world is known,
But we do not know the existence of other worlds. Mystery.
That is His name.
What is the handprint of Eternal God? It is the very books
Which He has written which clearly reveal His continued
Presence with mankind.
LET GOD ALONE REIGN SUPREME
Categories:
handprint, christian, creation,
Form:
Narrative
In the corner of a room is a showcase
received from a library rummage sale.
It's being utilized differently than
its original purpose for the public.
It is now very much a family focus.
On top of the case are two pairs of small
shoes originally purchased some 40 years
ago for our sons who are now 42 and 46.
Three garments hang inside this glass enclosure.
First, our daughter who is 50, has a high school
jacket with her name inscribed, and there's her
Yearbook dated 1989. There is a Boy Scouts of
America shirt belonging to our oldest son. Next,
there is a beautiful little vest of our youngest son
denoting him as a member of the church's group
known as 'King's Kids'. Finally, there's also a handprint
in a clay mold. It is the handprint image of our youngest
son with his name inscribed and the year 1987, when he
was 6 years old.
These are precious items of our kids from yesteryears.
We have embraced all of these family treasures for more
than 35 years, and display them proudly with much
gratitude toward God.
Categories:
handprint, family,
Form:
Narrative
You are the warmth that cloaks my fragile structure.
Emotional to pecks and blows; goosebumps to the chill of the autumn breeze.
You are characterized by scars.
Your color washed over me,
beautifully dark.
You stretch and expand and make room to hold life.
You resists pain,
You protect my treasures,
You are a canvas,
a masterpiece of freckles and moon shaped birthmarks
white spots, bumps,
you are full of pinks and purples
soft, and ruff.
You dream of touch and connection.
You are the landmark to past lovers
a handprint in the sand.
Once washed away you refuse to forget.
They have called you beautiful and I have denied it.
I have covered your nature and beauty.
I have taken you for granted.
I have yet to truly accept you for who you are.
My skin.
I want to never forget it.
Skin is love, experience,
It is a teller of stories reluctant to hide the truth.
It speaks of hardships and it stores its proof.
Skin knows of first kisses and remembers of being embraced.
It is shy of its insecurities but it owns up to it's mistakes.
Skin mends its wounds.
Skin is honest and gentle.
It listens and feels.
Skin sheds off the weight of the world.
It leaves behind a portion of itself like the dandelion.
It is so selfless and free.
It trusts like poetry...
It gives in.
Categories:
handprint, abuse, art, beauty, body,
Form:
Free verse