Best Hands And Knees Poems
A few years back, one day, while planting trees
My shovel hit a little metal box
I instantly dropped to my hands and knees
Removing the surrounding dirt and rocks
I noticed right away it had two locks
It looked to have a filigree design
I smiled as though I'd dug into Ft Knox
Adrenaline had me up on cloud nine
With garden hose, I washed away the grime
Then shined it gently with my old t-shirt
I jimmied both the locks in record time
And what a treasure mixed in with the dirt
My heart was thumping in childlike elation
I'd rediscovered my imagination.
by Daniel Turner
A strand of pearls not tied with knots;
we’re held together — just a thread.
At times like sticky spider silk
and other times a shred of string
that aches and breaks and throws our pearls across the floor.
The clatter scatter marble-mess
of all the dirt and hurts we pretty-wrapped.
Without the knots between the pearls, we
come undone. On hands and knees
we hunt and gather what’s to be restrung —
each dressed-up sphere once a naked tear
accumulated once again,
this time to tie ourselves and beads in line
to knot together “could-have should-have” shrugs
and form a diff’rent rope of pearls …or a noose
and in this space of rest — the screws between the pearls,
we plot a dream more fluff than faith before the cobweb breaks.
No doubt, we’re dilettantes in love bites art of making-up.
Knots may keep us stranded
but nots will keep us apart.
Beneath embered brands of burning roof,
The firefighter waits.
His mask is on; he’s donned his gloves,
Ready to enter the fiery state.
Once again to battle beast,
Whose heart burns with flaming hate.
On hands and knees he treads with care
Over blackened brittle floor.
Making way through smoke dark rooms
Fighting fear from door to door.
Outstretched arms reach for muffled screams
Heard above the deafening roar.
Hoping to find before too late,
The source of curdling screams.
A scenario played all too oft
Within the hero’s dreams.
The task at hand his only thought
And the safety of his team.
Crying, scared a young child waits
For rescue from choking heat.
Then through the blackness something tugs
And pulls his trembling feet.
A Vadered voice says “it’s OK”
And hugs him to the street.
The fire alone remains to beat;
And return to fight he goes.
To find the beast alive and well;
Destroying, as it grows.
He aims his weapon at the seat
And from it water flows.
The devil dies as fire gives in
To the water’s cooling spray.
The house is gone; but at least,
No lives were lost today.
So back he jumps on bright red truck,
And into night he rides away.
In quiet contemplation,
The firefighter stares.
Holding back a hundred thoughts
That known might seem him scared.
But he pushes fear aside,
And treads where others do not dare!
She wore a gingham apron,
battled dirt on hands and knees
while garments washed swayed brightly
on a clothesline in the breeze.
She sewed and worked a garden,
did the dishes all by hand;
her wiggling giggling kids
would straighten up at her command.
Her leftovers were loved as much
as was the ginger cake
she drizzled with that special sauce
she always used to make.
Today they’d call her backwards,
for no feminist was she!
But all she’d ever daydreamed of
was what she came to be.
(For Mac's "Anything Goes Again" contest)
“The October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.”
----- “Portrait of a Lady;” T. S. Eliot
A golden afternoon,
Late October, and my thoughts
Are all of you, Suzanne…
Vestiges of your being
Appear on visages of
A hundred different people;
But none are you, not one
As green, as golden.
Hard it is to know no miracle
Will mend, no giddy hope assuage,
The scourge that slowly puts an end
To our valiant green and golden girl.
Memory takes us to days of indolence,
Of innocence, of children lying on a levee
Deep in lush, green, summer clover --
In sunlight almost as golden
As your hair -- beside a flowing river
Bearing away your golden hours
And the painless green of youth.
Now, in your green room, reclined
In shadow, our golden girl reposes.
Your courage lights the coming night
That does not dim the gold and green
You always shared, and still you share.
There aren’t too many jobs that kids can do
when they are in their pre-teen years, but we
knew of a place to work where berries grew.
To pick them was a job of misery.
In June, my siblings and I went each day;
into a field with hats and pails we’d go!
On hands and knees, through dirt we’d crawl our way
while picking berries up and down each row.
I still recall the rock ‘n roll we played -
our only pleasure as we all perspired
in Iowa’s damp heat, away from shade.
When we were through at last, we felt so tired.
No smaller pay have I since ever got.
But how I loved the treats that money bought!
The sails are raised upon the ship "Unknown,"
to travel slowly on life's seven seas.
I look upon such things as I am shown,
in hopes to solve life's little mysteries.
I now am sailing with a gentle breeze-
to learn of what I can until I'm grown;
so I can handle life with greater ease.
The sails are raised upon the ship Unknown."
There's waves I find in life that have been blown,
upon my ship by other ones decrees.
My skills at sailing these rough waves have grown-
to travel slowly on life's seven seas.
The shores I look upon are laced with trees,
their colors looking like they have been sewn
by angels with embroidery degrees.
I look upon such things that I am shown.
The work I do sometimes I will bemoan,
but with it I have gained such victories!
I seek a light that never has been shown,
in hopes to solve life's little mysteries.
Sometimes these oceans seem like they will freeze,
still other nights it seems I sail alone.
It's then I get down on my hands and knees,
To pray to God because He's on the throne.
The sails are raised.
.
on my hands and knees
Father
i came to you
in the gloomiest of rain
yesss
when mine taught found
turmoil
And
of course
on those days which i did feel
a hundred fold
Blessed
now
Father
i find shelter
in knowing
You
Cum to me my lovely, do you want to play
Whisper your dirty secrets
I want to bite down with my hollow teeth, Lick your Pearlie
On that milk white neck, her scent is alluring
I crave a carnal kiss from those succulent lips
She begins to coy when the salty sweat drips from her breast
Moistening down her thighs
My hand running down her smooth back
Let her stroll on romance
Tie me down to your chain, I want to serve you
Crawling on my hands and knees
Entice her like an incubus
I love her exoticness, it’s such an erotic flame haze
I’m breathless by those burning eyes and that dazed face
She castes a spellbound moment to my mind
Her complexion is memorizing as her attire drops
Flattery makes her turn and blush, she has an a winsome stature
Don’t you know I’m a Libra. Ruled by Venus
So I will seduce you
Look into my horoscope, you will know I want to take this slow
Aren’t you affectionate
Turn this into a fairytale
Now be mine
Girlie
The water rushed by pulling at me as I struggled to hold onto the moss covered
rocks, but they were slippery and my hands to not grasp them. I was getting
tired and the water was numbing cold, it seemed to want me. Was I to die today,
to be washed away in this fast moving stream and down the rapids. The sound
of the water was a roar. I could scream, but I would not be heard in this ravine.
It was a beautiful day for a walk in nature and looking down at the sparkling
water I had thought it seemed so lovely. I wanted to get some photographs so,
I made a decision to take what appeared to be a path down to the stream. I
stepped onto it and it seemed fine, so I began the descent. It was a bit steeper
than it had appeared and I found myself holding onto branches. I noticed the
ground was wet and soggy and suddenly I was falling, tumbling, crashing
through the lush foliage and coming to a stop in the water.
It was deep and the current was strong and I knew that I only had moments.
"Dear Lord, I don't want to die today, not today, not like this!" In my mind,
I saw myself floating with my beautiful hair flowing around me and my eyes
staring up, unseeing, at the Lord's painted sky. "Dear Lord, help me, help me!"
It was then, that I noticed a branch hanging out over the water and I grabbed
it, and pulled and pulled myself up onto the rocks. Why had I not noticed that
branch before? I climbed up the slope on my hands and knees to the top.
I was covered in mud and leaves as I staggered home, and still I had not seen
a single person in the park. At home I stripped off my muddy clothes and put
on my nightgown. I climbed into bed and pulled up the covers and I wept and
wept. I gave thanks to the Lord for being there for me in my terrible time of
need. He gave me back my life, that branch was his helping hand. The Lord
has a plan for me and it was not written that I was to die this day. I am so
thankful for this chance and for the important lesson learned.
Nature can be both beautiful and deadly, it must be respected, for it can
be cruel and unfeeling.
______________________________
September 14, 2015
Narrative
For the contest, Giving Thanks, sponsor, Edward Ebbs
Third Place
Your Heart
I long to touch your body,
to hold you through the night.
To wake up there beside you,
to greet the morning light.
To hold your tender hand in mine
on walks out in the park.
To whisper little words of love,
stealing kisses after dark.
I want to see your smile form
as it spreads across your lips.
To look so deeply in your eyes
with my hands on your hips.
I'd crawl through hell on hands and knees
being burned by satans fire.
If I could be the man you need
and taste of your desire.
But I have lost at love before
and now know from the start.
Before I touch you anywhere
I long to touch your heart.
Edwin C Hofert
trees always seem to fall
when a trail is followed
on hands and knees.
Under a fading Celtic moon, half
a coin left over from last night, my sheep
are feasting on pasture lush and wild
with turkeys’ wings. A titmouse chick-a-dees
from an oak that’s spring-fresh green.
On hands and knees, I harvest Indian lettuce
for a salad. Do sheep wonder at my human
foraging? I’ll come back home
wearing colors of the field, muddy knees
grass-stained; I’m hungry to savor
my tiny isle of green.
My inner child I oftentimes let show.
“She” likes me using spontaneity.
When my inhibitions I let go,
a litte bit audacious I can be.
In ESL, I act out words with ease.
My inner child I oftentimes let show.
In front of students, on my hands and knees
I’ve demonstrated push-ups from high to low!
At sixty-six on water slides I’ll go.
My grandkids were surprised when I did zip line.
My inner child I oftentimes let show.
The rides at carnivals I fine divine!
Giggling or guffawing, I love to laugh.
Short skirts I'll wear, and long my hair does grow.
I don’t even mind if I make a gaffe.
My inner child I oftentimes let show.
Sept. 4, 2021
For Chantelle Anne Cooke's Your Inner Child Poetry Contest
She wanders through the rubble,
Tears streaming down her twisted face.
Red eyes mixed with black eyeliner.
Her pupils shine green among the dancing flames.
Branches snag her tattered clothes,
Causing her to fall.
On hands and knees,
She has no will to stand.
Chains and locks on her wrists and ankles,
Not letting her move.
Too weak…
She’s losing the fight.
Days of crying and sobbing,
Such pain.
Screaming on the inside,
But her voice won’t work…