Best Handwriting Poems
I wear your handwriting
read you
tilt to hear you
f
e
e
l
the reverberation
of your voice
within
my
body
~ reach you
e c h o
your sound
m o u t h to m o u t h
let my hand
slip
into
yours
fingers interlaced
trace you
beg you
guide you
to handwrite
the truth of us
in h i e r o g l y p h i c s
across
my
body
a promise ~
that every word
of yours
is absorbed
The Handwriting of the Marionette
David J Walker
The confessional was
Paper-thin cursive in ink
A life of sin laid out in as few lines
As were memorable in a
Second person narrative
The ventriloquist's voice opened
The service with a far-off prayer
In another language of tongues
Which only the faithful could bare
As the maître de la marionette
Guided her signed confession
Utopia would open its gates
In the wake of the waves drowning
The funeral pyre
So goes the soul as the steam rose
From the cut strings to the
arcadian clouds somewhere higher
And higher
Old country house rich colored rugs hot wind
Gallopping hair whipped wildly at his cheeks
Solid double doors top of stairway top coat
Mantlepiece photographs in ornate frames
Small white dog head between its paws
China tea perfect lawn afternoon ceremony
Bowler hat spirited distinguished manner
Smile of welcome, something in his eyes
She trusted his good manners + hospitality
Embraced the shadowy play of candlelight
Scent of peppermint musk vanilla surprise!
As The Note-Taking Girl scribbles
And absentmindedly quibbles
Her fingers are animated wriggles
Churning out eccentric squiggles:
Letters of Ever Clumsy Angles,
One like a creeper that tangles,
As many like threads in singles,
Wherefore her teacher openly wrangles
And after explosion stiffly dangles
Before her the option of A Street Hawker
Bearing a case with or without a locker
And around patrolling with jingles
Or she be whipped and a nearby ear tingles!
But that wasn’t The Rescue from a writing
That keeps a teacher’s eyes biting!
etheree
I'm
learning
to take notes
from right to left.
Kind of quirky, huh?
I wanted to find out
why some people find it hard
to conquer cursive handwriting.
And how to make it much easier
by starting all over again myself.
Concentrating on letter formations,
I practice by taking notes at church
and I am getting really good.
The hardest problem being
I can't read what I write
without a mirror.
Just as some kids
find cursive
hard to
read.
written February 14, 2018
for contest: Quirks by Madison Demetros
"My real quirk is a love for kids with learning problems."
The Peterson Directed Handwriting System...
Tis beyond the depth and scope
of this electronic post,
and author, what triggers deliverance
housing bounty full memory absorbance,
yet no matter how many
heat sinks plumb cognizance,
most ordinary happenstance
often dredge up old nettlesome
rusty mettlesome names
of teachers forbearance
nearly half century ago
recalled in a flash,
and helped birth this poetic instance
break open literary
piece de resistance,
yet I will make
no subsequent reference
albeit once, about Peterson Handwriting
non cursively typed poem
filled with nonsensical abundance
dashed off viz seat
of my squarepants
typed, via strong arm lance
meant tubby considered pure entertainment,
so...,this rhyme merely hints
at cerebral imbalance
as minor rave and rants,
culled from convenient
20/20 hindsight stance,
while this quiet as bobbing sponge
minutely straddled across
space time continuum expanse,
and (analogously, invisibly,
plus quixotically perched circumstance
amidst wide webbed worldly metaphysical,
intellectual, and existential kants),
yet unable to disguise me
porous (poor ass) student advance
barely getting promoted,
cuz sigh re: Seine ed lee
imaged myself prince charming
to frolic and prance,
and dreamt about being in France,
when teacher called on me,
I immediately (whistled like
a little teapot) appearance,
whereby steam issued
out chrome dome
(scanned hull – i.e. numb
skull) affixed on
short and stout genetic grants,
which noggin always
(automatically) looked askance,
while me got alphabetically seated
from grades three to six
(mrs wells, mister stout,
missus shaner, and
miss rinderle respectively)
with absolute zero exuberance
(at Henry Kline
Boyer Elementary School,
I just recalled aforementioned
randomly accessed memory by chance
casually rifling thru
memory bank, freelance
sing, while pissing
away time performing,
"I gotta urinate dance,"
thus rendering painstaking years
perfecting penmanship style
(reference poem title)
executed with Liberace flamboyance,
whereat yours truly obsessively and
compulsively excelled at
duplicating signature compliance
plus crossing T's and
dotting I's with rapacious
perfectly ruled slants.
How Has My Handwriting
How Has My Handwriting looked to you?
Does it try to say that my love is true?
And how much you have meant to me
Pretty scenery which I want to see.
My love for you is like a little boy
Finding much joy in his first toy
Under Christmas Tree he does treasure
And mother's love beyond all measure.
So my personal poem for you I wrote
Dedicated to you and want to devote
Time to think of you more and more
Lovely one who I wrote this poem for.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
All my letters
are deformed,
beyond a cure.
Contest judges
trample over my
clumsy curvy lines.
Voice of my bruised
verse is not heard.
Sentences zigzag
with slow-moving
fingers. Unanswered
questions become
coffin-bearers.
Ambition is lost
in the cloudy
chirography.
Black box sounds
my broken dreams.
First appeared in The Literary Hatchet
Handwriting
I was sent a book used when I went to catering
college 60 years ago, I had signed it on a page inside.
What was remarkable was my handwriting
which was a little shaky and insecure like a person
who yet to come to grips with life and tries to
make himself invisible.
The book, about hygiene on ships and how much water
a person needed every day; the text was displayed on
The Facebook and they wanted to send it to me,
but I declined since I could remember every word in
the book holds no sentimental value for me.
At best it was a meeting of the past I do not care
to remember as it only makes my old age sadder
then it is.
Malformed loops and curls
followed my unsteady pen,
as I wrote homework
and answers in examination booklets.
With difficulty, one might
navigate where occasional legible
words formed stepping-stones
across my rivers of confusion.
Creating whirls with flare
remained a dream
in my spastic world
of uncertainty.
Jabs and lurches,
scratches and corrections
desecrated traditional
tools of writing.
I lived with this cursive curse
until meeting QWERTY,
my closest companion
of sixty years.
After all these years,
still hand in hand,
we walk our married road.
Every morning gift,
with your gentle hands,
you hold my waking face-
caress it with a kiss.
And so many times,
throughout each long day
they hug and comfort me.
Your hands, now aged and gnarled
still write forever love.
I wear your handwriting,
now sixty-seven years-
and it thrills me still.
I wear your handwriting,
fingerprints color my form
pressing poetically, buargeoning
on heaving breasts
and thickened nipples,
lyrical layers of cursive content
reflect rubaiyat scribbles
of "I love you"
across a bared belly
Notes of sweet nothings
linger abut
Warm hands
paint upon with
rapturous rhymes
rewinding,
brushstrokes bathe our bodies,
as I read you
hammering pulsation
of your heartbeat
comes alive,
as sketchings
adrift draft melting kisses
Tattooed tunes,
as pet names,
titillating resins
of a lovers gifts
You are in my skin
I found the first letter under my pillow,
in ink I recognized before I recognized the words
my own hand, but steadier.
Braver, somehow, in the loops of the y.
Dear diary, it began, in my handwriting,
though I keep no diary that anyone else could find.
It knew things I'd only thought at 2a.m.
It knew the name I never say out loud.
I caught it once, in the lamp-light,
bent over my desk in the shape of me,
holding a pen the way I hold a pen,
writing something I would never have the nerve to send.
I didn't stop it.
I think some part of me left the desk lamp on
on purpose, that night
some part of me that wanted to be spoken for.
It signs my name better than I do now.
No hesitation in the final stroke.
No crossing out. No starting over.
Just my name, sent, sealed, and meant.
Last week I found the final letter,
already folded, already addressed
to the one person I never worked up the courage to tell.
At the bottom, in handwriting identical to mine, it said:
I am you, but the part of you that stopped waiting.
I hope you don't mind. I already dropped it in the mailbox.
By the time you read this,
it will already be theirs.
The two of us fell instantly in love
It came as a gift from heaven above
We had to keep our feelings hidden
For me falling in love was forbidden.
You wrote me a letter long, long ago
Exquisite writing from my youthful beau
But the letter had been opened and read
Causing my poor heart much sorrow and stress.
We were young, love was frowned upon
It became impossible, had to move on
I never saw you, not ever again
It wasn’t easy to live with the pain.
I wear your handwriting etched on my heart
Inked in vibrant colourfulness of art
Words I’ll cherish till the stars cease to shine
Written once upon an enchanted time.
You make my day with
white words you say
I wear your handwriting
As if you decide my fate
I’m hopelessly in love
With you life is an adventure
My red heart like an arrow
Shot across blue skies
Where a sparrow flies
You send me to the moon
And I swoon at your feet
What’s even better is
You’re clever to also love me
Despite my cheekiness
I enjoy our little chats
And even our spats
Relationship dips into our souls
We make love like doves
In a sky of vivid rainbows
I wear your handwriting
In my womb where children bloom
A product of our union
Each breath I take feels
Like I’m drowning in a lake
Of love but you save me
With a chocolate kiss
Full of air light and bliss
I wear your handwriting
In my red heart of art
Bleeding poetic psalms
Beating dancing like star
Bringing joyful light where
Once was black dark
With the slightest kiss
Creating kinetic spark
I tattoo your spirit
With blue ink of my heart
Wear my handwriting
Whether near me or far
Bonded by chemistry
Cherish our unity
Love forever bonding