Handprint Poems | Examples

15

Silent soul
Sitting next to the devil
Nobody knows
What's gonna happen next

That silent kid
Doesn't want to live anymore

Agreed to bad things
So that he would be accepted

But the handprint on his body
Can't forgive others sin

He was just 15
When the devil did his thing to him

He was just 15
When nobody supported him

He was just a boy
With dreams
Now his dreams were burned

No wars , no fight
No doubt, alright
He thought it was a common thing

Didn't scream , didn't think
That it was a bearable thing

Wished he raised his voice
Against that guy

Who used him for
Dirty things

MIND

Where inside this skull
(this soon to be abandoned cave),
is mind?

Not an ever-dying brain,
but ‘mind’
that infinite capacity
of higher cognizance.

Did death leave us like this,
with jawbone open in a jarring grin
and nothing more?

Gum-less teeth chatter no tales.

Will we enter the light
as homeless as hermit crabs
seeking a new mind
as we would a new shell?

Or is there a divine handprint
upon us all,
a vast all-knowing God-sense
under our own hands
right here and right there -
wherever and whatever
we lay our hands..

For to be nowhere,
is to be everywhere.

Mind!

Turn the other cheek

She barks, "Turn your cheek!"
She leaves her handprint on it.
"And now the other!"

Hands

Slime covers esily
It’s engulfing, digesting
Like an acid dissolving with a noticeable hiss
Diffusing into the brain

And just not leaving, Never leaving
It spreads from the handprint
It dampens the cloth and drips

I shuffle

The apology reaches my ears after
But the smirk that is thrown churns my stomach
I have an urge too,
To let me throw my insides
On a cycle above 60 degrees

Let me ruin myself
Make me
Not even a chance to say no before
And now I’m just tired

It follows constantly
The colour of the shirt, the skin
Hands, hands, hands, hands
Tall, too tall

I should be grateful they didn’t.
Shouldn’t I?
I now leave a trail to follow
tainting everything, or is it tint?

The urge keeps growing
Unfortunately I’m not the only one

I just hate hands, I think

Museum of Me

Diaries left open and letters framed,
chronological ink waving from a horizon, gone.
Clothes hung to recreate a wedding, a dance, a touch – 
enclosed in glass cases to trap the scent inside.

There’s a recording of his voice that skips 
back through time. Her handprint in clay, cracked.
That first glass of wine, now cobwebbed, stained red,
next to teenage car keys rusted.

A prescription acts as evidence I tried.

Sawdust forms a path between pets
and my Walkman makes youth balk; 
to them my VHS collection is alien.

Postcards curled from saltwater offer perfect snapshots
years before we scrolled for one.

A mortarboard on display alongside a bus pass, front door key and bank card.
A blade of Sefton Park grass pinned down like the wings of a butterfly.
Receipts of apologies. Candleholders waxed in missteps.

Maybe, one day, there’ll be a travelling exhibit where I finally get to meet you.
And the curator will add you, title card and all, to this museum of me.

Family Treasures-Ephemera

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.

Ouch

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

Handprint

I am always so addicted 
to each word that is left unsaid; 
Every wound is self inflicted 
Go right ahead, go right ahead; 

Pain soothed by being quiet 
bonding my scars with your toolkit; 
Tracing the lines as you see fit, 
healing handprint, healing handprint.

Mystery Clues

In a mystery that starts with an abduction, 
And ends in what might be the perfect crime, 
I noted, with a sigh of resignation, 
How evidence depends on space and time.
There was little that gave telling on the surface.
The more I looked, the less I knew the score;
Just scratches on the Maserati’s fender,
And a young child’s dirty handprint on the door.

Recorded Minutes

I find my memories, to be
a collection of convoluted excursions
from every moment lived out of place and time
like the handprint of Paleolithic Art
that says... I was there

Could that my memories be manufactured
and not lived, how different they would be

With the changing shadows of age
I claim nothing more or less
then the recorded minutes
that reveal the arrogance 
in black and white pictures
glued together by mold and mildew
saved in my junkyard of yesterday's rusty relics
as though they were jewels
stored for whatever reason
 I remind myself...one day
 I must get rid of them

10/4/19
contest My Favorite Junkyard

The Hand Print of God

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

The Handprint

The Handprint



                  Sliding down the misted glass the handprint slips away
                      Left are only the streaks that frightened fingers made

                          Terrorized by this vision now forever imprinted in your mind
                              Paralyzed in your position too far away from the exit sign

                              Your sight is rendered useless blanketed within the vapors steam
                          The chill within fell way too deep settling in like gangrene 

                      Terrified trepid movement caught by your cornered eye
                  Death would be an improvement instead of waiting to just die...




                                                            05/27/17

Life Across Two Sides

I saw her down the street

Her brown eyes arresting me

I stood startled; She hid behind

Her pig-tail was a giveaway

Her handprint on the wall;

a consolation of innocence

I walked to her;

She looked down

at her muddy feet,peeping toenails

My sneakers disrupting her sight

My ripped jeans mocked her

My silence agonised her

She saw me;

I looked down

My thoughts ran in utter chaos

Her eyes asked a question

Her ears heard no answer

Her purple knee caught me

The drying bruise worried me

The hurrying world broke the silence

A call to work dragged us from our reverie

The piled rock-hill hid her from my sight

and curious pairs of peering eyes

had me rush for cover

We were the same,yet

I was reduced to her rags

Her mute pull stunned my mind

My rebellious conscious put to rest

We stood aside

Life across two sides

Handprint

I see life as a wonderful journey.
Each day is a new thread of life.
The intricate weave of our journey.
Worries, fulfilment, excitement and strife.
These are needed in all of our journeys.
When our paths cross the we look into each others eyes.

We worry about everything and nothing.
We are fulfilled by the simplest of things.
Excitement surges through our bodies 
When we experience new and great things.

Though our time with each other is short lived
We remember the memory of each person who 
We met who satisfied our needs of the moment
Leaving their handprint on our heart lest we forget.

Be happy with yourself and your journey.
Be true to the beautiful wonder you are.
You have connected with so many journeys 
You are imprinted on so many hearts.

Panic

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

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