Long Hands and knees Poems
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So many nights like these
on my hands and knees
Begging God please
give me just a little release
In a dark desperate state
with too much on my plate
Straight out of the gate
this seems to be my fate
Since the womb ive been denied,
hated and despised
Just another outcast from the tribe
, discarded, judged and tried.
A wayward son buried deep
, too many secrets Ive had to keep.
This insanity steels My sleep
, a weeping wailing black sheep.
I scream up at the skies,
is it all just smoke and lies.
It just seems the more i try,
i never find peace of mind.
So i pray my heart will heal
and God will give me a better deal
And true happiness i can feel
and he will show me what is real
Form:
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
I remember only too well
when years ago and once more
the clouds of my mind and soul
hung way below the horizon
pernicious weeds took well to it
infested my brain
grew roots and shooters
obstructed neuronal pathways
and pesticides only seemed
to further all negative growth
and now has come that time again
I am not talking about
a few thistles or dandelions
more like ragwort spreading
incessantly overtaking what
had been beautiful meadow
back then my wife soulmate and lover
made me clear a square meter or so
of our overgrown garden
and it seemed tedious and pointless
but almost like in prayer
I got down on my hands and knees
and fought the half acre or so
eventually the house and garden
became pleasing enough to sell and move on
thickets and malicious underwood
has sprung up again
a bracken underwood covers the ground
infiltrates me through every crevice
grinds up cracks and remorseful pores
the same cracks which are made
for the sun to shine threw
today I own an allotment
which has taken badly to
lack of care and involvement
time to move forward
with enough of the past being present
and for making every day count
in order to heal
I might keep some brambles
to harvest and even harvest some fruit
for now I must remember that one square meter
over time adds up
and that the elements are able
to cope with distress
and with myself
Please dear Sir
you have tutored me and known me for years
as have all other teachers and your peers,
we get along like silver knife and fork!
these past semester has been full of cheers
my school work has never been in arrears,
never did I let you down on homework!
like before as diligent as ever,
I read lessons from cover to cover,
and finished all my home work late past night,
I walk to school a mile along river,
did so today braving wind and shower,
in satchel was my homework done alright!
halfway down I pass a gothic tower,
flower gardens where butterflies hover,
not a human soul anywhere in sight!
as I was pacing my way to get here,
suddenly I heard some flapping quite near,
all of the sky went up in flames and bright!
like I have been taught in our school before,
was on hands and knees, went on all my fours,
I heard eerie sound, felt a big birds flight!
it was trying to pluck me from the floor,
but just managed to snatch my bag and soar,
to perch itself on birch tree of great height!
ran as fast as I could in abject fear,
was scared and thought it may be on my rear,
looked back to see but I was still in fright!
Now Sir! you may not believe what you hear,
perched on top of a tree, could see quite clear,
a huge pterodactyl like flaming kite!
you may think
I may be lying or have gone berserk,
but am still
shaking with ordeal of lost homework!
N/A in John Lawless sponsored
‘Flaming Pterodactyl ate my homework’ contest!
10 syllables with 3 syllables interspersed at the beginning and towards the end
written 22/01/2021
What is the measure of a man?
Is it the number of churches he attended?
Or the diapers he has changed
Is it the child he had to discipline
Or the one he constantly praised?
What is the measure of a man?
Is it the hours he clocked in
Working for the Man
Is it the sacrifices he has made
Leaving callouses on his hands
What is the measure of a man?
Is it the times he said please and thank you
Or the birthdays he has missed
Is it the vows he's kept or broke
Or the women he has kissed?
What is the measure of a man?
Is it the time spent doing hobbies
Or the hours watching TV
Is it the home he built for his family
Or the scars on his hands and knees?
What is the measure of a man?
Is it the degrees hanging on his wall
Or the empty praise he got
Is it the knowledge that he gained
But then soon forgot?
The measure of a man
Is not what he says or does
It's not the money he amasses
Or the great deeds he thinks he's done.
The measure of a man is hidden
It is what he is at his core
The measure of a man can be anything
But the true meaning of a man is hidden
Deep in his very core
It is being true to himself
That he can be that much more!!!
.
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
4
The darkness parted somewhat
I clearly felt air upon me
The eyes had multiplied
Had I really never died?
Now I saw others
They could be wolf they could be tiger
The growled softly hungry
The darkness invading my senses
Let to dirt on my hands and knees
I felt for something
A club, something!
Then I had it in my hand
Joyous as a thousand Sundays
I swung the club and they whined
Growled and backed away slowly
There I collapsed waiting for morning
Which seemed to never come
But then a light was seen
Far and away
And at once I smelled the ocean
An island far away at sea!
And the club I waved
Not gnarled tree
But skeleton bone
Falling to the ground
Confidence is such a fleeting thing, one moment you have it held in your hands and the next its squeezing through your fingers like putty. I crawl on my hands and knees most days searching for it, weaving my hands though the granular pieces of sand cutting my fingers on invisible shards of insecurity . Most days I won't look past my jaw line , eyes trained not go past the boarder, red flags and guns raised saying if you look past this point there will only be hurt. There are days where I fill my head with thoughts so elaborate, running with tunnels and twists I cannot get out of. I’m lost in my own labyrinth not certain I want to leave. Other days tones of grays and black wash over with hatred and disgust. Hues of blue give a flicker of color leading to thoughts I dare not speak out loud afraid if I voice them I won’t will be able to take them back, keep them locked in the places I only dare go on my darkest days. I will lead my miss guided ghosts back to their promise land seeking out the light only few have glimpsed. Conquering demons that lay wake in the deepest regions of my mind. I will learn to love this body by crossing lines that are only drawn in sand.
They were walking on the beach one morning…together hand-in-hand…when, overwhelmed by a memory, he stopped in front of a castle in the sand.
“Do you remember,” he whispered, “when we built our first castle in the sand?”
She nodded…laid her head upon his shoulder…and gently squeezed his hand.
And soon her memory joined with his…two children a chance encounter…unexpected…totally unplanned…who met upon a beach and together built a castle in the sand.
Back then they didn’t think about it…they were too young to understand how much their life would be constructed around that castle in the sand.
Knowing their parents vacationed on that beach the two children hatched a plan…to meet up every summer and build a castle in the sand.
After many summers building castles the two of them began taking long walks in the moonlight…together hand-in-hand
And then, one summer’s evening he got down on one knee in the sand to ask, “Will you marry me and help me build our castle on the land?”
And so they married…built their castle complete with family…so grand…all from the humble beginning of one castle in the sand.
Which is why…just like the day they met…another moment unexpected……totally unplanned…they got down on their hands and knees together…and built a castle in the sand.
Sad are the dreams that will never happen.
Obscured in the fragile years, where we dwell.
Trampled by turmoil, when all hope is thin,
Buried by reasons as it says farewell.
Sad are the tears that always fall silent,
Trails of loneliness down time's empty hall.
Cupped were the hands, closed without consent,
Still vanquished of truth as the dreams withdrawal.
Sad are the minutes that turn into days,
Now passing streams that flash in the head.
Turning and turning, a tunnel that stays,
Trapped in its darkness as each dream has fled.
Balled in a world with hands and knees bent
Nothing to give, as the spirit is spent.
9/20/15