Palmed Poems | Examples

Along With The Thunder

in the corner
of a blanched bungalow 
sits a self-portrait: 
loose bantu knots 
the color of volcanic ash 
her living nightmare 
   it was so much-
stampeding rain 
wild winds
the icon of tropical thunder
with summer lightning
   but the spite of ash 
threatened the fete
smashed the sun
morning had broken
   an island smeared 
like God had face-palmed us
judgment for another place
another people 
resting on your gables 
the deadweight of ash 
crashing queenie's 
garden party
The Lord is come.
   handling her Scriptures
squeezing the Holy Spirit 
out of print 
was she wholly confessed,
to be due robes of white 
satin? 
  the sun reawakened, 
                ash washed away, passes 
  through her window 
  where she sits 
cornered

HER

A mistress so sinister
Sinfully embraced by
the depths of lusts's 
fulfilment.
Erotic and calm 
as if palmed by a balm,
so sweet yet forbidden.

The Shovel

It’s quite a thing to lay a life to rest,
to place rocks over roots rotten with age,
cover leaves once green with soil, sodden from rain.

Conceived in the meeting of metal and wood,
born a size from which never to grow;
used to move seeds, heave grass and then stone,
but trapped in the molasses of time, never carrying oats of my own.

It is quite something though to be grabbed by a child, 
palmed by summer sweat,
and then chosen again by that same hand as a man -
to see your farmhand’s wrinkles in your own creaking frame.
Man, beast, or object, we all age the same.

I’ve lugged more than my weight, 
cracked near ruin and wrack,
then just tied together with twine to dig holes! 
his summer son giggling on his back.

I’ve been thrown, stamped, battered; called all manner of names.
Left to freeze in snow by this fence, kept warm in that shed,
replaced briefly by plastic but found again, under dust and cobweb.

It’s quite a thing indeed 
to rust and be painted, 
to dry out and then see
as this tool of a family,

the generational uses of me.

Chores

What memories and thought pools we swim in
Between two distant unreachable shores
A sandy future palmed and green
Or the rocky crags of endless chores.

2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 25'
1/26/2022

Zack Waverly Vol 6 Page 10

My hand slipped off my boot
and ran along the ore 
as the sun made all the gold 
glare much brighter than before

The piece that I had palmed
and positioned in my hand
reflected so much Sun
it would blind most any man

With the glare now in his eyes
the Sheriff couldn't see
He found it very difficult
to point his six gun straight at me

I saw him fire off a shot
as he stumbled to the grown
and hit his head upon a rock
the moment he fell down

I jumped up from the ditch
as I stood there by his side
I saw him take his last faint breath
Close his eyes and simply die

I stood there for a moment
half in shock and disbelief
but I managed a slight smile
Cause my soul was now relieved

So I walked up to the wagon
tied the Sheriff's horse on back
loaded up some gold
that I collected in four sacks

I was careful when I left there
not to leave a trace
but I didn't take much time
To leave that crazy place

The end.....   Watch for of Zack Waverly's adventures

Crisis

Lack
Wanting
Needing more
But getting less
Pray Heaven help us out this fiscal mess
Unplanned suddenly most costly demands
Poorest people
With palmed hands
Hunger
Grows
Growls
And moans
For more life
As it consumes
The simple happiness of humble homes

7/16/16

Triple Tetractys 2

Kiss From a Rose

As I embrace this rose the thorns piercing my flesh 
tells the story of a heart break that's nothing like the rest I stress 
she loves me less and less 
A blessing turns into the embodiment of my fears with no lesson
And not a word from a friend will it lessen
I overload and burst the stress out with dreams of ridin hearse makes me fear for my future
When dreams turn reality you only fear the kruger
But me I fear the ruger that is palmed by
Those with fold arms 
exposed to the same style of the clothes you throw on
And with that I wonder what you're dying to see
Someone elses face when the one that's really dying is me
I don't fear any man except the one in the robe 
Who's all bones with a sickle snakes for the brain
Takin me sane and leaving my brain
And wake up in a place where I forget where I came
But that there's heresay but I don't wanna see change 
So as I miss the piercing pain
I will kiss the rose
the thorns they stay, the hearts exposed

A Blooded, Virgin, Night

Brighter than a fall bonfire but with the chill of ice, 
the winter sun haloes a gray and barren woodland;
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a florescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings to the horizon.

How it hurt my eyes.

Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol’s merging.
Trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, 	welt the dusk, 
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.

How it hurt my mind.

Splayed fingers do not block the sharpened spears of screaming light.
The winter sun, indexed, and palmed, scratches the face of I.
Within a dakened room beneath a pall, behind hides blue veins, 
near comatose, I sigh, the light, the light, until shades and stars arrive.

How life and death	both hurt.


First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 2014

A Blooded Virgin Night

Brighter than a fall bonfire, but with the chill of ice, 
the Winter sun haloes the gray and barren woodland,
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a fluorescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings--
to the horizon.

How it hurt my eyes.

Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol merging:
trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, 	welt the dusk-- 
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.

How it hurt my mind.

Splayed fingers block, the sharpened spears of screaming fright.
The Winter sun, indexed, palmed, scratches, the face of I.
Within a lightless room a pall hides blue veins, near comatose,
brazen: the light, the light-- I sigh, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death	both hurt.


art by JulieG350
First Published by Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 - 2014

Drops of Blood

Crimson rivulets, felled from a need for pain.
They forget to scream, and instead a sigh reigns.
The blade that strokes.
Each murderous thought it provokes.
An attempt to escape paled and failed.
The stains embalmed.
The blade now palmed, for the wrist it may dash.
If it may, more blood doth it dash
An idea that pain is relief, how rash.
This hurt so much, could they not ever remember to move on?
Yet to this they fall pawn.
Somehow to it they feel drawn.
Their thighs and wrists well clawn.
Now they are gone.
Out of the silence, a single sound is born.
The echoing drip of the dropping drops of stained blood.

Rhapsody

She didn’t think she
could dance,
so she twirled with 
a beautiful anxiety.
Her pursed lips begged 
people not to stare,
and so I watched
with open palmed 
eyes, hoping she 
would see that my
wandering gaze 
meant no harm.
With a shy pirouette
smile she nudged 
the vacancy within 
me; giving tone
deaf feet the love
it needed to find
hope of rhythm 
again.
And we danced…
We spun round’
like Earth
and moon,
surrendering to
the contest of
gravity, 
making love 
would be so easy
with this between us.
The music gave everything.
Delighting the air with an
elegant bloom,
and warming darkness
with symphonic charm.
We were strangers.
Infatuated.
Waltzing to the 
sound of our own
rhapsody.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.

Love's Display

Palmed within your outstretched arms openly displayed
our fates are mapped for all to see, believe or be denied,  
so upon the lines of time and faith, let your love cascade.

Closed eyes will not belay the coming, I'm afraid,
nor opened eyes change an outcome gone awry
palmed within your outstretched arms openly displayed.

Anger, sadness, fortitude, love that's been betrayed
can all be read upon palm, the future revealed, espied,
so upon the lines of time and faith, let your love cascade.

Within the carnival, behind the draped tent's arcade 
the gypsy fortune teller sits, her foresight on your hand applied,
palmed within your outstretched arms openly displayed.

Lines short or long, cut or curved, choice seems but charade
the hands tell all, the time of birth, of death, all they do confide,
so upon the lines of time and faith, let your love cascade.

So hold your hands above your heart let your love be laid,
lead the best life that you can, let goodness be your guide,
palmed within your outstretched arms openly displayed
so upon the lines of time and faith, let your love cascade.


Contest: Rhyme Battle Round 4

43 Cents

43 cents in my prune-palmed hand.
Clumped in a circle; flat coins.
Brown for the pennies that hold my thoughts
and silver for the ones it joins.

Cupped in a hand with room for more
yet weighed by the heart as less.
Dumped on a table to bounce and flop
while left for the owner to bless.

Arms of the Dj

flailing meticulously
left to right to left to right &
back again, with a knob in one hand
jjjjjajjjjajerking it to the side whilst the
other moves in sync with the beat,
palmed over the digital scratch record,
slicing in the opposite direction as that of the
knob twister---
with head slamming & hair flowing,
cig hanging from the side of the mouth,
the crowd hurls itself up in unison
when the tempo reaches 142 pounding fists a min. &
the dj’s movements make shadows on the screen
with the bright strobes, lasers & prismatic constellations of light 
diving & dancing down
into the depths of the human 
sea,
rippling out in front of them---
all pumping to the pounce promulgated by the pulse
all
pumping to the pounce
promulgated by the
pulse.

Indigo Blush

Pulling birds from pristine boughs
gleaning songs,blue- broken clouds
dreams tossed to deep indigo pools
slung into reefs of jagged clowns
   Semi-sorry for your burning hurt
Iv'e saited flames then put them out
In thorny rags -you're bled pure
of milky desires, we're devil's curd
   You taste it all void of screen
a cord of bittersips of sweet
I gather rainbows then bleach them out
( heart grapes beneath burning feet).
    A ball of fire on gasoline roads
you open your heart then explode
Love, amidst charred painted rose
gossomer bird palmed and crushed
Faith chin deep, an indigo blush.

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