Short Callused Poems

flowery bush performs her duty
dry callused flesh torn by beauty...

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Callused hands, stooped back
Temples gray with passing years
Eyes smile as brow sweats...

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blue-collar worker
the calluses on his hands ~
a badge of honor



Date written: 08/11/2020...

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With powers vying to have us ruled
The lull of liberty has us fooled 
The rich and mighty sweep it all
And callused hands are rarely jewelled...

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Thin ruffled covers  
My cold, callused feet sneaking 
Longingly sideways  
Your silky legs welcome them  
Foul dream melts, warm clouds embrace 

5/21/16
©Thomas W. Quigley...

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Whirlwind 

eclipse of emotions
shadow her descent

                      Falling 

like a deflated balloon
against the masons hand

                                    Crushed
Love escapes her callused grasp

Lay...

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Time and enough world. But we had
memories came, which lace at ends;
weaves that space 'tween callused derma.
Evokes at it's windowsill dust
particles. Life, I cry out.
Our story would take another;
falling into love was enough....

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country church memories stay
sun lined faces callused hands
heads bow in prayer the choir stands
Sunday.......... the world away
  
humble prayer forgiveness day
six days of work a day of rest
a time missing I attest
Sunday.......... a world away...

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The tic-toc in a cuckoo clock is but the static of quartz,
A piezoelectric pizzazz that strokes until the pressure shorts.

Did you know that your callused skin produces the same effect,
As the lattice of the precious stone that circuits a clock's kinetics?...

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.


  I took her by her fine
       callused hand

I lead her to the stream
    fifty yards below

     I undressed her
 and not with my eyes

     with each digit

  Her gestured poise
  I wanted intensely

  I did beseech her
              to
           bathe...

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Widower


In the miner’s shack
the vase on the dresser
squats beneath
a giant cactus
planted by hands
flinty and callused.

“When Mona was here,
this vase got roses,
and lots of water.
After she left  
I gave it this cactus.
It never needs water.” 


Donal Mahoney...

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Flinty and Callused

In this miner’s shack
the vase on the dresser
squats beneath
a giant cactus
planted by hands
flinty and callused.

“When Mona was here,
this vase got roses,
nothing else.
After she left  
I gave it this cactus.
It never needs water.” 


Donal Mahoney...

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Gettin' Stirred Up!

 

twisting and turning

from within the soup,

 

as we long to go rightfully

 

yearning and burning

to break free from everything,

 

but once we're truly poured out

we'd only become cold and callused

 

and then, the longing to return is surely sought

 

5-31-09...

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We are the voice on the wind 
We are the vapor in the cloud
It is us that is a grain in the hourglass

All our chasing, 
All of our fumbling
It is us with callused empty hands

We today regret
We tomorrow lose
It is our burden having forgotten simple things

Our purpose not our plan
Our happiness not our hard work
It is grace that sets us free....

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His hands badly callused swollen with pain
Working hard in hopes of financial gain
He keeps our house warm
Shoes on our feet
Plenty of food on our table to eat
He ask for no thanks from any of us
For him he does not want a fuss
He always puts us first
His life a hard labor curse
But in the morning he rises 
Goes off to a job he demises
For a better life for us...

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A Cloudburst 

Only now too clear, _ it seems… 
Lifted on haunches of late morning mists
A long lost sun once pulled from blue skied dreams

Only now too clear, _ it seems… 
That never known before 
Past early morning’s darkened clouds had schemed

A callused heart; tracked by tears that had since run dry
Hadn’t waked me to say goodbye  
I never knew that sunless day, stowed away...

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art is ecstasy
you dont need a brush
it is sophistication
like drinking breast milk
from the nipple
callused fingers of
the nostalgic guitar
burning  feet of 
a tireless lover
you dont have to think
just be and express
lines are in colores
colores form lines
art is outpouring 
of love from a being
possesd with love
it is an emotion
a passion
an ecstasy
i have
experienced
here

11.06 am
july 20...

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muffled nails against bars
uncleaned under the surface
stained with crusted lies
dirt built up from shallow promises

bloodied and bitten to the bed
raw from anxiety 

unkept 
both sides 
none of these nails remotely perfect 

a destroyed image of the hands 

callused scarred, softness hardened up 

there was some sort of twisted beauty in it 
unsure of whats its attraction 
making it so mesmerizing...

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Wrinkles and twinkles 
Wind colored cheeks
Callused old feelings  well hidden
His awareness of life is a tangible thing
brittle as slow tempered glass
The song of a startled starling awing
Or the croak of a frog in a midden
nothing is missed in the tense or the sense
But the knowledge that this too will pass
From life as a boy
He has learned to enjoy
Each moment as if it were last
To treat sorrow as if it were past
and fate however tis cast...

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The drum beats silent 
to the sound of my aching heart

He runs his callused hands across my olive skin
Bitter is my heart

As I lye quietly in my bed
dreaming of a life I may have had

If only I would have looked the other way
The road less traveled they say

My weakness was his gain
Come with me he whispered 
let me show you the way

Now I lay choking on my blood wasting my life away
Who will save me now 

Even God seems so far away....

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Chasing of dreams through time shaken seasons
Forming and shaping of whispery wills
Weaving and wending through common place living
Crutches and handholds like miracle pills
Places to go to when breathers are needed
Hammocks of cool shaded  quiet  away
Beside hot rutted roadways of unending  hills
Questions and answers and working all day
A cold glass of poetry sipped on the way
Held in a callused and tremoring hand
Still ready and willing to play...

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He hath become religious of late
prostrated before the virgin Mary
Cornflower blues blown to wild violets
and thin lines puckering in concentration

Prayers spilling in loud sputters from his mouth
She hath listened a time or two
to testimonies led by callused hands
Run lukewarm holy water upon him

Coaxing gentle promises from cold maidens
candlelight vigils by the goose feather altar
Ordered 10 Hail Marys, and 5 Our fathers
and she bled for both of their sins...

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Could I hold your hand in my rough callused own
Walk you through soft Summer rain
Hold you so closely my nostrils explode
In joy so exquisite it’s pain
Wouldst care to go dancing on beaches of sand
Splashing  in ankle deep surf
Close eyelids so tightly the red glows and clouds
And dream into softness of safe
We’ll travel together in dreamland of sight
Holding to pleasured delight
Winter wet wonders are yet to unfold
It’s not nice to be lonely  at night...

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