Wrist Poems

The Seat of Truth

The moth mistakes my bare skin for moonlight—recurring, insistent. Its wings dust the wrist like a forgotten promise, reminding me of a question I never dared ask aloud. I had held his wrist, not his hand. A ghost of a moment playing on loop in my hypnagogic state.

moonlight 
     TrEmBlEs 
on

Silverback

Silverback led his gorilla by the wrist
out into the fog and missed,
lost his heart and then his way,
sadly, he was heard to say,
"Don't get me wrong,
I'm no King Kong,
it's plain to see,
so, don't make a monkey out of me."

Silverback took his gorilla by the hand,
looking for the promised land,
a jungle bungle at very best,
made him

A guy tripped over my wrist but I saved him

….nobody dies on my Watch
This joke has been brought to you
By mes

My Wrist Watch Hands Point to Peace

I invented a new season for life because I got tired of the winter spring summer fall pattern
My paisley doesn't like to conform to the depression of polka dots only on the pocket square and not the entire outfit
Where's the art in the plain white t?
I see the aesthetic, but I want the screaming art

Wrist Chakras

A sudden flicker of space
Saw inpouring of grace
Activating both wrists

There is no mistake
Since we were awake
Endless are divine trysts

We catalogue this event
Of boons heaven sent
For record keeping

Mindful eye cognises
How magnetism rises
Within our form leaping

I Slap My Wrist

We wait for news of the sale of our house,
our home. Weeks pass. Unsettled. Unable 
to focus on anything else. All seems
temporary; provisional or not relevant.
I call to mind patients needing patience;
waiting for results. Not knowing. Tested.
Trust tested explores hope, rehearsing what ifs. 
Whatever news comes, knowing brings relief.
Decisions can be made. Actions follow.
In writing

My Wrist

Knocking across my abilities
That I could find it tough
The battle to play in no time
My wrist dissipating out of power
To watch the surroundings of ours
Such that my hand less weighed
Although no stretch made possible.

Thinking within my instincts
Where I should search some options
The decision to put into action
Oh medulla! Why no pathway?
To create some streams of

Yawn of the Wrist

Leaping, spilling, jumping,
The flowing crimson flood
Pours forth, my heart still pumping
The river of my blood

Notes On a Wrist

"Notes on a Wrist" 

the pulse felt
under nibs
of fingertips
translates a life

the semicolan
stretches like 
the devil
hungers 

it can 
wait a long time
eternally feeding you
drip by drip

ever present
the missing 
hovers, like a  
hummingbird

never sits

beak and feet 
wet in the detail
tasting the temptation 
to cut strings

fleeting
and fickle
like a child 
switches graces

the keys 
black and white
the forest contains
all

Wrist Watch

Technological marvel:
who’d have ever guessed?
They went to the moon,
powered by less.
The thing receives phone calls,
it’s got GPS,
a mindfulness app
for when you are stressed.
It monitors heart rate,
can produce EKGs,
prompts you when it’s time:
take your medicine, please.
Blood-oxygen levels,
hours of REM sleep;
If you’re under the water,
it knows just how deep.
If you’re lost in the woods,
it will help get

Ouch That Hurt

Time, night, and sleep, I could not tell,
For down on the bathroom tiles, I fell
I hit my head but not so bad,
My hand, my muse screeched “are you mad, 
What have you done”, confused, in pain
I looked, down at our hand, a monster 
Glared at me, broken, swollen, angry and red,
“Wake up first don’t sleepwalk

The Wrist

The Wrist

Bears the watch marking time
And moments sublime

Shakes the hand to impress
And flaunt success

Deftly bends to play the notes of staccato
And trills of vibrato

Takes the pain
As drugs enter the vein

Radial pulse strong and steady
Then later thready

The rhythm of life eventually ceasing
Unleashing, cut like a knife

The Attention of a Priest Or a Doctor

My head burning!
My eyes turning!
Stomach churning!
It’s a new twist
Requiring a priest:
To God close enough to clear the mist
Prayers firing while holding my wrist
Or delivering right hand on my splitting head
Now, often seeking a pillow on any bed!

Or should I a doctor try?
To halt this that does my system fry?
Would a doctor
Prove the victor
Or a worse

Wrist of the Snake Killer

 ( for what its worth. ) 



-- Instruction:  How to know there's nothing left ~ you've over-stayed your visit
   
    I recall the sun of old thoughts seeped under:
    
   ~ How to 'Improve the world' ~ leave something useful behind ~ something better.


    --Instruction:  The first evil act is eating
  
  I see the shocked wine bottles
    steak sauce and
    jutting ribs of celery

A Scar On My Left Wrist

I wanna be able to show everyone the scar on my left wrist
Without being judged, or mocked or laughed upon

I wanna be able to tell the story behind the scar
To everyone who asks

I wanna be able to tell everyone that my life 
Isn’t perfect
That however much I may pretend
I too am broken

I don’t really care

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