Heritage
The ancestors give us
a foot, a good hand,
a great fault, all.
I am born
to all things.
Poems on the topic: hand
Poems on the topic “hand” on Poets.by.
Xenograft
It is a pig heart I dine with,
sometimes in hell and others
at Mother Rum’s.
Go home and be pretty again,
my left hand.
Dreamtime
Clock by clock, a strange time
called me out of the world.
I live in a sufficiency of parts:
old hands, ear,
heart as cheerful as a bed.
Reluctant Prophet
I see a sea of hands,
a wine seller in the wine cellar,
a night made even with the sun.
What to do? I pray for
a change of tune.
High
High, I desire
the writ of the Lord,
answer a judge
with three pints of wine
and take by mistake for supper
a hand with strawberry on it.
Extreme position
My foot came to see my hand
as an impertinent echo,
a gone member, thinking how to stand—
a thing on whom no being went.
Risk assessment
the rich fear too great a liberty
hands singing in the fields
without calling God
to make a new ground
without the price of order
bound up in a book
Absence makes the heart
absent with my wife all afternoon
a mean joy
my hands full of quiet
Hands
my hands all morning meet
to put things in order
grow fat with content
and love a falling out
like the lord and lady
of a nothing little town
Begin the beguine
in many hands
I perceive a dance
of great use
and small trouble
dark and light
ice
wine
Youth revisited
We were a hit we were pretty
only hands were handsome as we
and we were young
there at night—
easily stirred
and as green as boats.
Handheld
In bed I talk
to my hand
in rising hopes of going out
with the fleet hand of a woman
a hand ready to run
home to the chest.
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