Hands
Earned their keep
These hands of mine
I hate updating my photos on Facebook, my blog and wherever else I make an appearance. For one thing, I keep getting absurdly older everyday. Let’s just say that the previous photo is always better than the most recent shot. But since I got my hair cut quite a bit shorter, I figure in all…
Solo Trail Ride Squeeking of leather Calling of birds Riding in the woods It’s too purty for words. Just me and my horse Ambling along. It’s such a wonderful feeling Wanna break out in song. I found a melody In the beating of hooves As my troubles drift off And over tree roofs. – Mary…
I fell on the ice. I was trying to carry a 50 lb bag of feed from the garage to the barn in the dark because I needed to get the feed out of the back of my car so I can put Java in there tomorrow when some woman and her kids come to…
I’m trying a new thing. Perspective Poetry I started out with this observation on my way to work. Road spray Dirt blackened snow A scenic drive Ugh, not so great, but a bit comical. Poets and Writers magazine tweeted that I should flip through a dictionary and randomly choose ten words. Then write a poem…
“Forgive the dead year. Forgive yourself. What will be wants To push through your fingers.” ~ Marge Piercy, “The head of the year” Forgive yourself… Isn’t [s]he the hardest person to forgive of all? I’m still waiting for her to make amends The future is not ours to see or to make or to bend…
What do you do when you feel unable to do anything besides watch TV or sleep? My first response is to give in to that feeling. I’m sixty-one years old. Why shouldn’t I take it easy? The answer is because I am sixty-one years old. I don’t have enough time to have the luxury of wasting…
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Fantastic! These hands have earned their keep? I love that! And your photographs are stunning – as are your hands! I often think that way about my body in general – you know, that it’s earned its keep – but specifically hands? What a lovely meditation. I loved, loved, loved this and will look at my age spotted, somewhat scarred, crepe paper textured skin hands more lovingly and appreciatively after reading this.
Your hands, poem, and photos, are beautiful. (but I do know the feeling of looking at my own hands and thinking “who’s are these?”)
Lynn