Hands
Earned their keep
These hands of mine
Canvas Stark white Untouched My horse looks dubious Perhaps there’s a reason This place lies untraveled Powder over ice? Frozen ridges to trip on? Who’s to know? He isn’t the one Who wants to find out But I ask And he moves Does he trust my judgment? While I do not? So far so good…
My little stress relieving ditty, which should be sung to the melody of “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad”. Working Girl Anthem I’ve been banging on the keyboard All the live long day I’ve been banging on the keyboard Just so for shelter and food I can pay Can’t you hear the horns a honking…
Short days
Dark nights
If only it meant
I was getting more rest…
Bud Bloom My kinda Bling Bling
The ice princess Surveys her kingdom She seeks out her trusty steed To carry her on her journey Perhaps they will jump onto a shard of ice And float to New Orleans Or they may simply stand on shore Watching the ice burn orange
I’m working a lot And thinking and worrying about work a lot And trying to figure out how to stop stressing about work a lot Many visits to a financial planner later Walla! There’s a retirement plan I say, “I’ll work for five more years.” “Eight would be better,” he says. “I’ll tighten my budget,”…
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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