Sep. 27, 2019

Blessed Hands

An old woman once told me
that I should play the violin because
of my long slender fingers.

My palms now are lined and wizened,
spots, on the back, speak
of ageing, like the rings of trees.

A Russian ring, on my left
wedding finger, a sign of wide
wealth received across years.

My fingers do serve important work,
a grandson clings to one per hand,
marches on to independence.

Their healing gift, pressured
across aching backs and limbs,
remove knots, bring rest.

Peter Clarke

Latest comments

25.11 | 22:15

Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.

07.11 | 11:14

Hi Peter,

A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there



06.11 | 16:24

A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.

06.11 | 15:59

Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.

In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.

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