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Poetry / Reluctant Hands
Reluctant Hands
-Josh Randall
My hands,
two heathens fighting over flint,
came from someone else.
A wanderer perhaps, running causal away from sun,
from water, from ground, from air,
and from these hands,
soft when they’re not suppose to be.
He was a singer,
who couldn’t sing, a business man
who couldn’t dress or sell, a hermit that couldn’t stay,
a straight-arrow who cocked left
of trouble, but cocked so far he hit discontent.
This man fished,
lines had striped his thumbs like stories he couldn’t remember,
for hours he stuck his whole hope in a lake
and may have pulled out more.
He was clumsy,
but in a way that hinted genius,
one Sunday morning carving God out of oak, but skewing the mouth,
a God with slurred words.
He shook while he talked, stuttered while he prayed,
coughed while drinking gin, blinked while he kissed,
and died before he understood.
His hands, these hands,
recalcitrant pillars,
sturdy when the heart is clumsy, and clumsy when the heart is straight,
are puzzles with frayed pieces.
He felt like I did,
ruined hero,
watching from afar his worshipers prey to new idols
or worse themselves.
After awhile I think he just let them go
dance and swing with all the pretty shapes,
in the end they’ll come back,
clasped together and arched to the sky,
sucking down God and whatever else.
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A very well written poem. I read it three times. You did with hands what Thomas did with the “Good night”
I might insert the piece about dying in the last lines. This way, you could sum him up completely. By letting the reader know he died before the poem is over is letting out a bit of his mystery.
wanderer perhaps, running causal away from sun…..I might take out casual. I don’t see how one can run casual perhaps casually. But think: casual and running, how do they pair up?
The words “hands” and “sucking out God doesn’t seem to fit, somehow. “Sucking” and “hands” doesn’t seem to compliment each other even metophorically. I might find words that fit with hands: grasping, holding, reaching, etc.
Overall very deep and haunting. This tells the tale of a man who was only half good at everything but never espoused a creed. He was introspective and lived inside himself. You might be the offspring of this person. Is this correct? I like it and think it is powerful but it is not for the casual reader. One must dig deep to make the paralells. It sounds like the man drank himself to death. This is what i got out of it. Good poetry speaks to the reader. Many may not get the same message from this as i did. Good luck and good job. I made suggestions at the top. Sandi
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I really enjoyed this. I thought the imagery you created was beautiful and the tone of the piece came through really strong. Loved this part:
He shook while he talked, stuttered while he prayed,
coughed while drinking gin, blinked while he kissed,
and died before he understood.
Don’t think you need the comma after kissed though.
Very beautiful, thanks for sharing!
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