Quotes about cupped, page 3
After A Long Drought
She held my beating heart
Within her cupped hands
As the blood flowed
She felt its warmth
Her hands swelled
With the heat
The blood released
It was like a swollen cloud
Filled with rain
Pouring out
Upon the parched soil
Longing for moisture
After a long drought
The cloudburst quenched
The dry earth
And the humidity
Filled the air
The musk
Filled our nostrils
As we collapsed
poem by Edwin Tanguma
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Elegy To A Bee
I found a bee upon the grass
Who faced his final hour
And cupped him gently in my hand
Then set him on a flower.
A sweet white rose that nestle him
In petals, cotton soft,
Whose fragrance, as he breathed is last,
Bore his soul aloft.
And though his tiny body lies
Within the roses' breast,
His spirit shines, his song still hums
In every flower he kissed.
poem by Karen M. Stakem
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Trailing War
In search of peace
the free hand was inflicting casualities.
The kids were buried like insects in a rubble.
Step by step in speculation
the streets were livid with rustic murals
of splintered blood on walls.
The foxgloves had lobbed rockets
on tall heads. Beleaguered
eyes nailed to fire.
I am watching you my art,
to witness the agony of man.
Burn, burn my cupped hands with snatched words.
poem by Satish Verma
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Children's Song
We live in our own world,
A world that is too small
For you to stoop and enter
Even on hands and knees,
The adult subterfuge.
And though you probe and pry
With analytic eye,
And eavesdrop all our talk
With an amused look,
You cannot find the centre
Where we dance, where we play,
Where life is still asleep
Under the closed flower,
Under the smooth shell
Of eggs in the cupped nest
That mock the faded blue
Of your remoter heaven.
Submitted by Andrew Mayers
poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas
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Coral
This coral's hape ecohes the hand
It hollowed. Its
Immediate absence is heavy. As pumice,
As your breast in my cupped palm.
Sea-cold, its nipple rasps like sand,
Its pores, like yours, shone with salt sweat.
Bodies in absence displace their weight,
And your smooth body, like none other,
Creates an exact absence like this stoneSet on a table with a whitening rack
Of souvenirs. It dares my hand
To claim what lovers' hands have never known:
The nature of the body of another.
poem by Derek Walcott
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Heavy Heart I Burry Them
Whoosh, whoosh, whap!
A hungry Eagle destroyed their nest
High up and up
Their mom, captured, away from nest
Turning back not
Had become an Eagle’s meal.
Little ones orphaned
Wingless and scared,
Escape, they had tried
Thud, had fallen to ground
One, a leg broken, head smashed
Another, out were intestines
Pity, pity, up I pick them
Cupped in my palms, lifeless
Up, the tree
Their nest, a ruined home
Heavy heart heaving
I bury them, no ceremony, nothing
An Ant, a meal it had seen!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Tomorrow After Yesterday
Your hands cupped together,
holding an ocean of tears,
Your eyes are the clouds,
of the atmosphere,
releasing raindrops one by one down your face.
Your crying reminds me of the sleepless thunders,
that never stops,
adding more and more tears to the ocean in your hands.
Your heart beating fast with anxiety,
waiting for the pain to become part of the past.
You're better than that.
So push the clouds away,
Open your eyes,
drain the ocean in your hands,
and breathe in the new day.
poem by Amber Leigh
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Corporeal
This flesh is
as we conceive
each sparkling pin
of sunlight filling
our cupped palms'
gift of the red
hand-pump's cool
water spilled here
in sleepy summer's park
before our very eyes
our lips, and tasting it
we know at last, need
and the wet bones of our
bare feet, the promise
[...] Read more
poem by Matt Mullins
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Hearts Door
I knock on your hearts door
and the sign says 'don't disturb.'
'
I slip a note over the transom
and its floats back 'undeliverable.'
I sleep outside your hearts door,
day and night,
my ear cupped to hear rustlings.
I've rehearsed what I'll say if the door opens.
You'll take me in your arms.
I'll knock every day on your hearts door.
I'll sit.
I'm patient
I am not going any where.
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Forked Tongues
The family evolved from
virtue to virtual image.
I wanted to exhume the body of truth.
Half-way we went to the moon,
half-naked was the bluff.
No choosing, no judging helped.
I saw the fear in eyes.
You found the inside was out
behind the words overnight.
The fountains were dressed up in neon,
something new was in air,
the forked tongues were hissing an arrival.
Cupped mirrors were reflecting the lure
of the city. Thirst was absent.
It was hunger in the heart.
[...] Read more
poem by Satish Verma
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