The hand that signed the paper felled a city;
Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,
Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country:
These five kings did a king to death.
The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder,
The finger joints are cramped with chalk;
A goose's quill has put an end to murder
That put and end to talk.
The hand that singed the treaty bred a fever,
And famine grew, and locusts came;
Great is the hand that holds dominion over
Man by a scribbled name
The five kings count the dead but do not soften
The crusted wound nor stroke the brow;
A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;
Hands have no tears to flow.
Dylan Thomas.
The Bomb Maker
I make explosive devices
Dropped, hidden, trodden,
Handheld, mailed, custom,
I do them all.
Proud of my profession
Its' effects outlive me.
My favorite is the land mine
A child with a limbless lifetime
A dead parent
An unrecognizably damaged
Face on a beautiful woman
My clever prodigies
Made from plastic
Live forever waiting
In beautiful beach or dessert
Undetectable
But detonated
By the tiniest footprint
I can blow off feet or legs
Kill instantly
Rise to face height
First and then
Spray chosen parts
With maiming
Shrapnel.
Tell me what you want,
Anything is possible,
At a price,
With discounts for
Quantity.
WRM 2002
1 comment:
lighten up.
Let your Fingers Do The Talking.
I watched entranced as her hands danced while she talked;
The fingers slim, tapering towards elegant hands,pearlised with magenta gloss,
Emphasizing the darting movements.
The angular bend of thumb to hand acute,expressive.
The veins on the back of her hand, a tribute to her experience of life,
As mother, lover, wife;
The rings a testament to these roles.
The voice was measured, but the hands;
The hands said,
'I am young, I am beautiful, I am flirtatious',
As if they lived a separate life.
j 2007
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