"And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it." (Psalm 90:17)
Below is a poem with the theme of my use of hands,
which some may think is archaic in this current era of technology:
Harp and me, one afternoon
My Hands
Turning
weathered pages of a centuries old book,
my fingers touch a piece of history,
for this page was once turned by the fingertips
of a lady sitting by candlelight on a blue velvet chair,
her linen dress, flowing around covered ankles.
Strumming
the strings of a vibrating harp, melodic echoes, soothe
the mind of my precious dog who lives to protect me
love me, comfort me. It's the least I can do for her.
Kneading
dough that clings to each finger until I apply
one more dash of flour to create
the soft ball that will miraculously rise
to form into the sweet, aromatic sustenance of life:
bread, feeding others with joy.
Threading
a needle with just the right length and color
of waxed cotton,
slowly I turn remnant pieces of cloth
into a quilted memory to comfort
through the warmth of artistry and pragmatism.
Digging
into rich, brown soil, I plant a seed
water, nurture, protect until one day it grows
into a savory food, the source of a satisfied smile.
Holding
an extended hand, I feel the presence
of tender strength, our fingertips, touching,
Loving
brushing the tear from a dear one's eye
fond memory of the gentleness.
Praying
palm against palm, I sing a song of praise.
Humbly, I give thanks to Him,
Knowing
His Love is undying, strengthening,
guiding each step to fulfillment of
His Purpose for me:
Living
from heart to hand.
© Jeanne I. Lakatos
(To hear my reading of this poem on Pod-omatic, click HERE.)
