Wednesday, March 16, 2016

The hands that rock the cradle

                                                                                   Attribution: Biswarup Ganguly
Image: Slim and Slender (here)

The hands that rock the cradle
Slim and slender elegantly manicured
Demure and sweet chic in disposition
Steadfast and steady in all confidence
What becomes of the baby so innocent

Starved of love spooked into demons
Went through life hustling and bullying
Pillaging suffocating whole terrains
Made Genghiz Khan pale in comparison
What to make of the wretched and willful
Shoving and wily scandalous by nature

Hands that guide are just as many though
Steady and sprightly standing like an oak
Leading and surmounting dreaded difficulties
Upright in demeanor winsome ever so helpful
Prim and pristine proficient and palatable
Resplendent radiant and beyond reproach

Macabre to think that the hands so sincere
Can spawn scoundrels or saints equally
Can they be faulted?

For Grace's at d'Verse: Poetics: Can
you give me a hand


  1. So true that hands can spawn scoundrels OR saints! Hopefully more of the saintly variety.......!

  2. Hopefully more of the latter. A delightful read indeed, well done. Warm greetings!

  3. All depends on which way the hand shall lead indeed

  4. A strong piece. Hands are merely tools. How they are used exposes the inherent evil. And hands that write are right, Hank!

  5. I like the idea that it's the hands that do the spawning here:
    "Can spawn scoundrels or saints equally" ...nurture (or lack of it) definitely has so much to do with it.

  6. Loved this Hank! After a person is born they can become so many things! Those tiny baby's hands grow up fast.

  7. We all have choices, either to do good or not ~ But I certainly pity the good mothers who feel betrayed when their children turn out to be good for nothing ~

  8. Those hands can only provide a foundation. What happens after that may be out of their control.

  9. Having had news of Anders Behring Breivik on the news for a few days, I wonder where it went wrong... maybe it was the hands of his mother, but not only that.

  10. Hopefully more of the latter.. such a touching poem.
    Beautifully executed.

    Lots of love,

  11. The second stanza surprised me as the hands described in the first didn't seem so bad. They were, after all, taking the time to rock the baby's cradle. This reminds me of the Merle Haggard song "Mama Tried."

  12. This poem speaks to me as an early childhood educator, seeing the results of dysfunctional environments and lack of bonding with parents. The trajectory of a child is very dependent on gentle hands, affection and responsiveness, 0-6 being the most influential window of time. It is not enough to correct, we must connect.
    Very interesting poem.

  13. SAdly.. so many
    have a guilty
    hand iN the
    fear.. anger
    and hate
    oF LiFe..
    for one who
    does not speak
    up when others
    are felLed low
    or never lends
    a hand
    to sad eYes..
    aLL they are KiLLers
    Of the hUman way
    of connecting
    iN Kind
    oF Love..:)