Thoughts Have Hands

A woodpecker tapped on the tree next door.

Flashes of red charmed my eyes, scrambled brains,

Banished all sense of self

to the chilled blue sky. 

THH

10/20/26

Waking alone, you welcome morning light, toss off warm sheets.

The dishes are all done; the door shut: No duties remain for tired feet.

You consider perusing a book, think to read the morning away. 

Watch sunbeams christen the room, or write a love letter to a half-forgotten self.

Smiling at silence, the possible curls up by your head to rest, you lean into your pillow, before leaving bed —

             rollover thinking:

No one requires my assistance; No one needs an intervention. I am free to do as I please —independence can dance with grace in the absence of noise:

Free to wander galleries of memory, review portraits of old friends, reminding of former connections, hanging next to sketches of remedies for worldly endeavors.

Displays sculpted by your hand, chiseled with stoney resistance, stand in the dust of unimagined effort.

Time expands as you savor gifts of the serpent’s fruit, your tongue lingers over one taste, others dissolve without force of will.

You love family especially in quiet contemplation,

thankful for independence.

You enjoy friends, think of kindness, laughter at jokes, offerings of fresh baked bread, the second glass, the unhurried good bye. 

You curate such reveries in reverent wonder.

You breathe in deeply the enchanted open spaces between heart beats.  

Purpose tempts silence.  

You seek solid footing. No cures worked; empty bottles testify to no lasting effect. 

Anxious feelings warn —

You contemplate surrender to old habits, red flags wave and beg attending.

You should do something.

But your conviction for lack of production was overturned. The judge threw out the jury’s verdict.

Released to indefinite solitude, without prejudice, subject only to seductions of conscience and stirring affection.

You are free to explore a forest of images carved from experience; note stretches of purple thistle, marvel at the wild, stubborn nature of weeds.  

Ignore the siren calls to follow prescriptions, stop praying to idols made of time.

Sit by a campfire, watch dead wood collected on a morning stroll, burn away slowly —

Red to orange, blue to gray, softening into ash.  

The wind pipes a perfect tune. 

Pine needles waft a smell of fresh green in your direction, awakening to new interests.

Sudden tears cleanse smoke filled eyes; and you face due east as morning silence beckons peace to a rising sun.

THH

9/22/26

After a summer of good work and a tour of Europe, pleasure dissipated under piles of mail, past-due bills, and interminable heat. 

Pure exhaustion took control.

My face an arid moonscape,

thirsty but unable to drink, 

mirrored internal conditions,

covered in dusty avoidance. 

I play Hamlet’s ghost:

Circle my world —

A full moon’s view,

         options at a distance,

         warning of necessities,

doing nothing but hiding from the sun.

Unable to distinguish seasonal colors,

Blinded by persistent sunlight, 

        I hide inside —

stare at dried-up dreams, shielded by air-conditioned reason,

too cold to move.

When the night sky beckons, I sit outside as shadows streak naked legs across yellow grass and hummingbirds protest my lack of diligence. 

Everything screams for relief.

Furious wings thirst for the nectar of attention. 

Starved intentions eye tomorrow’s promises with trepidation.

Mountains of anxiety burn for recognition as the full moon charms a cool breeze for the night and reduces the boil,

And

Gentles the light for calmer reflection on healing ways to hit the road or stay at home.

THH

9/16/26

Once I sat by a child 

                 Traveling by plane,

He sipped a cold drink,

     Spit ice on his tray, 

           Spilled half his drink.

To stifle a cry

        I used my spare napkin,

Dabbed at his tray, and 

        Tried distraction.

               

Do you like ice?

        A nod —

On the edge 

           Of uncertain —

Overcame confusion;

            Opened a curtain,

Offered a cube, he sucked 

           And chewed : 

Wondered as he crunched.

I put another in his palm 

Asked how it felt?

            Cold, he mused.

Can you hold it a minute?

          Yes, he said,

Accepting the challenge.

Keep your hand flat,

         Tell me what happens?

Eyes glued on the cube,

     Growing much smaller, 

Soon only water.

I asked, did he know why?

He shook his young head, 

      Not really, 

             licking it up.

Your hand —

     Warm and friendly, 

Like the heart, 

     Beating within you,

                    Made it melt.

I made that happen?

                 I nodded gently.

He looked puzzled, 

Shook an angry wet fist,

Demanded his ice.

That’s the way things go,

I smiled, 

From cold to warm,

                  Hard to soft,

We start cold and hard, then   

Melt down stream, 

             Change over time,

Dissolved in our own heat.  

Hard edges chipped and

rounded by time, 

         dares you ask questions.

The child picked up another,

Held it tightly. 

Slippery in wet fingers, it

      Squished across the tray.

He raised an empty hand,

      felt power and frustration, 

           knew loss of control.

I offered one bigger; amazed

By the crystal hardness,

the child held it to the light,

           Turned it over

                    Felt a chill.

Remembered what happened, 

Relished the thrill.

THH

6-8-26

Candles brighten birthdays:

Made for wishes 

Blow them out, 

Open gifts.

Every year —

Candles multiply —

Wax soldiers in formation — 

Crowd mother’s frosting.

The first five fly fast

The world — a mouth:

Nibble Cheerios,

Sample dirt.

The little person

Takes giant steps on

New found feet, 

Runs too close to fire,

Grabs sharp edges 

With abandon.

Falls, then begs for 

Comfort — often needed.

Sometimes given.

In succeeding seasons

Persons ask big questions 

Lean on security, 

Learn the price of gravity

Practice reason, 

And the art of secrets,

Earn a few medals. 

Every year candles

Burn with hope;

You blow them out 

Add one to grow on.

Every year 

More soldiers drafted,

Platoons arranged in rows

Assemble for revelry, 

Stationed in thick icing—

Defenders of dreams — 

Wane in battle.

Cut the cake,

Pass slices to friends,

Save one for yourself,

Enjoy dessert.

Toast the years, 

Add up dismissed candles 

Discharged from service.

Mark this one gone,

The year before,

And years way back.

Play taps for burnt candles,

Counting on more. 

THH

5/26/26

Tree limbs sunbathe

Naked in spring air,

Branches fondle the breeze, 

Leaves pursue warm rays.

Wind tickles leaves —

A mother’s finger 

Underneath young chins,

Caresses tender skin, 

Wipes away dust and dew,

Lifts little eager faces,

Sends them to play.

Spring’s growing season 

Incarnates impermanence 

Repeated with stubborn risk.

All invitations confirmed,

Earth, water and fire

Host seasonal flow,

Join love’s recursive dance.

And the fond wish of reason,

Begs a liturgy for permanence, 

To deal with imminent loss,

And pangs of chance.

But given spring’s haste,

And no promise of future tense,

Now

Smiles from the tree,

Trades oxygen with air,

Swings with delight, 

Leaps the edge of time,

Chases the sun, 

No hint of waste, 

Bets it all

On the strength of green ….

No fear of fall.

THH

5/8/26

A point of view, 

A passing look –

A horizon chanced.

Grabbed your heart.

You rush straight forward 

Excitement enlightens,

Catch your vision framed in glass.

Things expected to last

Fade into dust.

A roving eye takes in the skyline.

Your wheels roll faster,

No reason to linger.

Watch where you go,

Hints of a future on a hope and a prayer

Vaguely familiar.

Jet takes off, 

Engines roar resistance,

A world you know recedes from sight.

Feet press the floor,

Ahead a land dreamed,

As you fly through clouds,

Thick with emotion,

Dense with conviction.

Airport staff welcome arrivals.

Newcomers enter corridors like cattle

Similar to ones tramped down previously.

Except for art hung on the walls,

Who would notice

As you trudge to your baggage?

Signs encourage movement

To finish the journey.

Call an Uber, Arrive as expected,

Start a fire, settle in, 

Read a book, make a friend —

Outside your view creates distinctions.

Inside your heart beats the same rhythm.

Up close —

The view once seen from afar —

Begins to look old.

More sun, more salt,

Sea air may soothe the way —

But vistas fixed in the brain remain.

Travel across mountains

Land by an ocean 

Find a mysterious spot

A quiet retreat.

Look to the horizon

Get a new perspective,

A different point of view —

They mirror your past,

Moving life forward

As long as you last.

THH

4/21/26

Saturday we protested

A wannabe King

Poked fun at the beast

Outraged by orders:

                 Illegal and cruel.

Voices challenged violence

And belittling people,

The ridiculous work of

Heavily armed bullies,

As we proclaimed as one, 

                 We want – No King.

Sunday we waved palms in the air

Asked a man to be king

Begged him save us …

From violence and want,

And plots we don’t see, 

Or is it from ourselves

                     We seek to be free?

We celebrated his coming, 

And played our part,

Hopeful as children

Right from the start,

                      The image of us.

Imagined the triumphant march

Down Jerusalem’s streets.

Sang songs of the season

                    And birth of a kingdom,

Led by a man riding a donkey,

Orchestrating a parade,

Mocking our ghosts

Offering new freedoms,

                     In the flesh of a human.

His revolution –

Rhymes in history

Ironic patterns lost on sheep

          Too busy grazing to even look up.

We entered our nave,

Spread wealth and religion

Before an altar carved

                   By hallowed tradition.

The story felt as real as it is old.

Alternate facts?

How downtrodden people

Might work together

Reign in mercy

Protect every neighbor

Even more the stranger

Living as kin.

A revelation beyond reason —

To defeat mighty Caesar, 

And his well trained army,

Courageous and happy to die for

The son of god –

                     An incredible feat.

Like the one we reviled on Saturday,

Making America great

Defeat after defeat, 

Establishing his power,

Shining white,

                Trimmed in gold leaf.

A broken record – Déjà vu,

All over again,

Wrapped in old glory, 

Denying faults,

Killing the innocent,

Detaining others:

Black and queer –

Demanding the end of 

                  American Independence.

The seeds of heaven’s hope

Planted long ago by prophets and sages.

Named living water to quench human thirst:   

                    Trust and cooperation.

Abel plowed dry dirt

Anxious for rain

                   Offered up grain.

Cain envied easy acceptance

Thought him too giving

Rose up and killed him

Marked us with death

                   Left us in darkness.

Full of envy and fear

Like his descendants 

              He wanted salvation quick.

Cain built walled cities,

To show off his power

Guarded the gate from those

He thought other,

                Though quite similar.

All signs of difference feel disturbing,

Lead us astray,

Finding scant progress

In the human race:

Pull up weeds,

                   Burn up wheat.

With a desire for Eden strong,

And not knowing the cost,

We believe it should be gifted,

Since we are the chosen;

But mana from heaven

Turns deadly poison

                       Kept over night.

So we eat the crumbs

Brushed from tables of tyrants,

Scattered around perfumed feet,

As the master and his minions lounge,

Drinking our wine,

                          Eating lamb.

We beg for a favor

Shake off losses

Call it living.

Get to the vineyard by seven

Harvest grapes, bring in the wheat.

           Spare no time to bury our dead.

Believe dreams come true,

Fantasies too,

Sold to high bidders.

Shout hosannas

To chosen Messiahs,

Rarely check sources.

Forget love means serving,

                  Not jockeying for position.

Yes, love feels scary

Risky and vulnerable,

When divided by others

We endanger disciples

Who live in the open.

Show love heals,

Offer forgiveness

                    Burned as torches.

Bold speech in hungry cities

Where judgement wears purple with honor

Requires sacrifice of victims.

Told to ignore signs of suffering -—

If one dream dies,

                     Dream up another.

We pass the peace,

Catch a glimpse of love’s longing

In eyes of church goers,

Hold them close for a moment

Find some relief,

Believe once anointed,

                   We gain heaven’s protection.

No thought of ends

Kind but obtuse.

Scared to death

Tired of losing,

Hard to believe a Messiah could love us –

Hold space for our blindness, 

                    And mistakes made Monday.

Once the liturgical mystery

Full of symbols and ritual,

Became our drama, 

It revealed to believers

A story of hope,

          Said plainly –

         The plan for a future kin-dom

          Fell apart Friday

          Expectations crushed

          In time for Passover,

          To answer three questions.

What made this night special?

Truth doubted in moments of crisis

A king crowned with thorns

Murdered with scorn

              Deserted by his own.

Facing love’s execution

In fear and trembling

We watched our dream

Die like a criminal

             Nailed on a cross.

Complicit with horrors,

Scared like Cain,

We built a high altar,

Edited our story

Weakened forgiveness 

Created a new dogma

Added rules for judgment

To earn redemption 

Obscured our failure

               Behind walls of submission.

Today we trudge unclean streets in sorrow

While merciless soldiers

Armed to the teeth

              Continued their beat;

Like followers of Rome

Herding sheep to slaughter

Then sacrifice children

                  Before idols of gold.

After thousands of years 

The evidence is harsh.

The sons and daughters of man

Bleed from an old wound

Deep in our side.

Lost on Good Friday

Mourned in darkness Saturday 

Saw an empty tomb Sunday 

         Greeted sunrise ringing bells.

Woke up Monday, still bleeding profusely,

Changed the bandage,

Wondered can life

Love itself back,

After we beat it to death

Buried the body

Covered the tomb 

                  Under a large stone :

Hiding the truth.

Alternative version revised

THH

4/3/26

Cup empty

Feet bare 

Hands free

Breathing air

Float in silence

Buoyant as water 

Soaked with attention. 

No resistance, 

No insistence, 

Only persistence, 

Fearing no end.

Swing on the porch 

Hear the wind sing 

As glimmers of light 

 

Dawn.

THH

4/2/26

Grateful for this storied well 

          Dug by tribal ancestors:

Plentiful and cool, the water slakes 

           Parched throats.

          Hidden underground:

Found by chance,

          Fed by rain, filtered in earth,

Protected from strangers, but

               Urgent for neighbors, 

Always tame,

                      Always the same.

How deep does it go ? 

                 How long can it last?

No one knows. No one asks.

With morning light, we fill

                 Our jars with water to

Quench village thirst; smile and nod to 

                 Well known faces,

Staid but safe 

                  Practice familiar traditions — Trumpet —

               ‘So what’ —

                               Soft then louder,

 Over and over.

Obsessed with survival, we

                Barter goodness for tomorrow;

Tense with hope,

               We bet on fortune, 

 Heavy with debt.  

             

Then one day, drawing fresh water,

               Brown eyes meet yours, 

Face to face.

             Questions asked and answered,

Person to person, 

              Unlike other greetings.

Suddenly feeling seen,

               Through a humble request

Shame and inner pain 

               Dissolve in circumstance.

 

The looking glass image used to 

            Deflect disgrace,

                  Wiped clean to unveil 

A fragile face

              Thirsting for life.

The person who loves you

           Dares be vulnerable with you 

Frees hearts of home made fears,

            Shows by giving 

The joy of living.

Inspires escape from abject slavery 

            To cross rambling rivers,

And rugged deserts —

            To win a promise.

Reimagine whole new worlds,

            Or pursue forgotten dreams,

Resurrect the challenge to stay

            Open and fully human.

In this demented world,

                     Old wells dry up, 

Outsiders get beaten,

                    Rarely forgiven.

Old habits die hard until 

                     Harvests ripen.

So pay close attention or

         Miss the divine interventions

To satisfy thirst 

          And christen you —

                      Beloved.

THH

3-8-26