In these hands
a journey be
legend of the person
who used to be
calloused palms
scarred knuckles
crooked fingers
that should
hands that scream
another truth
different reality
hands that
drive me
down the trai,
you hobble
to the woman
whose hands
these be
hands that
shrugged off
I treasure


  1. Oh, that’s Grace!! It’s not for shameless self-promotion that I link another ‘poem’ here- but it makes me smile that we have been writing about some of the same themes lately! I have a pic here with my GREAT Gram’s hands:


    Our hands do say so much….

    I think one of the most difficult things for most people to do is to make a decision accept and try to understand why/how people we love could do such hurtful things toward us as children… it is so much easier to carry anger, resentment, and blame… and push the violence forward. Bless you a thousand times over for your courage and strength to be different and light the way for others!

    1. It also makes me smile that we are writing about the same themes. I will be by to check out your links. Thank you for your comment. Anger, resentment and blame..are heavy burdens to carry and make a person bitter. I like so many others am working on them and have a long way to go, I have only reached this point with my mother. I had to, I have two beautiful girls who deserved better and am still working on it truth be known.

    1. Hello my friend, thank you for dropping by. My mother was a mystery I wanted to understand. She felt unreachable and kept all her feelings locked up tight. But I guess like most other children we still love our parents no matter what they do. Now after all these years we have a relationship which I would have loved growing up. But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore what matters is it’s all good now. 🙂

  2. Something wistfully dignified but sad about the imagery of your poem..especially the rejection part. Or simply forgetting who coaxed the other into the big world.

    1. Hey Jean, I must admit that I was horrible to my mother. This I wrote for her as a way of apologising and she has apologised to me. But in all honesty she deserved it more. I grew up listening to everyone around me who said and acted like my father was so much better then my mother who was not as educated as him and this rubbed off on me. It took life to open my eyes and realise my mom was not what everyone said she was.

  3. a mother’s hand… love how you captured your relationship with your mother in these lines…maybe not always an easy one..and sometimes it takes years to understand..and see and keep the good

    1. Hello Claudia, thank you for taking the time to read through my blog and comment. In all honesty it did take years to finally understand my mother. I know I am lucky to have that oppurtunity.

  4. Great topic for one of your poems. Lovely treatment.Well done.

    I’ve just noticed you’ve added me to your Blogroll. That’s very kind. Thank you. (I really must update mine. I feel so tardy !

    1. Heyyy SMM, thank you for your comment…coming from you wow as for the blogroll your blog is one of my favorites. Which I like browsing through so I added it, there is no need for the link exchange. But you must know that by now with all my likes on a couple of your old posts. 🙂

    1. Yes it is a fish. 🙂 My mother comes from a village know for the fishing skills and even in her old age she insists we don’t know what we are doing when it comes to fish. This image was taken down on our rocky beachfront in my hometowm Alotau, PNG. If you go really early you can buy from the fishermen who spent the night out fishing on the bay. No big boats just canoes (I use one pic for my blog header) and get the fish real cheap and it beats facing the crowds at the market during the day.

    1. My mother and I, our relationship is a long story. Our stories are so different so understanding each other has not always been easy. But I know I am blessed to be able to get to know her while she is still here.

  5. Oh another heart warming poetry
    Maiya hugs for such a lovely peice 🙂
    yes i do see them too and admire
    for I try to be like they were and not even close to the warmth they carried


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