leanin' H
Well-known member
Wrote this one this morning—
Hands of a Man
I was thinking about his hands today, now he's been gone a while.
And how they hardly didn't seem believable, ever time I seen them I'd just had to smile.
Looked like a couple of catcher's mitts, there on the end of his arms.
Fingers the size of soda cans, and boys, I ain't telling y'all no yarns.
Them hands was covered with spots from the sun, had more scars and scuffs than hide.
They exemplified strength and power, and yet, could be tender, like his heart inside.
Had one big scar from a chainsaw, on the edge of one big thumb.
Used to show it to me, and say "Son, the day I got that cut, I was still young and dumb"!
Had needle marks from vaccinations, kinda inadvertently given.
Had a twisted knuckle from some other wild wreck, his hands were clues to the life he'd been livin.
Had callouses on callouses, from decades of damn hard work.
And if he took a holt of something, it's stayed a holt, his hand shakes made fellers lose their smirk.
I've seen them grip a shovel and dig post holes hours on end.
I've seen them hold my mothers hand or comfort, a sobbing friend.
I've seen them hold some bridal reins a couple thousand times.
I've seen them folded gently during prayer, a favorite mental picture of mine.
And when I meet someone, I always take, a long look at their hands.
They will tell ya a lot about who they are, as plain as any earmark or brand.
My kind of hands, have grime and dirt, and knuckle or two have breaks.
Like they tangled with a badger or some barb wire on an Ol wire gate.
I have no doubt, not all good men, have hands that look like my dad's.
But I'll wager a man, whose hands have worked, can't be completely bad.
Someday, I'll get to shake dad's hand again, and look straight into his eye.
My hands will never measure up to his, but I damn sure plan to try.
Darrell Holden
November 22
Hands of a Man
I was thinking about his hands today, now he's been gone a while.
And how they hardly didn't seem believable, ever time I seen them I'd just had to smile.
Looked like a couple of catcher's mitts, there on the end of his arms.
Fingers the size of soda cans, and boys, I ain't telling y'all no yarns.
Them hands was covered with spots from the sun, had more scars and scuffs than hide.
They exemplified strength and power, and yet, could be tender, like his heart inside.
Had one big scar from a chainsaw, on the edge of one big thumb.
Used to show it to me, and say "Son, the day I got that cut, I was still young and dumb"!
Had needle marks from vaccinations, kinda inadvertently given.
Had a twisted knuckle from some other wild wreck, his hands were clues to the life he'd been livin.
Had callouses on callouses, from decades of damn hard work.
And if he took a holt of something, it's stayed a holt, his hand shakes made fellers lose their smirk.
I've seen them grip a shovel and dig post holes hours on end.
I've seen them hold my mothers hand or comfort, a sobbing friend.
I've seen them hold some bridal reins a couple thousand times.
I've seen them folded gently during prayer, a favorite mental picture of mine.
And when I meet someone, I always take, a long look at their hands.
They will tell ya a lot about who they are, as plain as any earmark or brand.
My kind of hands, have grime and dirt, and knuckle or two have breaks.
Like they tangled with a badger or some barb wire on an Ol wire gate.
I have no doubt, not all good men, have hands that look like my dad's.
But I'll wager a man, whose hands have worked, can't be completely bad.
Someday, I'll get to shake dad's hand again, and look straight into his eye.
My hands will never measure up to his, but I damn sure plan to try.
Darrell Holden
November 22
