Poem-Fist

Here I sit staring down

At my clinched fist

Such force in the squeeze

Veins protruding on my wrist

To be noticed they do insist

 

Fist cradled by my other hand

I watch as it slowly unfolds

Revealing nothing

As air rushes through my chest

I am filled with anguish

 

Turning my hands inward

To face each other

Nothing falls to the floor

A man left wanting

Needing something more

 

Hands showing signs of wear

From aging and being beaten down

By searching day after day

For something of importance

Something that is worth

Holding on to

 

 

 

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9 responses to “Poem-Fist

  1. Very moving and almost frightening! Anyone who does not know Russian literature could think Jean Paul Satre or Albert Camus but I feel the pedigree of this takes us back to Dosoyevsky and Lermontov! Even beyond that to the Greek Chorus – Antigone!

      • i did some translations of Lermontov lyrics which I shall have to track down. Ther is one that starts It is boring and melancholy and there is no-one to touch your hand in the moment of a …No use reading the usual translations as they are dogerral but his novel Hero of our Times is widely available as are Dostoyevsky’s novels. Crime and Punishment is a bit too heavy for me but I was fourteen when I read it! The idiot is a great read. Gogol’s Dead Souls is wonderful social satire. Even Checkhov’s plays touch the meloncholia in a terse sharp poigniant way. Turgenev as well! The novels stand up to translation. Hope you find something you like. Best wishes John

  2. Ah, I know this feeling well. Frustration balled up in one’s fist, only it cannot be released with the force of a punch. So it remains embedded in one’s palm, in four angry looking half moon impressions.

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