This page, WRITE TO A PICTURE, is an invitation to our regular writers and to our visitors. Send an original poem, a story, or your recollections. Share your thoughts and experiences with those who like to READ what others write. Send to me at LaraOct7@aol.com.

 Early 'Write To A Picture' pages are archived. The links are here:

Beach Scene "1" Old Train Station "2"
The Carousel "3" The Fifties "4"
Summer Picnic "5" From The Heart "6"
Cloudy Moon "7" September Morn "8"
Passing The Time "9" Apples "10"
Rain "11" Pumpkins "12"
Halloween "13" Big City "14"
Remembrance Day "15" Autumn Harvest "16"
A Cozy Nook "17" Migration "18"
The Kitchen On Memory Lane "19" Holding Hands "20"



 


Holding Hands

By Marilyn (LaraOct7@aol.com)







When my two youngest grandsons were three and five years old, I visited them often. My daughter lives two hours away and I drove there at least twice a month. I was there at nap time and the oldest grandson didn't like that; he didn't need a nap when Grandma came. I solved the problem by pretending to take a nap with him and we would hold hands until he fell asleep.

My father and I would hold hands as we came up from the vegetable garden. We may have been picking green beans or cucumbers, or I may have gone to tell him supper was ready. Whatever the reason, the memory of our holding hands is very dear to me.

I recall the time I drove to the BWI airport to pick up my eighty-year old mother. My father had been gone a few years and she was coming for a visit. We held hands as we walked through the terminal and I remember thinking how frail her hand felt. It was the hand that had lifted a big, cast-iron skillet that held the fried chicken for our family supper. It was the hand that had rubbed shirt collars on a washboard before we bought our Maytag. It was the hand that had held the chalk she used when she wrote assignments on the blackboard of her schoolroom.

Holding the hand of another person is one way we connect. Think about the people in your life you've held hands with: a parent, a child, a sibling, a spouse. Aren't memories wonderful?

Fiction or fact, we look forward to your entry.






 


Your Hand In Mine

By Jeanie (Mingo184@aol.com)





YOUR HAND IN MINE, MY FRIEND
ACROSS THE MILES OUR E-MAILS WE SEND
I FEEL THE TOUCH OF FRIENDSHIP THERE
THE FRIENDLINESS THAT WE BOTH SHARE


YOUR HAND IN MINE, MY DEAR
I FEEL YOUR TOUCH WHEN YOU ARE NEAR
OUR FINGERS ENTWINE IN LOVING TOUCH
THEY SILENTLY SAY "I LOVE YOU SO MUCH"


YOUR HAND IN MINE, OH MOTHER OF MINE
YOUR GNARLED FINGERS CLOSING IN MINE
I FEEL THAT TOUCH OF YOURS, MY DEAR
EVEN THOUGH YOU'RE GONE MANY A YEAR









 


Holding Hands

By Joy (JOY3032@aol.com)





When things look bleak and skies are gray
We feel dejected and turn to pray
Close our eyes with head held down
Looking weary and wearing a frown


We open our eyes and feel a hand
Tightly clasped like a rubber band
Entwining fingers from yours to mine
Sending a shiver right up my spine


God's in his Heaven, all's right with the world
The message he sends cannot be heard
But felt in the heart and the touch of your hand
The healing of touch, the very best kind


We open our eyes and look to the skies
Around the gray world a miracle lies
Just the miracle touch of me and you
In the distance we see the sun shining through


Don't look at the world and see just the rain
Be connected with someone and feel happy again
The touch of your hand eases worry and strife
A simple touch .... the meaning of life









 


Hands Across The Ages

By Sharon (Sunyskys1943@aol.com)





Papa held my hand across the road
Mama held my hand when story told
A friend held my hand when I was scared
You held my hand while love shared


We held hands on our wedding day
And when our babies went out to play
We held hands when life got so mired
That thinking of it made us tired


We held our babies' hand across the road
And carried them though they were a load
When our babies went off on their own
We held hands and were not alone


Now we hold the grandchildrens' hands
Wondering about their big life's plans
You hold my hand while watching TV
I am glad you share this life with me


Someday God will hold onto my hand
When it's time to leave this earthly land
But until my life comes to an end
We hold hands forever and again









 


Holding Hands

By Amy (Fabulousfilly@aol.com)





when we are born our first grip
is a finger entwined, around mom's lip
fingers and hands everywhere
touching, searching, in a wide eyed stare


tiny fingers that will grow long
tiny fingers that will grow strong
tiny fingers playing a song
softly humming right along


as we grow we hold lots of hands
lovers, friends, children in the band
handshakes, love pats, fingers touch
all this hand holding means so much


so today and every day
reach out and touch someone they say









 


Holding Hands

By Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)





I held out my hands and you took them.
My Mother helped me to stand and then to walk.
I knew her touch long before
I had even learned to walk.


She would help me up or hold me down.
To guide me in the right direction.
Before I sat down to eat
My hands had to pass her inspection.


So many times she held my hand.
I wished that it was more.
But I know that I was holding her hand,
When she approached Heaven's door.


Of course the angels let her in.
And she felt wonderfully glad.
The next hand she held in hers,
Belonged to my Dad.









 


Holding Hands

By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)





Hand in hand down the lane,
Hand in hand up the hill,
Hand in hand with you my dear,
You lead and I will follow.


That secure feeling
Of a loved one’s hand,
That smug feeling when
Walking with my lady.


Some cuddle but don’t you see,
Walking hand in hand
How close I am with you,
How our pulses do match beats.


As a child a hand for help and guidance,
And the feeling of love,
Then as a toddler,
Exerting some control.


But after a certain age,
Holding hands for togetherness,
Feeling love so near,
Holding your loved one dear.


And with us old folks,
We hold hands for stability,
But the warmth of a loved one’s hand
Is a sign of oneness.









 


His Old Hands

By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)





Grandpa’s hands, so gnarled,
Calloused, strong
Comfortable with a hammer,
And tender on my own.
Old homes he built
May live on still,
Though nothing will,
Live so long,
As the love in those
Old carpenter hands,
So tender on my own.









 


Holding Hands

By Brier (Brierhillbarbara@aol.com)





I wish you still held my hand
remember when we first met
You took my hand and asked me to dance.


I remember the last day together you held my hand.
I was trying to make you comfortable
Instead moving caused you pain.


Remember when our first child was born.
You were so proud to be a Dad
And then came another son.


You were so proud of our family
Now we have 5 grandchildren
Each one well and happy.


We will think of you Christmas eve as we gather
Together like always.
Prayers will be said and greetings too.


We tell stories about the past and you
Are present in your hearts
Merry Christmas my love









 


Holding Hands

By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)





Walking hand in hand, feeling the closeness, the pulse of a loved one, being near and touching them makes anyone smile. A child holding one large finger as it toddles along, knows, feels and senses security and a oneness with that person. Holding hands for control, holding hands for stability; it doesn’t matter how or for what reason, but holding a woman’s hand gives me a good feeling.

But as we walk up or down the lane, across a small parking lot or the large expanse of a barren field, holding a lady’s hand gives me a special feeling, smugness if you may. I am with this lady, she is with me, she is mine and we share a kindred spirit, togetherness, that special something. They don’t have it and her, I do.

Just holding a hand gives me a special feeling, makes me feel closer and that special feeling of oneness. Put your hand in mine and let our heart share the beat, let our feelings intertwine, just yours and mine.








 


I Took Her Hands

By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)





I took her hands,
I swung her around,
then so close she came.
our lips did touch
and she did smile,
'neath the mistletoe.


Her eyes did twinkle,
her beauty shone,
as we stood there,
wanting, wishing,
knowing it was taboo.


But in our hearts,
we knew, it was not said aloud,
as we hugged and kissed,
'neath the mistletoe.









 


Holding Hands Across Time

By Evelyn (Evenccw@aol.com)





Love, friendship, kindness, compassion, congratulations and shared joy easily come to mind when I think of ‘holding hands.’ Through the years of the countless hands that have held mine and given me all of these things, three people top my hit parade. They are my mother, my father and my husband. The strength and love that flowed through these three pair of hands have sustained me through the years and continue to do so.

How I loved my mother’s hands! They were the hands that held mine when I was feverish with pneumonia, mumps, measles and chicken pox. Those dear hands held mind as I entered all of the celebrations of my life. I was scared and shy as she held my little hand as we walked into the classroom on my first day of school. Her hands held mine after she placed my First Holy Communion veil on my head. What must have seemed to her like a heart beat at best, hers were the hands that held mine after she adjusted my bridal veil on my wedding day. And oh how we held hands the night I went into labor with the birth of my first child. She had traveled from Ohio to North Carolina by train to be with me when I gave birth to her first grandchild, John Patrick McCusker, It was a celebration!

With time’s never-ceasing passage, Mama entered a nursing home and lived there for the remaining seven years of her life. Soon after entering the care facility, she never again responded to the beloved sound of “Mama.” In those final years I called her by her given name, Cecilia. I began to look forward to her response for my ‘new name’ for her. Her eyes lighted up when I called her Cecilia. As her mind became dimmer and dimmer, I took great comfort in holding her hand and stroking it while encouraging her to come back to the present.



As Cecilia’s journey into time and space continued, she slipped farther and farther into the past. At times I wondered whose hand she thought she was holding. Was she holding and stroking the hands of her mama, pappa, grandpa, grandma, sisters or brothers? Though she no longer remembered who I was, our hand holding was a vital connection, even a lifeline, as I coaxed her down her beloved Memory Lane. One sad day the coaxing worked no longer. Her condition worsened and she became bedridden and needed to be spoon fed.

After her supper, the night before she died, while I was spoon-feeding her the coffee she loved so much, we chit chatted almost like old times. As I held her hands that last time, her blue eyes lighted up, she smiled at me and said, “You have always been so good to me!” For a brief instant I thought I had my Mama back! Then I said, “Oh Cecilia, you have always been so good to ME.” It was a sacred moment.

Mama, whom I had come to know as Cecilia, had come to the end of Memory Lane and was released to the bright light of the Universe. Now her smile is everywhere. She was ninety when she died December 16, 1995.

My favorite early photo of Daddy was one taken with his nephew in his native Santiago, Chile just before coming to America in 1926. He was holding Cousin Hugo’s hand, walking along in deep concentration.



In my Daddy’s hands there was strength The night my husband asked for my hand in marriage is a precious memory. A little nervous and choked up, Daddy took my hands in his and held them briefly before he placed them in Tom’s. In his heavy accent he wished us many years of happiness. We've been holding hands ever since. It will be fifty-five years come February 16, 2007.

Daddy died suddenly in 1974 when he was only seventy-two. He loved his family–children, grandchildren and neighbors and was always “giving a hand” to anyone in need. He had a generous heart. Across the years my fondest memory is how he loved holding out his hands to catch a baby learning to take its first step. Daddy had big hands and when we were small, it was easier to just hold to his finger as we walked along.



As for Tom and me, it seems that we have been holding hands forever. After placing the wedding band on my finger we eagerly walked hand in hand into our future as man and wife. His hands so dear to me have earned a living, have held my hands as we traveled the twists and turns of the roads of our marriage. Six wonderful children have had the privilege of knowing the strength and comfort of their Dad’s hands as he held them through decisions and tough spots in the growing up years. He pinned the boutonniere on his son John’s lapel when he and Kellie were married twenty-six years ago. He has walked five daughters down the aisle in marriage. He has twelve beautiful young adults who know the tender touch of their Grandpa’s caring hands. There is one adorable great grandson whom he has yet to meet.

On our Golden Wedding Day I saluted our fifty years of holding hands with this Poem:


Golden Wedding Day:



We have turned over,
furrow upon furrow
the rich soil of our lives,
guided by plowshares
of laughter, joy and tears.


Our life's garden,
breathtaking to behold,
blossoms forth fulfillment of
seeds sown in our springtime,
the fruits of our unfaltering love.


I know the lines on your dear face
my husband, my lover, my friend.
I read all the messages there.
I was with you through the years
as time was wielding its chisel.


The familiar soil of our lives
keeps us surefooted.
Life glides through us now
as we leave our footprints
in the furrow behind the plow!


Though our feet aren't as steady as they once were, holding hands we try to live a balanced life. And holding hands, we almost seem to see with one pair of eyes and feel with one heart!








 


Hands

By Mary Carter Mizrany (MusingByMary@aol.com)





Hands bring precious memories
the sweetest ones on earth . . .
from wrinkled, aged ones to
those tiny ones at birth ~


Have you held a child's hand
so innocent ~ unsure . . .
or press'd your lips upon
a maiden's hand ~ so prim, demure? ~


Have you joined your hands with
another, knelt in prayer . . .
quietly seeking answers from
our Father ~ always there? ~

Or clapped your hands in rhythm
when the band began to play . . .
let your feet & senses dance
felt your bodies gently sway? ~


Held a work~worn wrinkled hand
you knew was near the end . . .
who'd spent their lives for others
loved ones ~ family ~ friend? ~


All hands tell a story and
the greatest one of all . . .
the hands of Christ the Saviour
born in an animal stall ~


He came to earth so humbly
yet was The King of Kings . . .
to give His life upon the cross
HIS blood Salvation brings ~


His hands were cruelly riven
with spikes ~ scars still HE bears . . .
the only ones in Heaven
are those our Saviour wears!









 

 

 

 



Watch these pages for more of these "Write to a Picture" pages.
In the meantime, click the links below for
poems and stories by our other authors.


Gift Wrap

Christmas 1971

Blessings

Watching Snowflakes

Winter's Coming To Georgia

The Kitchen On Memory Lane (12 authors)

The Christmas Money

Tom's Hello December





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