I didn't realize we had already written about hands until I was nearly finished making graphics for the page. Ok, I thought, since Father's Day is next week why not write about "Hands of A Man"? This can be about a father's hands or a grandfather's hands. A carpenter's hands? A gardener's hands?

My father built houses and also tended furnaces that produced the nickle used for ships in WorldWarII. He worked a garden, he cooked, he fixed appliances when they broke.

In the picture I featured a pair of hands sketched by Leonardo da Vinci, and also the hands of a soldier praying. From a lifetime of observation, what can you tell us about the hands of a man? Think of your father's hands, your husband's, your son's, your grandfather's, a friend's.... How about the hands that carved Pinocchio?

Fiction or fact, we look forward to your entry.

They touch gently
They feel softly
They tie knots
They pick flowers -
The Hands of a man.


They rub
They massage
They tickle
They caress -
The Hands of a Man
They are joined to his heart :)

It is so lovely to hear
"Take my hand, my dear."
Taking someone's hand
will help you understand
the terror to be all alone,
No family or friends to phone.
Lend a helping hand, if you can.
Doing so will help your fellowman.
Hands are tools we all can use,
To pet, to caress, but not to abuse.
Hands are so very, very necessary.
Use them to help and do not tarry.

A man's hands can be tender
Though most are quite rough and strong
They can toil long hours at work
Or comfort when things go wrong


A man's hand can hold a baby
With a most gentle touch
Or take his work tools and repair
An automobile clutch


A man's hand can massage your back
After a weary day
Or toss a football to his son
Or with his daughter play


Some men are not so nice at all
And use their hands to hit
Those are the man's hands to avoid
Find a kind man with wit


A man's hand can be tender
Though most are quite rough and strong
They can toil long hours at work
Or comfort when things go wrong

strong hands im told
youthful and bold
used and toiled
bruised and soiled


tender hands in the night
turning down our bedroom light
reaching out, touching me
lord his hands are roaming free


dirty hands digging flowers
calloused hands working for hours
hands sowing seeds
raking leaves


everyone's hands are free to be ..
molded by GOD you see

This is the time in June I think
Of my terrific French/Irish dad
He was handsome, fun and loving
Just the best Dad a girl ever had


He had no boys so I was elected
To be his caddy and his pal
He took me every Saturday
To be his right hand gal


I was just so proud to be there
He excelled at sports galore
And when you were in front of him
You ducked when he yelled "fore"


He was a kind and loving father
And a buddy to this girl
He was always busy at something
The household always in a whirl


His hands were always moving
At some project at home or at work
He had tools for every occasion
No time did he ever shirk


I learned so much from my father
To golf, upholster and build
To paint, to garden and fix things
At these I am now quite skilled


Happy Father Day dear daddy
I'll remember the good times we had
When we gathered around the table
Four girls and their loving dad

We put our lives in the hands of surgeons all the time.
Trusting them with our most valuable possession is the subject of my rhyme.


God gave them a special talent to heal our bodies under the knife.
Their hands must be steady and sure to save a life.


A gentle hand on a patient's shoulder and a word to the wise
They often the truth can't disguise.


They bear a burden when they take their oath.
It is not an easy task to heal and have a good bedside manner, but some have both.


Wealth and luxury is what society blames them with the most,
But they spend long hours on their feet at their post.


The work of their hands not many could do.
Some folks take the opportunity to sue.


The life of a surgeon must be a difficult one.
The work of their hands is never done.


At night they must close their eyes in sleep,
Thinking thoughts that are very deep.


When their journey in life is over and their hands are laid at rest,
I hope that someone will say how they saved their life and call them blest.

Rough and rugged
Calloused and tough
So strong round a child
If one cries.


Long and lean,
Smooth and soft,
So sweet the piano
Comfort inside.


Little sons grow
To each of a kind,
Gentle and gruff the same,
Man-perfect hands.

A baby they hold, oh so carefully.
So tiny in these hands of a man.
Used to using the hands to haul weight,
Metal and concrete, the engine cover pan...


The baby grows and becomes a child.
Grabbing daddy's hand to find the way.
Running ahead, but not too far.
"Slow down!" you'd hear him say.


One day the child becomes a man.
Those hands now pat him on the back.
"Way to go son. You're all right!"
And then he watches him pack.


Away to war, his baby goes.
As he did in his time.
Those hands will pray for his return.
While he is still in his prime.


Those hands are now gnarled and worn.
And his baby fell in desert sands.
Now all he has is that folded flag,
As small as a baby in his hands.

I LOOK AT YOU MY SON AND SEE THE HANDS OF LABOR.
NO MORE SOFT AND PINK AS THAT LIL FIST USED TO GRAB MY FINGER.
I KNOW HOW HARD YOU WORK TO KEEP YOUR FAMILY.
I SEE YOUR HANDS AND THINK BACK ON MY GRANDFATHER'S HANDS.


BOTH OF MY GRANDFATHERS WORKED HARD, ONE IN THE COAL MINES.
THE OTHER AS A FARMER, FROM DUSK TIL DAWN.
ON SUNDAY THEY HAD USED THEIR POCKET KNIVES LITTLE BLADE
AND CLEANED THEIR NAILS AND SCRUBBED THEIR HANDS.


BOTH HAD STRONG HANDS, NO DOUBT THEY WORKED HARD.
THEY PRAYED HARD TOO, I OFTEN SAW THEM DEEP IN PRAYER.
I WONDERED HOW THEY LEFT THE STRUGGLES OF THIS WORLD
AND WENT STRAIGHT TO THE HEAVENLY FATHER WITH THEIR WOES.


I PRAY MY SONS AND GRANDSONS CAN DO AS WELL AS MY GRANDDADS.
MAY THE TEACHINGS HERE BE STRONG ENOUGH TO LEAD THEM ALL THE WAY.
MAY THE INFLUENCES OF MEN AND WOMEN WHO PASSED ON BEFORE
THEY WERE BORN HELP THEM BY THEIR EXAMPLES.


MAY THE LIL GIRLS SEE HOW THOSE PAST SAVED AND STRUGGLED
HOW THEY PRAYED AND TRIED TO LEAVE A GOOD PATH TO FOLLOW.
MAY THE HANDS OF TIME GONE BY HELP THOSE WHO COME BEHIND.
HANDSHAKES MEAN YOUR WORD IS YOUR BOND, YOU NAME IS YOUR SEAL.


THE HANDS OF TIME GO BY AND WE EACH MAKE OUR PLANS.
PLANS MADE NOT ALWAYS FULFILLED, BUT THE HEARTS WERE TRUE.
NO ONE TRYING TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF ANOTHER.
FOR THE OTHER IS OUR BROTHER, HOLD AND SHAKE HIS HAND.

I was placed in your hands at birth
What a joy it must have been
To feel the softness of your touch
And know that you love me, forever more
Your strong hands will guide me
Thru out my growing years
Like a seed that grows from nurturing
Into a precious life you give
For now I feel safe in your gentle hands
The Hands of my Father,steady and strong

Hands of man are intricate things,
Hands of man can ingenious be,
A loving stroke,
That tender feel.


But the hands of man can be cruel,
Murder, rape or theft of rights,
Those same tender hands
Can cause a near blight.


The loving touch
Aid to those who are sick,
A large hand holding a smaller one,
As through the park they do walk.


Kite a check, rob a bank,
Steal their retirement funds.
The hands of man
Can those also do.


The hands of man can be delicate,
The hands of man can show tender thought,
But if wrongly used,
The hands of man can nations devastate.


I smile and think only good,
As I take a grandson for a walk.
As I teach one to write,
As I a story to them I read.

Hands of a man tell a story,
there is no great mystery;
provides some light into their lives
delves into their history.


My grandpa was a farmer,
his hands were rough as a cob;
strong and callused, fingernails split
just like when he axed a log.


Rarely was grandpa arestin'
he arose at the breakin' a day;
built a fire in the wood~burnin' stove
roused tha cows n gave em some hay.


After tha milkin', breakfast
hot bisquits with eggs n more;
grandpa would bless tha fixins
pile up his plate galore!


Daddy's on the other hand,
show'd he worked another trade;
"Attorney~at~Law" read the shingle,
what a difference my daddy made.


His hands penned many 'To~Do' lists,
each day another there'd be;
his middle name was "organized"
life arranged One~Two~Three:-)


Daddy's hands were a pair a teachers,
when lessons we kids were due;
he wielded that belt with proficiency
One~Two~Three licks n we knew!


When it came ta fixin' tha plumbin',
or tha toaster n clock n such;
brother's hands would just be aitchin'
"Mr. Fix~It", he had tha touch:-)


Hands of my daddy n brothers,
were just good as good could be;
at fishin' n huntin' ya better believe
winners they were ~ One~Two~Three!


Yes, hands of a man tell a story,
each different for the whole race;
just shake tha hand of any man,
'tis clear as the nose on yur face:-)