This Is My Fingers' Great Honor Poem by Chris Taylor

In this world of digital playgrounds, I wanted to write a post about the tactile feel of certain objects and the duty, love and envy of my fingers and hands. I first start out with an apple, then, my guitar. I moved to other concepts trying to encircle things I touch everyday. It is my wish that people get out of their chairs, offices, couches and get out and experience life and all its wonders. Remember, God created a vast place for you to live, explore and enjoy. So, crack open the door, take down the hoodie and let your toes feel the grass. Read this poem with a new set of eyes; drinking in all the splendor and feasting on the riches of a lovingly created world. Here is a verse to keep you focused on His great accomplishment:
Isaiah 40: 12 “Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens? Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket, or weighed the mountains on the scales and the hills in a balance? ”
God truly is very powerful! Rest in the creator of you, me and everything in this world.
Enjoy and be content.

The Great Plains Poet



This Is My Fingers' Great Honor
a poem by Chris T.



Red, waxy skin.
Smooth and curving from stem to bottom.
Crushes to grip with little effort
For this is what my fingers feel.

An undulating body
Full of stained wood and strings.
Shining with frets and tuning pegs
For this is what my fingers' need.

The prick of a lancet’s sting
Deep and penetrating
Cold, with no feeling or mercy.
For this is what my fingers endure.

The lustrous sheen of my lady’s skin
Like the gliding caress across polished marble
An art like form reminiscent of a Botticelli
For this is what my fingers crave

A rigid thrust of fist held high.
The tight clench of fingers balled.
An impulsive swing hits mark.
For this is my fingers' shame.

Aged skin cradled with care
My respect for elders given with love
Young hand, old hand in loving clench
For this is my fingers duty.

A life given to me
Fatherhood embraced with clumsy, nurturing mits
Hugs given; at any time, any hour, without judge or expectation
For this is my finger’s great honor.