Confessions of a Left Hand

[tectak]

My God, forgive my hand, through this signum crucis
to the thigh, the arm, the flesh that denys, by that other hand.
Who sits there? In my cold passion, I can forgive what I must abhor;
it is me. I have been there, on the confession day. It is me
on another day or different deity. Different by whose design
if not yours...do I deny you your godly precision?
So to whom must I spill out the words, break my vows? Hold me.
Hold me to your cowardly, quiet, aquiescent faith...why do you not rebel?
I never touched a part of you that I could not touch by belief alone
and yet we are pilgrims on this unholy rack that stretches me to
break everything that is what I am. I am a man. Before God.

Catholics and their men in Christ
tectak
2013

[newsclippings]

My God, forgive my hand, through this signum crucis
to the thigh, the arm, the flesh that denys, by that other hand.
Who sits there? In my cold passion, I can forgive what I must abhor;
it is me. I have been there, on the confession day. It is me
on another day or different deity. Different by whose design
if not yours...do I deny you your godly precision?
So to whom must I spill out the words, break my vows? Hold me.
Hold me to your cowardly, quiet, aquiescent faith...why do you not rebel?
I never touched a part of you that I could not touch by belief alone
and yet we are pilgrims on this unholy rack that stretches me to
break everything that is what I am. I am a man. Before God.

Catholics and their men in Christ
tectak
2013

Was hoping this would actually be about the left hand. I'm ambidextrous, but I write and draw with my left. So now I want to make a poem about my silly hands.

[cidermaid]

HI tectak,
Really enjoyed this read. It has many subtle shifts and quiet under currents that cause me to really think about and take my time over what I’m reading here. I hope to have some time later and come back to this, but just wanted to post a quick line of praise for this for now. (Also it brings to mind a few of my favourite lines from Confessions of faith by Augustine. He starts "Who then are you my God?" - then after a multiplex of contrasted statements he finishes with " Yet woe to those who are silent about you because though loquacious with verbosity, they have nothing to say"
God eh?...your poem speaks into my feelings exactly. Can't live with him (because of what my left hand gets up to), can't live without him...for me there is no option B.

Thanks for the read AJ.

@ newsclippings. I get what you are saying. I'm a forced right hand. but my brain is wired the other way. I can mirror write and read upsidedown as well as the right way up. Instead of doing a back hand I throw my racket to the left hand from the right. If I was writing a poem about this "I'm wired wrong" would be my title.

[serge gurkski]

quite impressive both content and style.

Best-liked by me is this:

"It is me on another day or different deity"

and that:

"I never touched a part of you that I could not touch by belief alone"

cheers

serge

[newsclippings]

hahaha i do that with tennis as well.

I was wired insane.

[tectak]

HI tectak,
Really enjoyed this read. It has many subtle shifts and quiet under currents that cause me to really think about and take my time over what I’m reading here. I hope to have some time later and come back to this, but just wanted to post a quick line of praise for this for now. (Also it brings to mind a few of my favourite lines from Confessions of faith by Augustine. He starts "Who then are you my God?" - then after a multiplex of contrasted statements he finishes with " Yet woe to those who are silent about you because though loquacious with verbosity, they have nothing to say"
God eh?...your poem speaks into my feelings exactly. Can't live with him (because of what my left hand gets up to), can't live without him...for me there is no option B.


Thanks for the read AJ.
Hi cidermaid,
Apparently Cardinal Keith O'Brien had much the same problem! Shame, really.
Thanks for the comments.
Best,
tectak
@ newsclippings. I get what you are saying. I'm a forced right hand. but my brain is wired the other way. I can mirror write and read upsidedown as well as the right way up. Instead of doing a back hand I throw my racket to the left hand from the right. If I was writing a poem about this "I'm wired wrong" would be my title.

---

My God, forgive my hand, through this signum crucis
to the thigh, the arm, the flesh that denys, by that other hand.
Who sits there? In my cold passion, I can forgive what I must abhor;
it is me. I have been there, on the confession day. It is me
on another day or different deity. Different by whose design
if not yours...do I deny you your godly precision?
So to whom must I spill out the words, break my vows? Hold me.
Hold me to your cowardly, quiet, aquiescent faith...why do you not rebel?
I never touched a part of you that I could not touch by belief alone
and yet we are pilgrims on this unholy rack that stretches me to
break everything that is what I am. I am a man. Before God.

Catholics and their men in Christ
tectak
2013

Was hoping this would actually be about the left hand. I'm ambidextrous, but I write and draw with my left. So now I want to make a poem about my silly hands.

Ambidextrous, eh! You should have become a Catholic Cardinal....oh, no, you can't....I forgot...they don't take women...an ecumenical issue.
Best,
tectak