Best Embroider Poems
Remembering the days of yesteryear
when family ties were held most dear,
gas lamps flickered in the back street
while most of us danced a different beat.
Tragic alleyways of smog and smut
“Live over the brush”* branded a sl*t,
silhouettes infringe the darkest night
gullible back shift broke the morning light.
Adventurous nights at “Townhead Mill”
eight pints of beer the back porch thrill,
when no meant yes in rapturous skill
to fumigated music from “Nashville.”
Obnoxious libertine this bread man
bay curtain drawn delivery van,
the situation conspired indiscretion
clinical the world’s oldest profession.
Sporting gentlemen in summer bliss
caught first ball costly night on the piss,
pavilion home to moorside drover
many a chaste maiden bowled over.
Partial pilgrimage down “Bolton Road”
black and amber heroes round ball code,
liniment buoyant throughout the room
manly skills embroider the village groom.
Cardinal days steeped in “Rock ‘n’ Roll”
sire in fear of them out of control,
a colossal wedge between cultures
in shadows of decency vile vultures.
Repetitious days of school yard might
the bullies reduced one’s life to plight,
parents queried yet misunderstood
reasons for mayhem in the neighbourhood.
Lad and lasses lost in “Hide and seek”
games of “Stroke a back” every week,
by the old school grounds we all did laik**
now the street is naked for heaven sake.
Why on earth would a mind keep drifting back
this poetry constantly placing me on track,
when life was a role without fame or stars
only toil and trepidation and these scars?
© Harry J Horsman 2013
*Living in sin
** Play
Categories:
embroider, life, nostalgia, school,
Form:
Rhyme
A sword of the heavens did glean
From railings and arbors
of dead thorn and bramble,
where ghostly reminders remain
Fall droplets of blood ‘pon
a crimson embroider
left carelessly out in the rain
Our story begins
in a deep mountain valley,
a village so peaceful and free
When one day the darkness
did unsheathe its horror
with metal and death you will see
The army of Satan,
a wicked battalion,
Hell’s fire their sabers were forged
Dark Skeletal visions
in leather and armor
the depths of the earth had been gorged
With razor sharp weapons,
they slashed and delivered
such pain which had never been found
Through echoes of pleading
and lives quickly ending
in puddles, thick red on the ground
While women and children
were herded like cattle
in mass to the edge of the square
With onyx eyes leering,
midst snickers and cackles,
their captors insanely did stare
When on the horizon
a light brightly shining,
engulfing this nightmarish scene
A porcelain stallion,
its rider a shadow,
a sword of the heavens did glean
From steel hard as granite,
angelic depictions,
a handle of pure solid gold
Once heard in a fable,
when wizards were roaming
such power, the stories foretold
As swift as an arrow
he entered the village,
his steed all at one with the game
With blade silver glistened,
like lightning bolts flashing,
igniting a righteous born flame
Spinning and thrusting
as if a tornado,
a blur now incensed of the glow
With whirlwind fury
and dust clouded thunder,
he dealt them a terrible blow
The evil fueled army,
beheaded and fallen,
the villagers shouted and cheered
When to their amazement,
this heroic savior
as quick as he’d come, disappeared
So there is the story,
a sword made in heaven
is now part of history’s reign
Along with the rider
who wielded its honor,
and hopes he will come back again
9/13/18
Written for the UNSHEATH YOUR SWORD Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
Categories:
embroider, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
The experience of penning one's thoughts to paper
for the perusal of others
offers a certain inner satisfaction
that must be experienced to be appreciated;
letting your words guide you
to a deeper appreciation of your surroundings and self.
Poets do not garner feelings from their pens,
but from their hearts;
for the pen is but a brush and the page a canvas
upon which to paint dreams, desires, and thoughts.
The underlining passion
and potency of the written word
can be cathartic;
when it is your thoughts that embroider the page.
Intimate feelings are allowed to drift
through those thoughts,
and gather between the lines of each verse.
A poet's words, like a poultice,
can draw emotions
from the wounds of memory,
and catapult the reader into a reality
previously undiscovered.
A poet, using a creative collage of tinder thoughts
stirs the embers of conformity,
hoping to ignite sputtering flames of awareness.
Categories:
embroider, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
She strains to find her footing in orthopedic shoes
my grandmother's clop-clop walk to me
unbalanced
steadied by a backbone of faith
She bears a tattered, red carpet bag,
solid wooden handles, worn like her marbled hands
Grandma removes jam tarts and her Bible (smell enticing)
to tutor me for my Sunday School verses,
Psalm 23, that welds to memory
Her diligence that I adhere to the lines
despite my craven pull to tarts (a riveting obsession)
Unfussy delight when I learn the verses
Her glow, free floating,
a small harp ovation
Grandmother's carpet bag, stitched by history
brimming with the sweet lure of baking
upheld by her faith, like a pulse that hums devotion
in a drawn body softly folding into itself
Nothing can be swept aside
when a grandma voices validation
when generosity extends itself
when her walk thaws the ground
when words embroider love
ensuring preservation
Poem revised: April 25, 2021
Categories:
embroider, bible, boy, child, devotion,
Form:
Free verse
I want the sun
Served on a dish of silver and gold
Carved by the skilled hands of Hephaestus.
Pick up Mount Olympus
Place it down at my feet
Adore me in all heavenly glory.
Take all the sea salts to powder my hair
Make the lilies not die at night
Take the perfume of the roses and make it mine.
Scoop all the stars from the night sky
Embroider them on a dress of gentle silk
Give it to me with slippers made of glass.
Make all creation sing to me
birds, sea, creatures and legendary beings
Give all of this to me in exchange for my love.
Categories:
embroider, beautiful,
Form:
Free verse
Apprehend a blessed moment
of wonderful haughty agreeableness
Embroider it into a legacy hour
Exhilarated and motivated yet?
Not a gargantuous task
bohunks and lunkheads can do it
Jocular? Not me.
Grandiloquent perhaps.
Lavish yourself with volumes of joy
Be flexible, accept inspiration
Today is the first day of happiness
encouraging many succeeding such days
Glean hope and faith so you can
share it and embellish it
Deranged? Not any more than I was
yesterday or the day before
Categories:
embroider, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
How do I decide when it’s time to say goodbye?
The rose tinted contacts of love
Stain my vision as I struggle to decipher
The difference between what I want,
And what I truly need…
Am I really ready to say goodbye
To the warmth of his touch,
Or the feeling of eternal attachment
That plagues my heart everytime I see him?
Would I be ludicrous to walk away
From the peaceful time we share under the sunset
And the unparalleled content his presence gifts me?
The internal highs just embroider my soul
With everlasting joy,
and really makes consider
If it's really the time to say goodbye…
Maybe it’s time to say goodbye,
When the highs aren’t high enough
To balance the overwhelming grief
Of the lowest lows.
The consistency of his hurtful words
Slowly chip away at the shield of
My blind infatuation,
And deteriorates the seemingly imperishable adoration
I’ve felt up until this point.
So although there will always be love
That will last the test of time…--
I Think it's time, I finally say goodbye… :/
Categories:
embroider, 9th grade,
Form:
Free verse
I learned to embroider.
And it was fine.
Herringbone stitch.
Tah Dah Tah Dah!
I learned to crochet
Bah Bing. Bah Bing.
Truly thought
I had found my thing.
I learned to dance.
Hooray! All right!
I stomped and whirled
Into the night!
I learned to paint.
Oh, it was great!
Reds, and oranges,
Thrown on a plate!
Poetry is new.
Entertains me today.
If it stops
I will not stay….
Categories:
embroider, 2nd grade, 3rd grade,
Form:
Rhyme
At the crossroads of years, where stones whisper for centuries,
Inside unfolds the mystical drama of the self seeking light,
Through mazes of thoughts like leaves rolling towards truth.
Thirsty souls gaze towards the sky, begging for drops of eternity,
On the edges of doubts, gardens grow - guardians of lost meanings,
A journey to the core, where shadows are fragments of incomplete answers.
There are valleys where echoes intertwine with the whispers of ancestors,
Under the vault, a chorus rises, a melody of boundless quests,
A sacred song - only the heart carries in prayer, spread by the birds of silence in their flight.
In the inner temple, at the unseen altar, unspoken hopes burn,
In jewels of darkness, the brightest flames take shape,
And each falling star is a devotion, a metaphor of the hidden, ignited dream.
The mysteries of underground rivers embroider a river of consciousness in the depths,
Sketching in sacred caves icons of thought, the holy mirage of wisdom,
And each rock from which water bursts forth is an altar, a gateway to infinity.
The seeds of reality get lost in the sands of time, on the path of initiation,
A carousel of meanings spinning among the stars, in a dance of wordless songs,
And when night shares with day the cosmic secret of passage,
Mystical auroras reveal that the true journey is not towards the peak,
But in the spiral of inner ascent, the mystical ascension of being.
At this altar, the unknown reveals itself to you, and finally,
You remain with your name carried on the lips of the wind,
In the siren's song of the infinite, weaving a mystical refrain,
Though its sparkle is hidden from worldly eyes,
What grows in every soul is a never-ending story,
Narrated in the silent language of the heart - this is the hymn of those who journey within.
Categories:
embroider, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
I am free to choose where I plant my feet,
to ramble down the path and into the sun
In the orange columns cast by lamps on the street
crouch saddened people who have received none.
I am free to choose the order of the words,
whether they roll off my tongue or into my ears
From outside come spilling the songs of birds
They know nothing of chains; they have no fears.
I am free to choose the title of my poem
and embroider each letter with colors my own
Each man’s tale is not for men to condemn
Only One can reveal seeds the Devil has sown.
So I refuse to choose between silver and gold
I shun all the idols flesh and blood have made
The world passes, time paints masks of old
Slowly, slowly, the mist is beginning to fade.
I refuse to choose the gaping wide river
that asks for an ink heart, rebukes true faiths
The current is noisy, with a cold, secret shiver –
its lukewarm waters swarming with wraiths.
I refuse to choose between Father and Son
for one is the radiance of the other’s glory
There is only one path I am entitled to run
with joy, for I trust He who is writing my story.
Categories:
embroider, devotion, faith
Form:
Quatrain
Tune weavers sigh and sigh
The unblinking eye
Embroider thoughts
Tree line Groves
Fingered love prints
Hearts unfold
Cold and broken
Tattered and yellow
Wistful carousel
Going round round and around
As surely my heart goes...
Categories:
embroider, blue, farewell, heartbroken,
Form:
Ode
Virtue of my innocence anticipates your touch.
I am satin, weave your weft yarn over my waft yarns.
You are velvet, my kiss longs to smooth your edges even.
Together we are lace, posed on our web of desire.
My passion longs to embroider your touch on bronze silk,
so when we depart, your reminder shall stay with me.
Remove the wool from those auburn eyes,
there is no polyester in my hazel heaven.
Each bead is an emotion connected to a string you influence,
embrace them all, in your spiritual sanctuary.
I am the dance, but dancing alone,
hold me, dance with me and devour me,
let all the rose rivers flow to your estuary.
Categories:
embroider, love, passion, poetess,
Form:
Alliteration
http://articles.latimes.com/2004/dec/25/nation/na-cowboy25
Either Sown or Sewn
or Flower or Flour
Either it is to be sewn or sown
Which one should be left alone?
Maybe small seeds or some stitching
Back and forth we are always switching.
Sown seeds will soon start to grow
Flexible fingers become when you sew
So if I should sew or start to embroider
With what will me brain have to reconnoiter?
Into life itself some small seed will spring
And at all when we start to sew anything
A certain pattern will evolve and become
Like my many poems when you read some.
Are sewn and sown really, actually related
Both become building blocks of the educated
Still what you sew or sow will always reap
Even though bills have started piling steep.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
Categories:
embroider, philosophy,
Form:
Couplet
Prithee how could i describe thee
You are the morning glory, beauty and virtue,
Mind and soul symbolically personify
Your image send relief to ease my longing soul,
I can hear your silence subdue lonely voice
Whispering, calling me to your fathomness
To behold the voluptuousness, vigorousness and graciousness
In inviting sensuous lips
Teeth lighting darkly the cave of pout,
Rebuff any unworthy restless freaky tongue
Spiritual super-face primers fill the crest and crevices,
Smoothen the canvas on the foundation
Bringing aesthetics of lustfulness, admiration and appreciation
The romantic sable almond large eyes,
Leer into my throb
Warning, keep looking you will never find exotic eyes like mine,
Pretty ridge in-between your kissable sculpted nose,
The whiff of embroider lost in your love lavender rose,
Engraved on your surrealist cheekbone
Accentuated your strawberry skin,
Tattooing the landscape of your unblemished skin,
Tampering manicured fingers fringe by fairy nails
The pride of Emerald embedded gold ring on forefinger
Usher beholder to sensual kiss,
The raven hair adorn in spirited luxury orchid
Full body falls helplessly on your restful shoulder,
Spilling a crop of curly hair into a free dance,
Ojibwe goddess i will like a hug and kiss,
To cuddle but not smoother you,
To explore your innocence
And discovers honest and thoughtful,
Caring and clean, independent and fun,
And full of energy.
Categories:
embroider, friendshiplonging, hair, sensual,
Form:
Free verse
Why oh why, I have afflictions
regarding ever more increasing problems in
my indigenous language, a stigma of
diction and spelling, also grammar incomprehension.
Never once could I seem able
to use correct adjectives, to embroider
to enlighten. So one gave English
the elbow, to entrap to ogle
the anatomy, belonging only to one’s
natural opposites, girls, innovative girls amorously.
This orchestration that organised female intrigue
wetted a growing appetite, for use
with one’s never ending troubled experience!
© Harry J Horsman 2013
Categories:
embroider, angst,
Form:
Free verse