Best Fabric Poems
"Umpteen little moments of all living creatures are knitted together to weave the vivid fabric called 'Life' " ~ by poet.
The first wee sprout springing up from a seed
Bright sparkling baby eyes so fresh and pure
A wobbly calf standing first time for feed
Cute ducklings following mama for sure
Blooms that bring, to the dreary mind, a cure
Children diving into the pond for fun
Birds cheering us with their morning songs sweet
Peacock wooing peahen - dancing begun
Buzzing bees, wild, building their hives so neat
Busy squirrels collecting nuts to eat
Crows cawing and sharing food with their friends
Sparrows hiding under leaves during rain
Toiling hawker, his life in streets, he spends
Grandma's graceful smile - creased face - hiding pain
The fall of the leaves, nothing to remain
Date: 07/11/2022
Submitted for: It's All About Three Q's Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme chosen: Life
Quintain (English), ababb, 10 syllables each line.
With melancholic fortitude
I suffer Summer's threadbare wane
Though just a stitch of Autumn's gown
Shows through these tepid, shorter days
The weave of sultry memories
Drapes warm nostalgia on my heart
I'll wear this paling green till frost
07 Sep 2019
When gay meant happy and kwier meant odd
You didn't swear in public, right in front of God
You wore a suit to the World Series, a hat to work
If your team won, you didn't loot or go berserk
You cheered the President, shook hands with him too
You'd never think to avoid him, to jeer or to boo
When the Nation's Anthem played, you covered your heart
You sang along proudly, every word from the start
Now the nation's fabric is rent, we're so polarized
And what with the murder and mayhem ~ desensitized
threads of happy children can weave our world – a tapestry of smiles
a life so quickly passes
one blink and we can barely comprehend
~ the cycle in perpetual motion
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Gossamer, gently cool,
brushed against flushed hot face,
like water pooled in desert land;
softness kneaded with much
glad wearing, not unlike
the feel of mother's wrinkled hand.
November 9, 2017
Knit Your Fabric Contest
Sponsor, Nette Onclaud
Verse Form
Our lifetime is a living fabric that we all adorn
Experiences and interactions vary with all seasons
The threads filled with promises we've all sworn
Outfitted with various triumphs and treasons
Full of knowledge, it becomes tattered and torn
Yet filled with strength for unimaginable reasons
In the end, it will be there when all that's left is to mourn
Watch existence burn; see vermilion flames flicker in my eyes
Whilst you stand amongst the ashes and bones of what was never meant to be.
Inhale the murky smoke of contempt,
Choke on particles formed from your contrition.
Feel the accelerating heat scorch distressed flesh.
Quiet—lest my demons hear you scream.
Perched, waiting to devour
A soul so frigid, frostbite seeps from your stagnant veins.
Mercy is nowhere to be found.
Hysterical laughter escapes from my broken lips
As you writhe in pain, trying to escape.
Vines of razor-wire belladonna barricade;
The hunter is now wholly ensnared.
Visions of the past materialize like static,
Disrupting the penultimate bits of your sanity.
Microscopic questions flow rapidly:
Is this version of reality just a delusion,
Disrupting the very fabric of time?
Or are you suffering for your incompetence?
The smell of sulphur grows stronger with each thought.
Through melting breezes, the Pied Piper plays
Such sweet music—wrath’s revenge.
The Devil’s Inferno is calling you home.
Born in their meadows and
bread for the masses - to
culture exploited, a suture
‘livery of freedom’
he spun on the wheel ~ I
canvas my flag, and the future.
--------------------------------------------------------
Khadi means handspun and handwoven cloth. In 1918, Mahatma Gandhi started his movement for Khadi as relief programme for the masses living in India's villages.
Raw materials then were entirely exported out of the country by the colonists and re-imported as costly finished cloth, depriving the local population of work and profits on it.
Gandhi didn’t just revive India’s flagging Khadi industry, he made the humble hand-spun fabric the symbol of all things swadeshi (indigenous to the country). When he encouraged people across India to boycott foreign clothes, spin their own yarn and wear Khadi, he was encouraging them to rediscover their pride in their heritage while lending support to their rural brethren.
It is also the most sustainable and eco-friendly product whose production requires no electrical support or fossil fuel and generates no toxic waste.
This fabric keeps you warm in winter and cool in summer!
The Indian national flag is always made of Khadi - It is not just a fabric but a way of life.
www.thebetterindia.com/95608/khadi-history-india-gandhi-fabric-freedom-fashion/
Two patterns of fabric weaved together
Interlocking and Interlaced
Joined in union as one piece of cloth
Complete in color, texture, and functionality
These two fabrics were joyful and complete
Holding onto one another with bonds tight and strong
"What would I ever do without you?" One said to the other.
"Without you I am a single piece of fabric without a purpose or a function."
"This is true," said the other. "For without you I am flimsy and go without structure or support. I would surely fall upon myself and never be the same again."
Then on one fateful day
The two fabrics were pulled apart
Their bonds and binds broken by an unknown outside force
The division of the tear grew wider
Until the distance was so vast that they could not see one another
"Where have you gone?" They called out to each other. "I need you in order to be whole again!"
But neither could hear the other. The unknown outside force had created a distance too vast.
It was no use.
The two fabrics wept for many days,
Crying out for each other both day and night.
"Without you I am just a torn piece of fabric, floating with my torn strands brushing against the cold wind. Without you, I am incomplete and have lost all sense of function," They cried deep into the void, black night.
As they drifted in the wind,
Their distance growing greater by the day,
A Seamstress quickly readied her sewing needle and thread.
The long, motionless hours of night;
a nod, a blink or deep breath away from
a new day's noise and bustle.
Modern life, soon enough, will secure
its grip on each of us.
Many prefer the reticent solitude offered
in darkness. Never more than visitors there,
we still yearn for the placid serenity of the night.
The remnant of a night breathes evenly. Here,
there are moments when nature makes no commentary.
Man, animal, and machine all mute.
Those waking early hope to seize these
taciturn moments, holding them, savoring
their purity to soothe against the growling
noise and stress of daily life.
Cool, hushed wisps of air wash over these moments
and anyone still sleeping. Those already awake are
embraced in the tranquility. They can touch the
palpable stillness found in fleeting moments of time.
Some will feel nearly transcendent, while remaining
in the moment. Spirits immersed.
A reverie in synchronism.
In the brief interval which is a night, souls hang
suspended between the muted hour and the
commotion of a hectic life. Soon, the rising sun
will adjourn the laconic spirits of a night.
The taciturn and atoning moments recede,
but their commendation upon the soul remains.
Hearts momentarily warmed and comforted by
the perfect fabric of peace, new from nature's loom.
7-14-14
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Polished now in the hallway, my fond antique
Recalling Grandaunt’s delicate craftwork--
Each pattern of fabric threaded with zest,
As her hands would bounce around pinpoint needles,
Weaving an array of doilies rugs garments
Intently absorbed in a foot pedal’s rhythm
That her hums trailed beyond Nam’s bombings :
The war years seemed like only yesterday,
Calming her through spindles of moon’s quick cycle .
Along each evening’s gloss, we rollicked laughed
Exchanging banters like friends… till she crossed over :
Tonight, I gently pat her own quilt laying on my bedside,
Lining our decades of sweet remembrances…
For a moment, my eyes gazed at stars’ fading wicker,
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.
Viv Wigley’s Contest: One nine and sixteen
Written 5/1/2018
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Its turn-of-the-century frame clad in rust
Sitting in the old attic’s dim lighting
It revived memories uninviting
Her dauntless spirit still seemed to be there
Helen, hard at work in her wicker chair
The bobbin spun as she pressed the treadle
To mend her husband’s Civil War medal
The war years seemed like only yesterday
When the North fought in blue, the South in gray
Ben had battled Rebel troops at Bull Run
Led by McDowell in hot July sun
Hope was extinguished in a young girl’s heart
The first time she and Ben had been apart
He was one of thousands with no grave mark
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark
*April 28, 2018
Curled up in a comfy chair,
a shoe box filled with years
of captured memories in her lap;
memories of motherhood - so bitter sweet.
Her smile turns down -
the wet of her sadness drips from her face.
The chair gives her no comfort
for the paper images in the box
screams the truth of what was and what is.
Sadly; her once tightly woven fabric
weaved unconditionally, thread by thread
with bare hands and God's help,
is now...tattered and fraying,
never to be restored to what it once was.
And from this tattered and fraying fabric
is a unique and vital thread missing...
a thread that can never be replaced.
So bitter out weighs the sweet.
Captured memories are stored away.
Head in hands she prays....desperately she prays....
that what remains of this fabric can be salvaged.
Fabric contained
The old remnants of World War 11
Blood soaked the fields
As responders pushed to get through
Lifting bodies dead or alive
Rejoicing for those who survive
Fabrics of Flesh
****
Judy Konos
Weave A Rondelet contest