Best Knits Poems
I can't recall the day you left
Empty words going west
~To The West Coast~
My love, my sweet love -- my soulmate
I will cherish our time, with the sun
My love, my friend, my lover
Today we part, on this day June 3rd 15
My love, my sweet love -- my everything
On this day, I will take a long way home
On this day, I will look back and smile
To know it was not a dream
My love, my sweet love -- my true love
With this pen, I write this letter,
My bed now knits a different sweater,
Preparing my linens for darker weather
I want you to know, I'm writing this with a swollen heart
It was never you, it was I who grew apart
Patience kept you warm when I was cold
Every night, I cried, I tried to feed you my dreams
My hollow soul sat like a fool under a heavy cloud
Holding back, the need of proceeding who I was
My love -- please forgive me
I was inconsiderate of us
I would lay without opening the windows of trust
Your smiles I wiped away my faults
However you stayed, you watched,
You meant to kiss and stop the pouring rain
You kept strong, holding my hand,
When everything around my life persisted to perish
You soaked every time I stormed,
I regret when I refused to let you touch the women in me
My love -- it was never you
I was broken before our hearts met
Like a villain and a thief,
You took my diamonds in hopes of seeing them shine again
Your demons found a way into the shadows of my life
Trying to complete what you could not see
You could not feel, still, you believed in me
My dreams, you held me close, loving who I am
My love -- you are the sunrise the sunset
Your limbs kept me up when I would fall
I will miss the touch of light in every stare
Thank you for not looking my way, the day you left
I did not want you to see the mask I used to cover it all
Pretending, I was strong when I was weak
Knowing I had fallen in love with you
Forever yours,
Drawn to thy beauty, grace rains down;
I choose this drowning than a drought –
Where ten thousand are called mine own;
Yet, deny thee and live without.
Skilled not enough to understand;
Words unheard, find their voice through thee;
As I reach out then find thy hand;
I see light take darkness from me.
Chaos knits together unity:
Thoughts run free, once captive in chains;
Cleansed from fear in thy purity;
Would I leave, canceling such gains?
Poor Frosty was built upside down
and quickly he’s talk of the town
He’s not wearing his smalls
so folks see his snowballs -
his smile soon turns into a frown!
When Santa learns of Frosty’s plight
he orders some work late that night
So his wife Mrs Clause
knits Frosty some new drawers -
but his ‘carrot’ doesn’t hang right!
*drawers classed as one syllable as per the UK pronunciation of the word
Both limericks 8,8,6,6,8
Christmas Limericks Old or New Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire
Edited
11/30/18
Birds
care not
for whom they
sing, as beneath
skies of flickering
flowers and diamond dews~
we follow merlot wine rays..
For between steel dusk and bronze dawn,
where shadows of silent sonnets flow
we are all petals of imperfection
sharing the same sun glazed in honeyed hope~
that floats from purple hued pansies to~
ebony buds, wrapped in lilac
love and wisteria warmth,
like a blue bouquet of,
blissful butterflies
fluttering inked~
poetry
to the
stars
and
soul of
the rose moon,
mirroring his
selfless silhouette
forever calming the
freckled ripples of grieving
seas, tonight my heart knits rhymeless
pleas in saffron syllables, wishing
his gemini garden will glow and thrive…
fortune teller knits a future ... time pulls at loose threads unraveling
Nestled
in her old chair-
world outside her window
and indoor plants, a sign of life-
she knits.
Fingers
work their magic-
grant her moments purpose;
then reminiscing years gone by-
tears flow.
Winter wears
a warm white coat,
and wraps a scarf
around her throat.
She knits the trees
lacy white caps,
and carpets with snow,
growing things that nap.
Then in the morning,
when hungry creatures wake,
she fills their bowls
with frosted flakes.
Please do not stress Mother dearest
As i do not want to add to your woes
But the dog has just come in covered
in ticks and fleas
And my sister and I have both knits and
scrapped knees respectively
So many troubles and this won't be the
last to try and comb over or sweep under
the already threadbare underlay or
cardboard box dinning table
Yet just more ammunition and stick's of
rock to be labeled and taunted by other's
with
Exactly just how much of laugh are you
having and enjoying at our expense
I've barely 23 cent's left after i've
settled my rent to patch up the
holes in the front door from the
bailiff's constantly knocking down
my door
But nevermind me what really strings
and breaks my heart are seeing my
children's faces bony and haunt
Like ghost's me do haunt knowing
hug's won't alone keep them warm
when the winter cold night's draw in
But those very kid's despite all of
this and apparently having nothing
are both happy and content at the
same time
Because 1 thing they know for sure
is that there are far worse fates than
being poor
So long as they know Mother loves
them
Woven in Silk Threads of Love
(Apropos Us and the Children)
Time tested love, bruised
and battered,
lay like littered crystals
on the steel plate stage of life;
dismembered and crumbled
like a stale cookie
whose particles
have lost
their electromagnetic-like
attractiveness.
Ingredients of envious spice
inhibits any and all adhesiveness—
that tough threading love folds and kneads.
Yet, the sprinkling of forgiveness
knits and weaves the web
of diverse unity of understanding—
cocooning new beginnings:
Indeed, the most fragile butterfly wings
have endured—soared in monarch majesty—
defying time tested, treacherous winds
that the teeming silk of love forever spins.
Yes, to err is human; to forgive divine;
may eternal blessings forever twine
this tender love of yours and mine.
Like the burning tree, resting on the clouds
The glow of the sun, hidden...flourishes
Mirrored waters, tween the tall grass-marsh, crowds
Before the night...when the sun perishes
Once caught, are the crabs of past generations
Like rabbits, how fast they come and they go
My fathers boat, beyond renovations
I can see him still...with oars he would row
Mom, at home waiting...for dad's buckets full
Waters boiling, nut crackers for the claws
Grandmother waits too...as she knits her wool
Waiting to eat crabs with her long jowl jaws
These days of old I will never forget
A shadow of time...my mind's silhouette
(Photo #3)
Choices Poetry Contest
Sponsor Sara Kendrick
5-12-2019
His words!
Life and substance, they vomit
both, He knits
into one big unit.
His perfect craft
leaving no deficit
and the work of his hands,
obvious and explicit.
Is it the numerous
biological processes in just one digit?
Or handling the entire earth
in one orbit?
What about the accurate blending
of different physical forces to fit?
And the awesome function
of the eye in its obit?
How majestic is He!
That His foot stool
the Earth inhabits
and His glory
not limited to the pulpit.
Showering His blessings
and not considering merit.
Showing His power
which has no limit.
Glorious and wondrous is this spirit
when His favour hits
with no end the favoured debits
and enjoying full benefits
beyond all forms of profit.
Oh! How majestic is this being.
Neglecting the sun-rays
She comes here each day
Approaches to see the rabbit hole,
Ignoring the fear of animals
As her swain once committed her,
He will come here to meet her again.
Flowers emaciated, Trees withered,
Following the cursed- strong storm;
Cascades are no more watering,
Still drought can’t lock her in,
Birds don’t fly now in this sky;
But rainbows reminds her of him
Counting the seven colors,
She knits her trance that
The prince will emerge yet again.
That day he came on unicorn,
While sleeping soundly on her mom’s lap,
A bouquet of flower, box of love candies,
He said, he loves and would love her forever;
Angelina, now knitting a sweater thinks...
What would match him more?
A maroon? No...Blue, nope it should be crimson
Hence their love is forever, yet a lot to endeavor,
Entering to the wood, she asks the woodcutter,
‘Have you seen my prince today?’
Negatively answers regularly the woodcutter,
But Angelina counts her days till the date.
The pitcher of her waist, she keeps with her
She thinks he (Prince) must be thirsting,
When the unicorn flies, thirstily the price almost dies,
But seldom has he got a moment to stop,
The well became dry; the time keeps on flying,
The prince never comes here to stop.
At last the pigeon comes, delivering the letter
The prince once died by the encounter.
Where are the children? Where are the children this night and day? In the African nation of South Sudan, there is a horrible famine. Their families, and their children are perishing because they are starving to death.
World television pastors, such as Rod Parsley, are pledged to help provide assistance. The Daystar and TBN networks really providing: fresh water and wells, medical, and dental care, food and of course shoes.
The Evangelical Lutheran Church of America has our world hunger fund, The Baptist, and charismatic churches sponsor missionaries. Professional athletes and entertainment industry's actors and musicians sponsor their own non-profit organizations. The Red Cross, and Salvation Army and Habit for Humanity etc. The list could go on endlessly. Yet photos of starving children we constantly see.
Many people have wondered why? Is there really a God above us in heaven's lofty skies? And if he does exist, does he even care about us? "The poor you will always have with you, you shall not always have me with you." He was addressing Jesus. Yes, God really does care! His ministry welcomed the little children and denied them not for such is the kingdom of heaven. We must have the faith of a child to please him and enter into the kingdom of heaven.
Where are the children? They need responsible people to care for both their physical spiritual needs. The secular world addresses their physical needs from cradle to the grave. The unborn children and their mothers need special treatment and care. What happens to an unborn child from conception if it dies? The child is immediately welcomed into the presence of Jesus Christ in the kingdom of heaven. It is their grieving mothers, fathers, and families needing both spiritual and emotional tender loving care TLC.
Just suppose the unborn child would have been severely disabled from birth? God knits us together in our mother's wombs. The physical conception process with a male's sperm fertilizing a female's egg. The sin nature of mankind is responsible not God. When Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of the Knowlege of Good and Evil--sin entered into the DNA of people. Death and destruction also entered in. Where are the children? Under the shelter of his everlasting arms.
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
aka Roxy Lea 1954
August 05, 2017
I blink my eyes and then the world is gone.
Open once again to see some peons upon the lawn.
They came to hear the Lion yawn and swipe a wife by dawn.
That's why I keep my pride and believe,
to conceive that it's respite is my reprieve.
But you yuppies be just mere pawns in the grand scheme;
placed at rank 2 file C.
I treat myself to treats I don't need to ask the priest.
I fill a lady's niche when God's dead like Friedrich Nietzsche.
I'm an autonomous man, the world needs me.
Due to greedy deeds, I lost the lot of you to petty thievery.
Now standing orthogonal to the bishop you orthodox Cis.
Tearing holes in the fabric of time while mother nature sits and knits that.
Amidst a scrimmage over minish mishaps, fisticuffs and misfired mitts with whiplash.
Hexed by wind and turbulent syntax.
As activists vehemently flail at the fascist crux; only to be met by impasse.
Making my attempt to love exclusively an outward expression;
a barrage of affection bombarding the good intentions of a meta-man’s vision.
Otherwise known as fortified Freudian defense mechanisms.
To deal with ideals in an asymmetric system.
Oh but I pray praise that I am what I be.
Hallow thy be virile amongst a creed of faulty seeds.
Yet I’m an enantiomer, a Chiral Beast;
my courage can never be superimposed upon the fear of defeat.
Finally granted with the Coupe de Gras when disagreements meet.
As if graced by chance, I advance with the apex of a Sword’s vertice.
Striking clean from the left to then evade your deceit.
I take a seat while a woman cleans my wounds with peace.
Ahh but even in victory, the warrior’s woe must be debriefed.
Uh grasshopper I hate what you do
My lawn you sit and you chew
My spray called zits
It kills bloody knits
With my slipper I whip your ass to Timbuktu