Best Patches Poems
Serging through life, I whipstitch, weft, and welt,
But always, my thoughts are pick-threading.
As stippled patches of emotion rise and fall in me,
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
Just too many scars.
The mindless mind stresses itself through mental snares,
I waste away beneath it all, piecing and pondering.
Where the struggling soul and pleating body meet,
I seek significance in life’s lucid-lined layers.
Confronting my inner fears as an owneress,
Time leaves its cursed mark in starched stitches that cut.
Each moment experienced is like a closing zipper,
My calm exterior ridges are often rough, ready, and ruffled.
A life full of scars.
While unique experiences blend like transient ombre shades
My essence feels like a needled complex knit.
Memories form patterns from life’s four-patches
Challenges scissors cut are like shredded sharp diamonds.
Yet more paths diverge along life’s shifting chevrons
I strive to fit somehow; this square is what I do.
Yet my world stands out like tri-recs blocks
Creating stars and pineapples to fight fifty-four forty.
Scars that are hidden and visible, surface and deep.
Like trapezoids, I sense those oblong obstacles loom
Worth or less by my own limited gauge, I measure.
I pray each day new chapters begin casting on
While others exhaust, reaching their bind-offs.
I do seek a pattern master, and I need to pray for one.
I contemplate constantly along selvages of thoughts.
They hang like dangling tails…
I start to visualize my purpose slowly seaming.
Look as I whipstitch, weft, and welt through life, serging.
As I graciously and sagaciously test life’s many swatches,
I devote my life to the Master Seamster the…
Healer of scars.
You are a good dog Patches,
'cept for brown patches of stain,
Which you leave all over
the green grass,
I wish you would restrain
You're such a smart dog, Patches,
You left my mind in awe,
When on the 6 ft block wall,
Your careful pretty paws,
Lead you, as if on tight rope,
As if you were a cat,
You could have fallen and
Broke your tail!
Please don't do things
like that!
You're such a sweet dog
Patches,
Unless you rip up trash,
And tear up the new carpet
That cost us lots of cash.
You are a blessed dog, Patches,
But did you eat a yam?
No!
When Holidays were nigh
you stole and
Chewed the Christmas ham!
You are a dear dog Patches
And truly, thinking back,
You only chewed up diapers
Cuz' you liked them for a snack.
I came upon a lady with a charming basket
it was full of fur and tiny ribbon latches.
I reached in and pulled out a friend
and I named him patches.
Two greens eyes and a pirate smile
I knew he would not be meek nor mild.
I cuddled him close as I could and took
him home with me and fed him good.
Now he is fat as can be and all he does
is smile and cunningly winks at me.
Often wondering what he has been up to
sleeping in my hat or playing in my shoes.
A true friend he has been to me and I
am so glad that the lady brought her basket
and opened it, for me to see.
Plant a garden by the roadside,
so passerby's can see,
the beauty of the flowers
you have planted there for me.
"Me" meaning all of us,
who do not have a yard,
and appreciate the beauty
displayed in your front yard.
The beauty of bright flowers
are like a balm to me.
As if God's smiling face is there
for passerby's to see.
Flowers soothe the spirit,
and help the heart expand,
when I see little patches of beauty,
all over God's good land.
Those flowers in the sunlight,
their colors bright and gay,
are treasures I'll behold,
when again, I walk your way.
With Sol shining spectacularly bright,
I woke to the trickle of melting snow.
Hoping that Spring had arrived overnight,
dripping icicles set my heart aglow.
And while Winter may still be holding tight,
in a few weeks she'll be forced to let go.
And when the daffodils sprout from the ground,
She'll simply slip away, without a sound.
I hear the honking of geese heading home:
their cacophony, music to my ears.
And as melting lakes shine like liquid chrome,
icicles morph into Spring's tepid tears.
And a world packed in snowy styrofoam,
revives, as it has for billions of years.
Resurrecting colors that are varied,
Spring germinates seeds that Autumn buried.
I'm delighted to see patches of green
polka-dot the alabaster landscape.
Winter no longer dominates the scene;
the melting snowmen can't retain their shape.
And each breath of Spring air smells fresh and clean,
as it facilitates Winter's escape.
Sol's shining with an optimistic glow
that soon, wildflowers will begin to show.
A winter's walk
on Commonwealth Avenue
Kathy I said
this reminds me of 1992
I dreamed of Harvard then
and Catcher in the Rye
I am a rock
I could see Boston from my mind's eye
Now I have patches on my sleeves like
I passed some kind of test
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
and disregards the rest
Scorching heat hassled my feet,
as I ambled alongside the beast.
A wooden cup, a water bag and
parched barley meal for a feast.
My shadow exhaled hot fumes
on the dry desert sand.
Days of prolonged journey,
In search of a famous land.
Mounted on the highest
was a man wearing a lowly thawb
With evident fourteen patches,
devoid of a pristine robe.
He ruled the continents
With power and dignity.
He owned a little
Enough to satisfy the brevity.
We took turns to sit on the camel,
to relieve ourselves of the toil.
One could rest and another hold reins,
to guide the beast towards the soil.
He beckoned me to stop
And climb on top.
Holding the reins
of the camel’s clop.
Approaching the purpose
I implored the master.
I did not deem right
for him to ignore his lustre.
“The dignitaries are awaiting the ruler
to command them and direct.
A meagre slave on the summit
Will not give you respect.”
He roared and his eyes crimson
He told me a reality
So easily forgotten
“We were humiliated in entirety
And Islam gave us honour
Shall we then choose this world
And push Allah in the corner.”
When his feet get muddled,
in a blameless puddle.
It stumped me more
and enhanced my lore.
It proved my descent
and that of my ruler
We are made with clay
and will return to it sooner.
A sight to behold awaited some,
as we marched into the city.
Never in history, had they seen
A king holding the rope with simplicity.
A slave riding the camel
Made most men bewildered
Tears flowed down relentlessly,
As the equality in Islam was remembered.
The man with fourteen patches,
raised the banner of Islam
Centuries later we still remember,
his humility and vigorous eemaan.
When the difference between
The ruler and the slave.
Was rendered null by the
faithful and brave.
(Thawb – Long shirt
Eemaan – Belief
Allah - God
Islam – Submission to the will of Allah)
(1 Tim. 1: 11)
Patches and His Matches - Limerick
There Once Was A Lad Named Patches
Who Loved To Hide & Play With Matches
He Told His Mom, He Would Stop
But Fool Her, He Did Not!
For She Ran To Him Whenever She Heard Scratches
Written & Copyrighted ©: 10/24/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
White And Black Patches
His patches on his skin
tell a tale of life's big sin
he is white
on most
and he is black
on some
does he unknowingly boast
of the good and the glum?
does he tell in many words but none?
that the white is what life does shone?
the great times ahead
does he tell in many words but none?
that the black is what life depicts as wrong?
the darkness ahead
do the colors that he wears
tell of lifes greatness?
but also lifes despairs?
good and bad is written
on a soul that does not tell
until on a silent day
when the message fell.
Written By Sarah Linklater
06/04/2015
Blue's Magic Patches_Patches for short
What great magical horse with gait
Smooth ride but young unexperienced
Going to ride today for air is cool
Saddled up ready to go beyond_
Beyond those hills that are snow-capped
Exciting time of freedom to get away
Our day to bond and learn area
So much to see and visit over hills
And across dale_ at small stream stop
To let Patches drink and rest a bit
While I take some mid-day nourishment
Crepuscular clouds forming over toward
The hills threatening first snowfall
On the dales and valleys probably
Snow to cover land like the mountains
One snowflake falls as remount
Touches Patches' nose
Patches gives his reign a shake
Terror in his eyes as snow falls
Darken skies _ Patches becomes more terrified
Rearing up in terror_hold on with all might
Patches runs and runs trying to outrun snow
So young__he just doesn't know....
we thread together
all moments of life
looking for a pretty
quilt to display
but some patches
are misplaced
we overlook those
a missewn piece
some edges frayed
yet all the imperfections
all the dog-eared pages of
life give character
to each story
the ragged sentences
strewn together form paragraphs
and paragraphs are knitted into chapters
chapters into books
great museums and galleries
do not showcase tangled branches
of families pulling up chairs
and arguing at tables
the candles burned
the laughter
the heartaches
the embraces
those landmarks of
life and death are misfit
like jigsaws with lost pieces
sometimes we are swept up
in thoughts that drift away
and leave scars
we slip on tears and
are spoon fed air
leaving us empty like
promises that glide away
into hollow futures
let the scars shine like badges
trophies to unsung heroes
let the ruby slippers take you home
to watch winter sunsets
to unwrap Christmas sweaters
and rock babies to sleep
for they are the new chapters
stitch together all the torn rags
and colorful fabrics to make
keepsakes of your own
Can I sink into your fullness and pretend that I'm whole?
If only I could melt into your sturdy frame,
you could muffle the crying, the screaming,
Or maybe I'd just forget.
Truth be told, my past will forever be a reminder of this current aching,
as sure as the scars on my skin
But maybe you could pretend to love me just now,
telling me you'd never take from me what I've already lost to the lions-
that you won't feast on my vulnerable state of mind,
or conspire as you take into account my fragile,weepy eyes.
The lies and truths merge in my mind,
and I feel that either might relieve me of this uncertainty-
Oh, anything to believe in...
My shadow
Sharing patches of
Moonlight against this wall
I know a certain event has you feeling down.
There was a sudden death of a girl in town.
She was floating in the river past the coal yard.
You took your neighbor’s words quite hard.
Gossip flourishes in this old shanty village.
Living in this place is hardly a privilege.
Rumors have it you were in love with this girl.
Among the lumps of coal, she was a pearl.
Her parents hated you, and yours despised her.
They never wanted to see you together.
You attempted to see her. I know you tried.
She thought she lost you, and it led to her suicide.
It is quite unfortunate that “Patches” is now gone.
Do not take your own life. You need to carry on.
Based on the hit song of yesteryear "Patches" by Dickey Lee
‘Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust’
frozen in stitch by a “toy soldiers rust.”*
Time remembers the scent of his hair,
the fold of the clothes as she left them there.
He was sampling youth when the bugle blew
a boy knowing nothing he thought he knew
answered the call of a nation’s need
denying the truths that soldiers bleed.
‘The war years seemed like only yesterday’
as he wandered, tattered, in disarray,
lost in the grip of a chevron’s cold stain
each breath sadly humming death’s cold refrain.
Threads of his life unraveled by peace
scent of fresh cloth, destroyed, out of reach
his life ebbed away, a flickering spark,
’The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark’
©4/14/2018
*reference to poem “LITTLE BOY BLUE” by Eugene Field
submitted to – One nine and sixteen – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Viv Wigley