Best Sewed Poems
You didn’t notice my tears.
As you both kissed each other
like two lonely plungers
who just escaped from plumber’s solitary confinement,
your eyes open and wander up.
You didn’t look across that banquet hall
with my feet planted against wood polished tendencies.
Its creaks motioning time towards yellow-signal identity.
As my breath declares sudden death
against lake’s dripping reflections…
…you didn’t think to set your photo album on private.
Advertising lust
wrapped in pretentious cloak
sewed in recycled fibers of “love”.
With ignorant enablers speaking chic-flick tongue,
“Oh My Gawd! I’m so happy for you! I wanna ovulate!”
As I, put my head down
returning to this moment in time,
I had to let my song…cry.
Lenny Williams begins to exude “cause I love you” chorus,
as I walk towards bar
sensing your seductive retinas
stroking against my Latin swagger.
Your ring finger
chained by 3 carat, naïve cut, diamond
motions an intense, streaking caress
against wine glass filled with Zinfandel sin.
Because you know I am your addiction.
Your diabetic lips never forgot
that taste
of my
brown
sugar.
But, you didn’t notice my tears.
I wish you had.
For all this time, these tears
were of joyful splendor.
Because solace holds my hand
with candlelight warmth.
Slow dancing with my soul
in mystery Salsa sway.
While you stand on home plate,
holding your 2nd place trophy,
with 3 strikes against you.
A reminder that my heart,
was flexible enough
to dodge
a bullet.
© Drake J. Eszes
Your house still smells like you:
Warm shortbread and lavender soap -
Comforting and agonizing.
Your plants still bloom,
Perched beside the window
Where the kettle waits to be filled.
But your rocking chair is still
And all is quiet.
I could have fallen to pieces
Like a hand-blown vase
Hurled against green walls
Or dropped on old floorboards
Through fingers slick with shock.
But you sewed me up
With words gone by.
Your remnant thoughts
(So similar to thoughts I've had)
Penned in your slanted scrawl,
Filling pages with perfect rhymes
And clever observations.
Here you'll live forever
In vibrant verses and lilting lines.
And I'll live here too
Until the last salty drop
Lands on the final page.
A dachshund named Oscar was he,
which adored trick or treating with me,
so I had me some fun
when I sewed a cloth bun,
for a Halloween weenie he’d be.
On his costume I added a trim
mustard yellow, but though he’s not slim,
he’s no Oscar Mayer,
so don’t raise his ire
by taking a bite out of him!
She wore a gingham apron,
battled dirt on hands and knees
while garments washed swayed brightly
on a clothesline in the breeze.
She sewed and worked a garden,
did the dishes all by hand;
her wiggling giggling kids
would straighten up at her command.
Her leftovers were loved as much
as was the ginger cake
she drizzled with that special sauce
she always used to make.
Today they’d call her backwards,
for no feminist was she!
But all she’d ever daydreamed of
was what she came to be.
(For Mac's "Anything Goes Again" contest)
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
In a house where a maiden's dreams were crushed
An open seam forever left impaled
Discolored remnants of a wedding veil
Beneath a stitch in time that came too late
A silver needle sewed her final fate
A blushing bride she never was to be
A spinster was to be her destiny
The war years seemed like only yesterday'
As I gazed on the ruins and disarray
A mildewed wedding dress that stood in wait
Beneath layers of soggy tattered lace
Then beneath the leaking roof and fallen beams
I heard the humming of that old machine
As she tried to mend the dream that fell apart
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
When the auctioneer first shows it,
I feel a sudden piercing shock.
My grandma's hand-sewn antique quilt
Is on the auction block.
It is the lovely basket pattern
And her stitches are so neat,
It must have taken tedious hours
For my grandma to complete.
I have taken such good care of it
Since my daddy left it to me,
And I wrapped up in it often
When the day was dark and gloomy.
Grandma sewed in her initials
And the year that she had made it.
One hundred-fifty-two years of wear and age
Couldn't help but start to fade it.
Grandma didn't know the fortune
That her hand-stitched quilt could bring,
When it was held up as an antique
In a future auction ring.
My heart is truly hurting
And I cannot stop the tears,
For giving up the treasure
I have loved for all these years.
Grandma made it for her hope chest,
While my grandpa was at war.
The year was Eighteen Sixty three.
My grandma was twenty-four.
But I know Grandma would agree with me,
That the life of our little Nell
Is worth more than a beloved quilt.
It is the right time to sell.
There is so much history going with it,
To this quilt's lucky buyer.
I hope he bids a hundred thousand.
Or if we're lucky, even higher.
For Auctioneer contest
100,000 dollars bid
Lost in the darkness
of my mind.
Not looking forward,
I was stuck behind.
Wanton whispers,
my body creaked.
I could not find
those things I seeked
The horse with blinders
that I rode,
ate from the seeds
that I had sewed.
It layed bloated
on the ground.
Beneath its hooves
no earth was found.
The sun there shone
upon my head.
I feared the valley
of the dead.
Tin cup empty,
my throat was parched.
Towards my doom,
the clouds were arched.
Then I felt
God’s gracious hand.
There was an escape
I had not planned.
His voice whispered
in my ear.
“Do not fear
for I am here.”
A new light grew
before my eyes.
I no longer believed
the devil’s lies.
There was safe passage
from the past.
A splendid future,
my horizon vast.
Sir Homophone came to meet the maid that somehow stayed so slim.
Her feat was to stay chaste to him and yet by his feet be chased by him.
She had recently lost some weight by refusing to partake in evening sup.
It seemed the more that she pared down the more likely to be paired up.
All night the weak maid prayed so meekly for the Knight that she sees.
But the Knight preyed to be made thrice weekly and she at night to seize.
She hoped he would meet and see her and then choose to wed,
But it was the supper meat that saw the sear that he chews instead.
She sewed her dress then pared the wood and the holy altar made,
He sowed distress when he prepared his wood to wholly alter the maid.
“Maid please tend to me now you’ve said you weekly have sordid sex.”
“Knight please you misunderstand I said I weakly have sorted sox.”
She begged, “Please be discreet with what it is that we’ve discussed.”
He shrugged, “You are awfully discrete in what it is that you disgust.”
But love conspired to steal, his heart soared and they were off to wed,
Then lust transpired to steel his hard sword and they were off to bed.
He was happy because of her sighs and she was happy because of his.
This concludes my good Knight tale and all of this good night tail biz.
You read it didn’t you? Shame on you, I had to read it because I wrote it
but you had a choice. Benny Hill would be so proud.
Why drowning when there's
the ability to swim in me?
Why sleeping in the cold woods
with a match box in my Jacket
and an Axe below my head?
Why the self condemnation
when I'm a billion miles ahead of a billion?
What exactly do I see in my inner mirror?
Is Life embracing or pointing a finger at me?
I see a pretty one of huge significance
with effective duties like an Angel.
But also, I see the ugly one
dust to sand, stone to rock
that's just its living sequel.
I view a perspective
rough but sweet; challenging but interesting
which is exactly my gospel.
But then, I see them as temptations
and tests with no ability to repel.
I notice when walking through red coals
I never let my tears be my Life's panel
but the submission of my adaptation becomes so parallel.
I'm mind blowing and noticeable
like a newly-sewed apparel.
But day and night, I posses a tag with
just one label.
No matter the task to stay beautiful
nothing stops that quest to excel
but I see a limitation to
just a specific ordered function
like the ringing bell.
I'm staying elegant and attractive
making all long to be part of my counsel
but my usefulness, worth and confidence
no self awareness to propel.
Beginning as crude
coming out as a refined Jewel
but still, reality seems so cruel.
What exactly is my mirror saying?
Is my Life that of a Damsel or a Camel?
This, I just cannot tell!
I know we love to read of beautiful things
Hear early morning serenades the song bird sings
See buds blooming into roses perfumed
Within majestic sunset's horizons become consumed
There's another place I lived in for a little while
A neighborhood where somethings didn't make me smile
A child banging on the door, mommy let me inside
Things in the home, I guess from his eyes they must hide
I befriended a boy of ten riding his bike
Said he always went to me-maws to get a bite
For there was no food in his house to eat
Dad found other things to buy instead of meat
A few days pass, no sign of my friend
There he was riding down the street again
I asked where he'd been, was he alright?
He explained he was recovering from a bad dog's bite
I asked him what the doctor had said
He replied, I sewed it myself with a needle and thread
I reluctantly said, let me see your nice sewing job
He pulled up his pant leg, I choked back a sob
I asked him if his daddy was ever mean
He shrugged his shoulders, said sometimes it seems
It kinda hurt my feelings when he said to me
Finish him off - right between the eyes
I won't feed a dog that bites
Not worth the ground where he lies
Sitting on his bike, a leg began to sway
Eyes filled with tears, quickly he wiped one away
Remembering the killing shot he'd fired that day
Toughen up son, is what his father said
Advice given in love, maybe....
Then off on his bike he rode to have some fun...
I know in some places many families still really care
But Mayberry exists only on TV in shades of gray
I moved back to the country where buds bloom into roses perfumed
And into majestic sunset's horizons I can be consumed
©Donna Jones
Winds
raged as
fires glowed in
small frowzy shacks
that strange Georgia eve an angel was born.
The sky proclaimed that lives would re-arrange;
with Joy’s first cry,
the tempest
changed to
calm.
Warm
Zephyr -
spring magic -
arrived with Joy.
Her laughter was kindling for hearth and home.
No galas in her future ; she was poor.
Never frowning,
Joy would flash
diamond
smiles.
Her
Mama
sewed flounces
on hand-me-downs,
which Joy wore with glee, celebrating life.
As Papa played his guitar for them all,
Joy danced and twirled.
Humdrum fled
in her
stead.
Fair,
yellow-
haired; slender
like sassafras,
this sunny lass gladdened all of the town.
Humankind exists that we might have joy.
Those touched by that
sweet angel
all learned
this.
Joy
expelled
gloom, giving
her cheer to all.
Nevertheless, joy is often short-lived.
One strange spring day, a cold wind blew in. As
thunder quaked, warmth
waned, and Joy
was no
more.
For Chris D. Aechtner's
"Double the Fun ~ (Tetractys)"
Tucked away in a forest, where treetops did sway
Lived a family pondering why they felt this way,
A miracle was to happen, which was certain to heal,
And their faith to God, was a joy to reveal.
The forest was giving, they lived off the land, ,
Each member of the family, lending a hand
Dad a carpenter, crafted a variety of toys,
Mother sewed outfits for the girls and the boys.
Dad went out in the snow and spotted a tree,
He heard it whisper, please choose and take me,
A bright star shone brightly, and there it did stay,
Angels opening a pathway to the babe in the hay.
Poem Competition: A Christmas Carol Poetry Contest
Lyric written to the Christmas Carol of: AWAY IN A MANGER
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
2021/12/08
2/8/17
Straight, curvy and bumpy roads
Some with cones
All across the globe
Tools made of stones and from bones
Got to stay in the zone
Wherever I may roam and rove
Certain boards bowed
And automobiles had to be towed
Money being owed
And loaned
Waters with or without foam
And lawns that do or don't have gnomes
Regardless of if the grass was or wasn't mowed
Above and below
Where waters flow
By way of the crow
Or as it was written in an ancient tome
In areas with buffalo
Troves hidden in coves
And groves
And other places unknown
Every since way long ago
Time has shown
Tasks done alone
And on one's own
Experiments involving clones
And surveillance done with drones
Faraway and nearby home
And any other abode
Hung up the phone
If it wasn't about money, then quickly came the dialtone
Due to the weather events getting postponed
Skills and wisdom are important to hone
Whether you're full of estrogen or testosterone
Coagulated blood was found on a robe
While it snowed
The full moon glowed
Near the motherlode
Located at a node
Time seemingly sped up or slowed
Objects getting thrown away and sewed
Meanwhile the population continued to explode
In and out of areas that did or didn't errode
Old and new episodes
Information and emergency calls being radioed
Items made with many materials, sometimes chrome
Or silicone
Stadiums with or without a dome
Capable of being able to fully close
Within and beyond areas that have or haven't been combed
Better stay on your toes
Continuing to row
As the wind does or doesn't blow
Effects ripple and domino
Despite if you have or haven't chose
Because that's how life goes
Stay sharp and composed
By: Dalton Ogletree
Aunt June
My aunt taught me...
how to be; a sewer, a grower,
a knower of "things" important.
She taught me to watch the pot,
until it boiled and never look away.
Canning strawberry jelly,
and making sweet marmalade pie
were the easy lessons
in believing in tomorrow.
Blankets made from scraps
to keep the family warm in winter,
kept "devotions" for another year.
Dresses made of flour sacks,
with corn mill colored ribbon...
They were for spring.
Summer was all about the garden,
and planting... "seeds to fling".
We had chicks for a while,
until my uncle lost his job.
Then we had to eat them.
That was a hard lesson in cooking,
"things" you keep close to the heart,
Sacrifice...
beyond dry tears
to feed the ones you love.
My uncle got sick,
and then he died.
June went to work,
ironed for others,
sewed and cooked and made
their lives easy,
as her's was hard.
My aunt never complained.
My aunt was amazing...
a farm woman,
from the mid-west.
She could rope and ride,
and she would never hide
even from
cancer.
My Aunt was a warrior.
Thrice I found you burnt to ashes
Withered and alone, I sewed on patches
Ideal soulmate, destiny had spoken
Nurturing your fragility, torn and broken
Fawning passion, your features ravishing
Lingering kisses, two bodies lavishing
Adjoined in desire, our fire illuminated
Memorizing every inch, enthralled and jaded
Exquisite devotion to my beloved James
Sacred vows between two twin flames
Date Written: March 1, 2016