Best Stitched Poems
Bring me a needle,
Bring me some thread.
I'll stitch you a poem
That's never been read.
Each letter and word,
Are the thread that I'll use,
The needle, my pen,
Your devotion my muse.
As needle and thread
Sew together a seam,
My pen and my words,
Will stitch together a theme.
The theme will be love,
The words from my soul,
Stitched with great care
For you to behold.
When the last word is penned,
Like a final snipped thread,
I'll present you this poem,
Just like I said.
2/2012
Entered in Rob Carmack's Screwed !V contest
The surgeon generals
are scalpel meeting once again
Fear doktors of war
are planning to raise another mar
on Earth’s topographical skin
Pigmented epidermal cells
are being prosperity lullabied put to sleep
under the celestial lights
Souls with eyes and minds closed —
their ears tingle lustily,
hearing cash pillow talk on poverty sheets
But, the gorgeous planetary patient
has no operating room human rights
Oh, such an awful terrestrial plight!
Yet, the view from the firmament heights
show another picture
of love from above
No stitches are seen
on the sky blue-eye, brown skin beauty
Regal global queen,
daughter of the Lunar tides,
your disfigurement is a cosmic shame
Moon princess,
Snow White seasonal changeling,
the galloping Four Horsemen are coming
upon the dispossessing gale wind
to trample upon
your perfect facial contours again
Hazel spring eyes,
with a cerulean crown
over her cloud-colored wedding veil
She wears such a Polar aurora adorable,
pristine mountainous gown
But the Jekyll dogs of war
are viciously on the shadow Hyde, waiting
to gnash another canine needle
into your verdant cheek vale fertility
Upon an evergreen face
does not one strand of virgin
forest hair
stand out of winter place
Until the anaesthesia bombs needle drop
to pockmark your oasis skin ...
and the monstrous dissection begins
Bloody butchers bullet love
slaughterhouse flaying
Stitching border sutures ... raised-flag lines
that are ever changing
As the summer fruits of world peace
are no longer autumn falling
Cris-cross scissor map marks
have so money land-lust sullied your timeless beauty
A planetary Bride of Frankenstein
is now your geo-political, laboratory scarred destiny
And I’m afraid to experimentally speak:
more stitches are soon forthcoming
Yet, from high above,
tho’ I hear
the negotiating table scalpel scrapes ...
I see no ugly stitches
on your indigo beautiful oceanic face
Sighs yet again
a fold here,
a crease there
origami wings
that are limp,
drenched
looking pretty lonely and pathetic
under, that, crying, sky, , , ,
, , , ,
/////
It ironically fits well
into the day that is filled with cracks,
that spills into the evening----
s h a t t e r e d eggshells
that can't be beared to be buried,
only placed carefully with the dried leaves...
If only for a moment,
I keep my cradle of tears at bay,
as I let the moon do the weeping for me.
A mental tracking back
of the weeks, days, hours, minutes;
Let the scientist return to inference
Walk back to the time of hope and grief--
The dendrobium. The grasshoppers. The twisted bonsai.
Looking behind,
the footprints
are still there... . . . ..
Wash them away
with waves of laughter,
Erase all vestiges of me.
Forget I was ever here;
that should be easy
...I never meant much to you anyway
214a22801012016
This is a mash-up of sorts of several writes of mine. I stitched it up with some lines. Very rough, I know, just felt like squishing some of my writes & edits together.
A lady named Patricia McDuckett
Had a body shaped like a bucket.
She tried many creams
To cover her seams
But finally nipped and tucked it.
To me, you were the charm handsome brings to view,
the emotional pull in touching love songs,
every dream I wished to never wake up from
and leading star of daydreams I composed, too.
Then, one day you called, spoke with a gusto-coo
to say I was someone you would love to know.
You asked me to be your date at a town dance
and I hoped my joy glow did not phone show!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We lived years tethered in joy love did construe.
I was happy and you loved happily, too,
but our love’s glory changed stories and turned dark
like your leather moods I grew to daily rue.
Time sowed memories with pain stitched by you.
I bear bruises time cleared long ago - so, know
my pain won't fade like moonlight on flower’s dew.
I live merged with pains from all we went through.
He hung out alone in his room most of the time
with his door locked,quiet.
He had a name. A short and simple one, that nobody could remember. Maybe it was Ken, or
Tom - something like that.
Yeah, the boy everybody made fun of
beacuse his Mummy had stiched his name onto the back of his PE bag.
Not just that, he had all his books perfectly coverered, I remember beacuse I used to hand
them out in the mornings.
He never came back to school after the holidays.
Jess said it was because he got sent to juvie for trying to butcher his Mum with the garden
spade. She heard that he was one of those "messed up kids," who finally flipped out. Huey,
agreed and said that it was only a matter of time before it happened.
According to Mia, she heard that his Mum was just standing there, when he came up from
behind and attacked her. She heard there was blood all over the place.
Everyone heard everything.
When our teacher came over to ask who we were talking about,
Jess said Ken.
Huey said Tom.
Mia said Bill.
Confused, they stared at eachother
then turned to the class, perhaps searching for the answer.
Everyone else, shrugged.
would you guide me?
be my golden thread, lead me through the labyrinth of my own mind,
help me travel through the deadly twists and turns,
would you protect me from the beasts inside?
i am empty, a shell, an apparition
a ghost
i lurk in the corners; invisible, transparent
you’ll never see me
but it’s ok,
i am used to pain and terror,
used to being used,
comfortable with being uncomfortable,
ok with not being ok,
but maybe you could fix me?
even if it’s temporary,
give me a band aid and a butterfly kiss,
just to hide the wound, to make it pretty
cover it up, conceal it
conceal, conceal, conceal
never show them anything, honey
hide your feelings, honey, hide every last one
the depression, the angst, the sorrow,
dig a hole in the sand box,
use the plastic shovels and cover them all up,
bury them down, deep, deep, deep
but could i give you some of my demons?
could i transfer a few to you?
could i give you a little piece of me,
a souvenir, a little keychain
thanks for visiting the desolate, foreign lands of my thoughts,
hope you had a nice stay
could you clip it to your backpack?
look at it sometimes and think of your trip
think of me,
remember me, maybe
even if it’s only for a second
baby could you think of me?
because with you, the words come easy,
with them, they stick in my throat
a ball and chain around my tongue,
forcing it down my throat
‘shut up, honey’ the shackles hiss
‘shut your ugly mouth’
i listen
i swallow them down
i won’t throw those words up in front of them
i’ll purge them tonight
when i’m alone in my room, lights off, pen in hand
i’ll throw them all up, every dirty confession
spit them up in the bathtub,
wash them down the drain
i’m a mess, honey
a tangled spool of thread
unknot me, baby
pull apart every loop, smooth me out
take me and sew something pretty
something sentimental, something meaningful
oh god, i’d love to be something meaningful
a movie ticket stub from a first date,
a lock of baby hair,
a letter to a first love,
take me, all my tangled mess
and create something amazing
we could be beautifully stitched together, baby
-e.g.
Should I begin with
“I’m sorry”?
I’m sorry.
I’m really so very sorry.
I pleaded with you
to put your wrists in harm’s way.
On the line.
And then I forgot to hold mine out
for more than a moment
after you joined me.
I was ready…
…but then you weren’t.
Now you are, and you wait.
And all I can say is
“I’m sorry.”
So very sorry.
I realize I have hurt you
I have hurt you
hurt you
you…
Hurt you.
And I lived for you
sometime ago.
Hurt…
…
…you.
I don’t want to live
without you
But I will not die
with you.
And I love you.
and
I love you
and
i
love
you—
Silently love creeps into place
casting fast shadows in the hall
that if ignored, extend their sprawl.
Cupid twirls to ambush our space.
When our quit-dreams sit unprepared,
then love commands its stand declared.
With naught to influence love’s grace,
it does seem we will never learn,
thus, love blocks our wish to discern.
Love will not move at our dreamed pace.
It stays us baffled and confused.
Our heart issues keep love amused.
Love flies high when two find embrace
so, love repeats its own story
to mesh within heights of glory.
Soft as love’s own silky, stitched lace
are thankful, joined hearts for love’s prize
as time customized to surprise.
Silently love creeps into place
cupid twirls to ambush our space.
With naught to influence love’s grace,
love will not move at our dreamed pace.
Love flies high when two find embrace
soft as love’s own silky, stitched lace.
... CayCay Jennings
July 7, 2018
Those bars before you could've been hand stitched.
You sowed that.
The unfortunate truth but that truth doesn't own you.
I force my love, squeeze it in between the inches of space.
Don't worry just stand back and watch..it will fit.
I didn't come in with it but here it appears oozing through my fingers.
You are not what you did or didn't do.
You are whoever you've grown into right now...at this moment.
A glue and a saliva
Couldn't hold the lava
The climax of the data
The core of the matter
The part of the bone more fatter
A tail and a head
Couldn't contain the bread
The daily breast
Flowing the daily breath
Sighing in wider breadths
A nail and a hammer
Couldn't spread the chips
The cellular sips
The infinitesimal whips
The silent lips
A staple and a stitch
Seemed to give the stretch
Of the deepest trench
Of the biggest wretch
Of words more than a sketch
Dark cloud filled with tears
Waiting to cry over the earth
Cold chills of wind blow a faint fear
Watching, waiting, praying not to feel hurt
Silent tears drip down
Silver, untouched, before they hit the ground.
Here comes the rain
Silently I listen to that soft beat it plays
Music that soothes the pain
Whispering to me “Hush, you’ll be okay”
Forgetting the pain
Courage is born
Needles of faith sow together what was torn
Pulling myself together
I know I’ll win this fight
Hugging past memories away
As I kiss my faith stitched heart goodnight.
in her star-stitched
s i l e n c e
she breathes ~
glass-winged h o p e
weaving angelic hymns
with lilac light
like a ballerina
draped in chiffon ~
pirouetting through poetry
amidst dusk kissed
by gloaming gold,
s w i r l i n g
origami spring
into a sky full
of paper planes
fleeting with
sakura secrets
serving the sinister
and serene
with citrine smoke
of seraphic dust…
so let l o v e rise
as the maternal Goddess
of nocturnal hours
she seeks
not the cursed
and crestfallen ~
familiar faces
masked
with jilted jasmines
and eagle feathers
lurking in
psychedelic shores
awaiting the downfall ~
like crashing comets
phasing upon the
lamented lighthouse
flickering
fickle flares
of pained
perspectives...
for the ones that sleep
in tree-high-retreats
counting frozen sparks
can never seize
as she is the
sunflower sigh
that dreams between
shifting colors
of azure leaves
a metaphor molded
from
the silver
of the moon’s ink
forgotten by thistles
and
thorns of t i m e ….
Sifting streams of gold through my hands
Sapphire strewn sands from distant lands
Lusty ambition's avaricious reach
All together rise up to teach --
Polished silver is shiny; bronze basks in the sun
But humble deeds, stitched in Heaven
Of Eternity are spun
It was the last lap of highschool and a boy had dreams. He knew that half his life had been torn away from him but he postponed the pain and somehow thought the abundance of time would provide him with loopholes to take it all back. He wanted to start a blog and paint away all the pain, beauty ,perceptions and fantasies. He wanted to fuse art and poetry on instagram. He wanted to put that lyricism and rage with music. A golden voice and a steel mic then make home out of the stage. He wanted to look for competitions and paint his name on their lips while brushing the dust off his bedpost with a trophy or two. He had a picture of how to manipulate lenses and shoot his creativity with a camera. Now the only shot he has makes sunset look like a silver wreck. He wrote all his ideas down and let them rest in a temporary comma in a lone corner of that yellow notebook. Mimicking stage performances when nobody was looking. He wanted to tear all the tearstained pages away and start over only to realise that only the dusty covers were left of his sorry book. The place he called home was now so dark he couldn't even tell how many lightyears away it was anymore. Had to start making friends anew but he was a broken Rubik's in an already solved jigsaw. It drove him crazy till the rubber off the tires melted to screeching metal while going downhill. His mind visited the past and burned the bridge but left his body drowning in the present. "Will my eulogy read suicide if I was already dead inside? ",he pondered. He was trying baby steps to walk away from his collapsing world but his feet were too huge for that. He was screaming "help " in metaphors but it only came off as empty boxes in pretty wrappings. They told him writing was an exorcism, but he could only feel the words leave, not the demons. Whoever that boy in the mirror is, I pity him.
Elliepoet