Best Textile Poems
Let me tell you a story....
of a little girl who didn't want to be a Princess!!!!
it happened a long time ago, in the life of an adorable girl of seven,
who lived in the busiest humming city, enormously crowded.
a gentle dreamy-eyed girl, who chose secret corners to read,
and play with her cherished dolls' house, which her father built.
as it happened..her father found a job..and it was an idyllic countryside,
excitedly she followed family, felt fortunate to be close to nature.
a fairyland of her dreams, a picturesque hamlet surrounded by lush fields,
lived in a cottage encircled by a gorgeous garden, bird-songs, and swings.
she went to the village-school, which was a mere walking distance,
carrying her backpack, water bottle, and books she needed.
her father was the powerful manager of the local textile mill,
where most of the villagers worked, and earned their living.
all the children glanced at her as if she were a Princess,
but this soft dainty lass craved to be purely one of them.
she noticed...those children were walking barefoot to school,
no backpack, no bottle of water, no shiny expensive clothes.
end of the day, she returned home, and declared to her caring parents,
"I don't need the backpack, bottle for water, or the stylish shoes...
starting from tomorrow, I am going to walk to school barefoot"
her parents were shocked, but didn't disagree with her at all.
from the following day, the warm friendly girl of seven,
felt totally comfortable and undoubtedly right, with her decision.
all children were frolicking with her, no more was she a distant Princess,
she was their delightful friend...sharing the same life they had in the village.
she still remembers those eyes which sparkled with wonder at the way they were accepted,
a lifelong memory was created, the gesture kindled a feeling of oneness.
April 16, 2022
For N - Form Narrative - New - Poetry Contest
Theme:Life
Sponsor: Constance La France
SECOND PLACE
Azteca
As a young girl growing up in Los Angeles City
My mother took me everywhere with her
Our favorite Mexican restaurant had great hospitality
Casa De Nina, I enjoyed the music and she, their famous platter;
Guajolotas o tortas de tamal
Desayuno, plato de huevos rancheros
Champurado and pan dulce de Pasqual
The owner made us feel special, served us our usual
There were, Chicano art hanging
Some of the most authentic were of Azteca
Roots in the primeval instincts enchanting
The details of nature surrounding, alla prima,
A painting of an epitomal Aztec noble prince
A beautiful princess in his arms, bien fe`rma
The traditional cuadro stayed on my mind ever since
There it was, in all places, the painting was everywhere
La Marketa, the textile district, La Golondrina
Pintura’s de Indios Mexicano’s all about the town square
Olvera Street, even in the Mission at the Marina
As soon as I got home, I cleared away the furniture,
from up against the wall
In one hand the print on the calendar
a charcoal pencil in the other I began to sketch it all
A mural has to be painted in close relationship
to the scale, style, and mood of the interior,
With regard to such siting, to eye levels, a very good tip
Considerations as light sources, make realism art superior
I hid the paint from my mother and dad
Unnoticeable as of yet, I drew very lightly
I worked fast with what mediums I had
Brush strokes here and there, ever slightly
Until a finished project, my very first mural
I took her scarf and covered her eyes,
lead her down the hall and pushed the door
I whispered into her ear, s-u-r-p-r-i-s-e
Happy Mother’s Day, I prepared her a little more
With her fingers splayed over eyes and lips
My mother processed, motionless, in awe
Focusing on the corner at the paint drips
she said, I always knew that you could draw
An inspiring experience for the most part
Exhaling—she saw that I was passionate of my Chicana art
There is reason to get up in the morning
Raisin toast, breakfast tacos, and even bacon
But I would make case that there is no reason to get up at all
Why would anyone leave a perfectly comfy bed?
Pillows all piled high and the duvet just so
Swimming in a sea of textile of Egyptian cotton or silk.
What fool would face the day when they can simply roll over?
Slide a foot out the side and bury your head in a pillow
Turn off the alarm clock (such a crude invention) and let time be.
I dare you to try it! See if you don’t like it.
I would bet my bottom dollar you’d be happier in bed,
Than facing a day at the office or even a rainy day at best.
So lie humbly in bed and contemplate what you would face
If you got up and got dressed and went to breakfast
Especially if you could have it all brought to you.
Waffle House delivers…
My sweetheart
Cover me
Be as textile of warm love
filling my breathes
Sing for me
Utter my words
Be as cloud of my heart
Raining my tones
Don't be like thorns of flowers
Wounding my dreams
You are the dancer of the first love
You are pulsation of the motionless sea
You are the light
You are the magic
You are the world of oblivion
My sweetheart
This is a pub and that is the place of worship
And this is my heart
Go wherever you want
Neither the night will ask you
Nor silence of eyes....
By Naji Almurisi
They weave, they weave
They weep and they weave
Smarting under the persecuting whips -
Verbal, literal or carnal whips
They weep, they weep.
Locust-like they swarm the streets
To reach the factories before the sun settles well
In its diurnal rounds.
There are no circumstances unavoidable
Reach they must the gates at the hour final….
Sartorial gladiators they are
Salary they draw but in the
Etymological sense- they are well off
Enough to buy salt.
Eagle-eyed lustful look
Do the ups and downs of their physique hook -
Surveying the geography of their constitution
And the lecherous bosses or carnally starving colleagues
Devotedly concentrate on each continent
And ready to pay compliment
Only if they are crowned with the sovereignty to discuss
Issues that make the gynecologists blush!
Penelopes of the modern times,
Your hands transform loan-sharks
Into pot-bellied, globe-trotting tycoons.
These textile Sheikhs
When their family or female(s) sneeze
Millions and millions they unsqueeze
As if they are sylvestral leaves
Falling beauteously in the vernal breeze!
But alas! These helicoptered and villaed
Villains, as if through the alchemy of a vile wand
Into penniless paupers transformed
When the Midas-hands entreat them
To get exchange for their tears and sweat.
All big talks, fountains of philanthropy run dry -
And they weave and cry
They weave and cry!
Cry no more, Penelope, weave no more,
Never will your Odysseus come
Cease weaving, cease embroidering.
Yet the dream-laden Penelopes
Weep and weave,
They weep and they weave!
They weep and they weave!!
People who are addicted to texting are textiles.
Ever have lunch with a textile?
You find yourself looking at the top of the textile's head...
More than their eyes...
Every so often they look your way, cross-eyed.
Head bobbing (like a baby bird searching for its mother's mouth),
Chirping vague words to catch up to the one-sided conversation.
But they never catch up.
Their food sits in front of them, half-eaten.
When it's time to leave, they stagger to their car while texting.
You say goodbye to the top of the textile's head.
They grunt something incoherent.
As you pull away, you see the textile slumped over.
Looking down at that idiot box.
Under your breath, you mutter, "I pray they make it home alive".
Happiness Is
Happiness is knowing and showing a beautiful smile
Allowing friendships to enter and grow for a long while
Presenting and inviting laughter as if it will never go out of style
Praising others can rave off with great knowledge like a file
Inviting happiness in your hearts makes your face light up for a long while
Never let anger stay in your heart; for laughter and happy thoughts do make everyone smile
Enthusiasm can be so very contagious, ringing off so many radiant beams so textile
Savoring smiles of true happiness can send off so many messages like a missile
So invite all those well-skilled Poets on Poetry Soup and keep beguiling like the river Nile
Illustrating to all diversity of poetic devices a happy constitution of words in commentary style
Saying, singing praises to all people on earth can be the best beacon to be Gentile.
Written: Nov. 15, 2015
Theresa W-C
A self-assured progressive projectile
Locked on its target like a heat seeking missile
Confident, a smile all the while
Marvellous like a polished marble tile
Strong, but fragile
An ambiguous profile
To remain unresolved, a mystery file
Trendy, always in style
Smooth like a silky textile
A lioness on the prowl
Hear her roar, fear her growl
The feminization of a species
A natural selection of beauties
A temper so feline
A manner so divine
An awesome design
A perfect being born to reign
A mind map that he can neither navigate nor define
A mosaic that only He can refine
Provoked, her stride is heavy
It is a charge to envy
Her walk is easy
It can mislead as lazy
It is a march through boundaries and norms
A journey of a million no’s and no yes’s
An irrational continuation to an unknown destination
A premonition to know, to sacrifice for the unborn generation
A hope that peace will come no matter how dark the skies
The intuition to continue to love when hate fills the air with cries
An incessant knock on that closed door
The insatiable hunger to always wanting to know
A road laden with thorns and paved with broken glass
A never ending test in an unassailable class
At times, it is a burdened conquest
A seemingly impossible quest
At the end of which the rewards are already taken
A rigged race, the winner already chosen
The credit to someone less deserving
Her pain from a tradition undiscerning
But she’s unstoppable like a silver bullet
Hitting with penetrating impact
Her dreams riding on the tail of a comet
Untouchable like a rocket to a far away planet
Decorated, an achievement in perseverance
An acknowledgement of her undeniable presence
The order of a female monarchy
Female atop the hierarchy
A proven recipe
His failed conspiracy
Froth
by Odin Roark
Come
Be my operator
Me your camera
Medium shot
Lower Manhattan sidewalk café
He in Armani suit accented with Ferragamo tie
She with Jimmy Choo and Prada outfit
Both with Latté and croissant
Low angle
Bottom of refuse chute
Zooming up through food trash
Hurtling downward
Tortillas
Rice
Chinese vegetables
Big Mac wrappers
Wide angle
Textile floor
Sewing machines
Steam pressers
Dark skin
Yellow skin
Back to back
Fans whirling
Sweat flying
Finishing food break
Quickly down the chute
Garbage
Traveling
Into subway car
Dark skin
Yellow skin
Heads bowed
Exhaustion at end
Night
Manhattan
Armani and Prada
Dancing
Drinking
Rolled $100 bill snorts
Night
Bronx
Yellow skin
Dark skin
Fire escape mattress
Bathtub mattresses
Wall to wall
Families on straw mats
Domestic fights next door
Depriving sleep
Night
52 floors up
Skyline view
Moonlit bedroom alight
Prada with Eye mask
Armani with face scrub plaster
Seashore CD lulling sleep
Wide
Night shift
Congressional mailroom
Rows of paper-shredders
Reams of documents
Header – “Minimum Wage Proposal”
Pages upon pages
Shredding into recycle bins
Low angle
Nightstand projection clock
Ceiling lit up with 4 AM
TV comes on
BBC morning stock report
Armani raises head from pillow
Puts on glasses
Stares at TV screen
Removes glasses
Manually turns off TV
Spoons Prada
Sunrise
Bronx studio apartment
Chinese family lines up
One bathroom
15 readying their day
Wide
Textile floor
Steam building up
Hundreds of idle sewing machines
Prepared
Close shot
Espresso foam machine
Latte cups waiting
Froth filling the frame
On this Eid, as your sumum bonum
Is consumerism and as your soul is
Mortgaged to the Federal Reserve Bank
And hedonism, your mental wish-list has been
Inked on ‘things-to-dos’. The catalogue is
Quite impressive. Apart from the toddler,
On your lap, often you place your lap-top.
This time before Eid, to go smarter, you have
A must-gadget purchase: Palm-top.
To outshine others, and to add some
Extra gloss to your gadget-profile
You actively consider getting a tablet.
Even though, it is not the diminutive of table
And has nothing to do with the quadruped rectangle
And it is not to be swallowed with water,
It still has some therapeutic attributes.
Your schedule has accrued extra adipose tissue
With a cluster of meetings looming large on the corporate horizon,
You order designer cloths for yourself. Those fancy textile Marco Polos
Globe-trot and come to your door-step riding their
‘You shop, we drop’ policy.
You give blank cheque to your greater-half
To travel to Metropolitan Centres or Peripheral megacities
To epicurianize herself and her cohorts.
From the other side of the horizon,
Thoreau watches you thoroughly and asks,
This time you’ve parted with
From your obesity-ridden bank account.
All this, I know, is cosmetic purpose-driven.
You, proud buddy, spent this much to decorate your body.
Have you spent a single farthing to adorn your soul?
Computers are around us everyday
Some help us, whilst others let us play
No matter our ages
They can put us in rages
As they carry on with their display
They have been here for many a year
Sumerian abacus, engineered
Even a textile loom
Made this business boom
Which brought us to the modern ones near
They come in all shapes and forms
In our lives, on our wrists their adorned
Even the time they can tell
From their chip like cell
When they work, it's great, they perform
So without them we'd be awfully lost
Although our tempers can become crossed
To them I'll never condemn
Terrific silicon gems
One day us humans will be bossed
reared many rabbits by habit
to harvest cotton wool from them
for textile industries abroad
that they could make winter clothing
for charity to hot desert dwellers
Just a little ditty
about two sown pretty ...
Each eager for a fabric
woven with love classic
had ridden textile wagons
thru much spastic traffic.
Seeking their prime patent
of material fantastic, they
both fell flattened in cloth
scenes dramatic; wrinkle-doom,
static dragons had torched
all their wagons.
Then, a textile server sewed
them together with threaded
fervor. Now two, his burlap
made battens are by her satin
fastened to strap their love
gladdened in passion’s best
lacy tatting. Their burlap and
satin when curled up in nothin’
is the best seamed somethin’
in the fabric magic patent.
... CayCay Jennings
March 21, 2018
Naked to Nurture. Naked, to Nurture.
Why not naked into woods?
We yank up gumboots.
Enshroud our piggies in wicking and itching sockbags.
Hoping to holdfast against the forfeiture of bought heat.
The city slickers in their shiny slickers
clasp and buckle, zip and bundle
before they trudge and trundle
into the Great Unlabeled, the alien birthright.
An undershirt, a tank, a tee, and then an overthing!
And this in Spring, in Summer. Winter's another thickening:
strappings wrapping trappings, coalgulable clottings clogging
scarf-shrouded and unceremonious cerements.
The gloves, if cold or wet. The hat and muffs, if blustering.
We insulate ourselves from the uninsulated.
Remove ourselves from that which we aim to enter.
To re-enter. To be received by. Naked as we came, now
at our peril, apparently apparelled in unparalleled antiferalelry.
Each civilized entrant into sylvan realms-
textile banished for fear of cold,
for fear of wet, for fear of dirt.
The mind must first give up its notions
of propriety to hope to slake the self in the
sunlit and secreted shimmerings of sanctity.
Be bare of sole, skin to wind.
Be bare of soul, Yin to begin.
Why not naked into woods?
they do, so certainly, come naked...
into us.
Wool keeps people living in cold places warm,
it is a textile sought in very extreme weather;
when a hoard of sheep is clustered closely together,
I see a field of cotton flowers lightly waving under
the chilliest wind that makes other cattle shiver
and flee the plains fearing an imminent storm.
A sheep is a gentle animal symbolizing peace,
even King David dressed in wool in his palace...
it felt nice on his skin, inducing deep sleep.
Think of the stunned shepherds tending sheep...
when the silent and twinkling skies of Bethlehem
were crossed by a luminous star never seen by them;
it glided towards a vacant manger where Jesus slept
on soft wool, giving Him the comfort that hay couldn't.
I like to wear wool shirts that trap air in rigid winters and cool
me off in sizzling summers and all this comes from a big spool;
give thanks to the kind sheep for their gift to Mankind,
admire these beautiful creatures with a look very mild.