Best Thimble Poems
a thimble full
smothering in the heated blood of cruelty’s vengeance
he found a thimble full of mercy
poured it over his aching heart and cursed himself.
drowning in the emptiness of drunkenness’ revenge
he begged the scoffing passersby
for a thimble full of whiskey’s need
alone in age’s full, yet empty room
he strained against the red glow of shut eyes
searching for a thimble full of memory
smothering in the heated blood of cruelty’s vengeance
drowning in the emptiness of drunkenness’ revenge
alone in age’s full, yet empty room
he found death’s thimble full of peace.
3/7/2015
submitted to – Love or Hate pick a subject #2 – poetry contest
sponsor – Shadow Hamilton
Tiny protection for
Those seamstresses ' small fingers.
Thimbles come in sizes.
Test the samples, ladies
Thoughtfully get right fit.
Thrust on embroiderers.
Threads will become great art!
One day we were surfing for something to watch on TV when purely by happenstance
we found on PBS “Astrid and Raphaëlle’ a detective show…from France.
Astrid, who works in Criminal Records, is Autistic with a photographic memory.
Rules, routines and structure mean everything to her…
Raphaëlle is a police inspector…spontaneity and improvisation are the styles she prefers.
But once given a puzzle Astrid needs to solve it…on it’s solution she will dwell…
which, when it comes to solving crimes…is a lot like Raphaëlle.
They form an unlikely friendship…which, as expected, starts out a little cold
but with each succeeding episode is beautiful…as it unfolds.
We watch Astrid grow…learning from Raphaëlle as they solve crimes
and any witnesses they impeach….
And we watch Raphaëlle grow too…as she comes to understand Astrid
and the lessons she can teach.
Which (at long last!) if you’ve stuck with me…and decided not to roam
brings me to the crux…the essence of this poem:
For Raphaëlle’s birthday…Astrid gives her a thimble…
when Raphaëlle asks why…(because at first…this seems absurd)
Here…it’s probably best I let them tell you…not in my…but in their words.
ASTRID: To sew you have to use a needle.
but you can get hurt
so…you can choose not to sew
or you can accept the fact that you could get hurt
or you can choose to put on a thimble
RAPHAËLLE (finishing Astrid’s thought): to protect yourself.
ASTRID: Exactly.
You…are my thimble.
It sounds so much more beautiful in French…
but the message is clear for all of us to see…
making today be a good day to thank anyone out there…
who’s ever been a thimble to me.
1.Do one thing right
2. Everything else wrong
Thimble and Gimbel Cause to Tremble
there was a tremble
with a rotating gimble
caused us to tremble
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It fits, barely~
this small metal crown
pressed onto my finger,
a relic of Mother’s hands.
She stitched whole worlds
from scraps and thread,
turned hunger into hems,
poverty into patterns.
The thimble remembers
the push and pull,
the slow accumulation
of seams, of days~
how she mended
what was torn
without complaint,
how she clothed us
in her quiet revolutions.
Now when I wear it,
I feel the ghost
of her determination,
the weight of all
those invisible stitches
holding me together.
you may read the related memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/thimbles_and_thread_13647
Just a little tide of red, and a whole swimming ocean floats lifeless and dead
(I'm sweet mulling over all the words that you've said, in my mind,
and just wondering when you'll leave me behind...)
Just a split second late with the breaks, and the car's rolled over, glass splashed with the shakes
(I've seen you imperfect till my whole body aches, and I find,
that my imperfection rises in kind...)
Just a thimble full of this jealousy, and my countenance falls to the depths of the sea
I scramble for breath that is free this disease
Like a clock that is full, at the end of it's wind,
I exhale and blow back this moment of time...
I wear a thimble to protect me from blows
I can't see the enemy,
But I got to fight anyway I suppose.
My thimble's a bit battered
Worn down by old wounds
I might need to get a new one
Till then this will do.
My kingdom depends on me
I guess so,
Haven't heard from them in many moons.
I fight, waving about a needle
I feel the enemy's presence
They wonder why I haven't given up hope.
I cut down through a couple of bushes
And there are the foes standing tall
They don't look all that scary
Just a bit tired, that's all.
I recognize them I think
I've heard their voices before
I take off my thimble
Strangely soothed by their song.
They say they're my demons
Trying to help me find a better end
I believe them
For they are my only friends.
They accept me, make me feel safe,
So much so, without my thimble
I still feel brave.
I don't think I'll go back to the kingdom
For the foes are now my friends
No matter what someone says
I'll stay with them till the end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
silver moon dented~
her fingertip fortress holds
against thread's sharp siege