Sussanah
great grandma times three
a pillow puffed up on her knee
with
daughter Ann in cobbled Cowfair
daily
shaped their homespun ware
such
humble women
cottage-tied
a dextrous art did reside
fashioned
stitch by stitch,
pillowed lace in patterns rich
tinkling bobbins
bewildering skill
inch by inch grew
the intricate frill
twisting threads
in pairs &groups
knitted together
by interlocking loops
an established craft
of world renown
grew around this county town
plain or decorative
old point lace,a lost
rural industry
there's no longer a trace.
Year Posted 2007
Categories:
bobbins, family, memory,
Form: Rhyme
Sussanah,my great grandma,times three,a pillow puffed up on her knee;with
daughter Ann in cobbled Cowfair,daily shaped their homespun ware.In such
humble women,cottage-tied,a rare and dextrous art did reside.Fashioned
out,stitch by stitch,pillowed lace in patterns rich.Tinkling bobbins with bewildering
skill,inch by inch grew the intricate frill.Twisting threads in pairs and
groups,knitted together with interlocking loops.An established craft of world
renown grew around this county town.Plain or decorative old point lace,a lost
rural industry of which there's no longer a trace.
Categories:
bobbins, family,
Form: Narrative
THE ISLANDS OF IMAGINATION
Our trek was in the mind, no ifs or buts :
Our trek was amongst the yards of trading estate factories.
First factory had piles of metal off-cuts -
Pick ‘em up with ease -
With brass or chrome machine parts imperial -
Gold and silver from the Indies’ isles.
Then the shirt factory’s end-of-run yards of material
And excess thread on huge bobbins, all styles -
Brocades and muslins from Ophir.
Tyre factory offered piles of sheet rubber to Zeus,
Aztec latex offerings to the gods of myrrh.
Factories like islands offering their exotic produce.
Between the factories rusty railtracks, the best,
With oceans of wildflowers for mum, more than enough.
Today’s computers find imagined treasure chests
On make-believe game islands…but we found real stuff.
………………………………………………………………….
Note….as boys we often went hunting thru the yards of factories collecting interesting stuff being thrown out
Categories:
bobbins, childhood, imagination,
Form: Verse
The House is full of stuff my husband saves;
A pair of bentwood rockers, goose-neck armed.
His grandparents sat in these, discordant creaks
Punctuating arguments. No one sits there now.
There where they are we do not need the chairs
Nor the table with the wobbly center post.
The sewing machine, treddle run, would work
But belts and bobbins no longer can be found.
The old piano, a gift from grandma for a child
Who thought he’d learn to play. He never did,
The keys are out of tune, but the wood--
The curly maple keeps its seasoned glow.
A hundred other things that take up space
Flowered lamps, a bowl back mandalin.
Newer things would go there just as well,
We only keep them for the tales they tell.
Categories:
bobbins, grandparents, memory, nostalgia, old,
Form: Blank verse
Sussanah,my great grandma,times three,a pillow puffed up on her knee;with
daughter Ann in cobbled Cowfair,daily shaped their homespun ware.In such
humble women,cottage-tied,a rare and dextrous art did reside.Fashioned
out,stitch by stitch,pillowed lace in patterns rich.Tinkling bobbins with bewildering
skill,inch by inch grew the intricate frill.Twisting threads in pairs and
groups,knitted together with interlocking loops.An established craft of world
renown grew around this county town.Plain or decorative old point lace,a lost
rural industry of which there's no longer a trace.
Categories:
bobbins, family, history, life, nostalgia,
Form: Prose Poetry
Brilliant rainbow arced into the sky
Big house in center of the village
A soft light bathed the large room
wedding feast rice strewn about
Greeted with loud handclapping
Fogged gold-rimmed spectacles
Garlands on statues of Buddha
Dancing and singing for Krisna
Bobbins and a spinning wheel
Majestic elephants trunks curled
raising mushrooms of dry dust
Categories:
bobbins, devotion, life, wedding,
Form: Verse