A pretty cabled sweater
That's what you wore today
On no one would look better
There's nothing else to say
You're stunningly attractive
A brilliant South Sea Pearl
The sparkling Pink Star Diamond
A real life cover girl
Her chopsticks are at the ready.
Her hands are good and steady.
She likes to knit her noodles!
The task has just begun...
She starts off with a mango Welt
With pride, with zest, with tang.
It's a mesmerising watch
While the wiggling noodles hang.
Next. She's on to saucy Stocking Stitch.
Her garment sure does grow!
Knit one - Purl one - Knit two together
On each tasty row.
And this main course is called
" Knit Purl Chopstick Cha "
With a curry Cabled centre,
With sides of paprika Purl and Knit korma.
And as an extra tasty treat
BBQ Rib Raglan is on the menu.
Trust me! This kind of cuisine
Can't be found in any old venue!
From there on, the sleeves do drop
Like the soy sauce shaken a top.
Neatly Knitted are the Ribs.
Who voted for fish and chips?
To finish this fine course...
Knit - Slip - Knit - Pass Slip Stitch over.
This will make the button holes
For the chocolate to melt all over.
And on completion, these knitted noodles
Slide straight on down her throat...
Before we've had a chance to prove her skill
This talent to others gloat!
Where strong and sturdy currents flowed
In rhythms like the march,
There stood majestic girders
In a towering silver arch.
With pride, the span was erected
Above the swollen run,
Where it caught infrequent glances
From a feeble winter sun.
The currents seldom paused below
To give the bridge a care;
But through the years they granted
Its lumbering presence there.
It shuddered at the heavy loads
That strained its cabled line;
It trembled when the monstrous rigs
Crept hard across its spine.
Then pushed to utter exhaustion
By the crowded holiday,
The bridge exhaled its final sigh
And vanished clean away.
The river moans a painful dirge
For cold and still and dead
Beneath the phantom silver bridge,
The gushing flood is red.
Gurgling, whimpering, lapping near
The feet of those who wait;
The waters pen a ballad on
The cruelty of fate.
White ...
frost-clad
cabled vaults -
join thoughts to sky ...
my city slumbers 'neath its cloak of snow.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Make It Five" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Judge & Sponsor.
( Syllables = 1, 2, 3, 4, 10 - counted at HowManySyllables.com )
human groove
all the rush
to see the results,
all the goosebumps
and the cooing breath
the ruffled sheets
in a muted mornings light,
an open window out
to all the world’s rites
the tide flows
outward in its wake,
the trouble starts
where the ocean bends
all hear the sound
an inner call to save face,
a raconteur’s jesting
a scramble to find place
electric,
cabled to the gills,
ecstatic glitch
reverb in the gut
a cool evenings
breeze, enhances every move,
my hand on your shoulder
the globe in human groove
Dissolve
Mother sits by the window
After freeing herself from her household chores.
Fresh and peaceful
She is all by herself.
She looks out at the clear blue sky
Enjoying the streaks of sunlight dancing at her feet.
She picks up her favourite wooden needles
Working them in and out,
Warping in love and and woofing out
Cabled patterns on father's wintry scarf.
A silent smile round the corner of her berry lips,
As she prides over her familial love.
It is Her time, for Her very own being,
A time to disconnect
From all entanglements of life.
Past adjustments, the present solutions, future ambitions,
Zoom past in a flash, and
Dissolve.
And then the mind goes blank
Into a state of nothingness-
No thoughts, no desires no regrets.
The prattle and gurgle on the wooden staircase,
Wake her out of her reverie.
She jumps to her feet,
With electrifying speed
Puts her knitting back into her cashmere bag,
Runs to unbolt the front door, finding
Two smiling elfins with upturned faces, outstretched hands,
Going down till their amorous eyes, holds one in each arm, and
All ambiguities dissolve.
Balveen Cheema
August 10, 2015
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