Someone’s dream
Maple wood baskets
Slick and smooth
Decorated with frilly cottons
In floral, shaped like ruffled headbands
Longaberger basket, making a name for herself
Her seven-story building sits in Newark, Ohio
Carolyn is a fabric artist, she has a rare gift
I watched her work, her fingers are swift
She was making a wild flower the other day
Colorful and pretty, it blew me away!
The patterns were beautiful, her machine was a buzz’n.
I am glad to let you know that she is my first cousin.
She has a blog with followers from all over the world too.
Her gorgeous art will lift you right out of the blue.
The wildflower is finished now, she is working on a dog.
She has made a raven, two cats, a pelican and a hog.
Her ideas are plentiful, her gift is amazing for sure.
I watch her working in cottons, linens and fur.
glassy white cottons
stretched wide as endless oceans...
pure clouds’ reflections
Dec. 28, 2022 11.47am
Howmanysyllables.com: 5007005
Totals; 11 words
17 syllables
86 characters
Ice, Snow or Frost Haiku
Contest Judged: 1/4/2023 4:07:00 PM
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Place 3 (up to 5 multi-w)
Janice set out a variety of fat quarter cottons
arranging and rearranging colors until she was happy
one brown she kept tossing out, then pulling back in
she loved making quilt decisions
she had a new pattern, old to many, new to her
have you started on it yet? Her sister asked.
sis did not sew, could not understand the delight in preparation.
Janice could not be hurried. This was a major project.
it would last her all winter. She was going to take her time.
almost done, she lied, to get her off her back.
Drive at any season gives me immense fun,
I cannot afford many cars; yet, I've good one;
Drive during Fall, indeed, is very enchanting,
Especially, if through village roads, it's joy-granting...
From black-mud surface, dust, like fog arises,
Road seem unclear; yet, adventure provides surprises;
Muddy hillocks both the sides stand in welcome poses,
Bend tree-branches with twigs show-off their stiff noses;
Leaves, in multi-colors, are spread like fancy-carpets,
Grasses, peeping between leaves, seem to scatter in tit-bits;
Silk-cottons, bottle-brushes and fountain-trees exhibit red,
The Indian laburnum and golden bells seem gold-yellow-spread;
Magnolia, crape myrtle and crab-apples shine in pink,
While Rhododendrons and Wisteria stand dipped in blue-ink...
My car Air Conditioner is jobless as cool breeze all round blow,
End of colorful meadows, I could see clear streams flow;
With variety signatures of sun, the sky is magnificent,
I wish my drive could go on for years and eras without end...!
09 September 2022
Cold wind blows through the winter trees
As snow like cottons covered the Streets,
And I was feeling the harsh cold breeze,
and let them rivet my anguish fragilities.
Bearing the rigors of life in the desire,
that one day my luminous of fate will radiant.
Atomic revolutions
bordering
the world's cottons.
Fifteen minute utter cohesion exists
Selene umbra shielded is dust kissed
Coinciding of inland and coastal discs
Earth Moon orbit drawn in magnetism
Spherical cycled symmetry, safety given
Invisible fingers tap tunes to their rhythm
Red emits forbidden midnight miracle
Hottest wanton, dual crossing elliptical
Helios wavelength cottons moon's spool
26th May 2021
Aus will have prime view of blood super moon
Eclipse tonight
One month post
Kissing Kingsley
I looked past the priest and saw auntie and grandma.
They were cuddled, holding each other up.
Grandma being Catholic was wearing her purple scarf.
Even though Daddy’s funeral was outside, a priest was here.
Auntie Maria was holding her red umbrella.
It was sprinkling, of course.
It always sprinkles during a D’agosto funeral.
Ask any D’agosto and they will admit this.
Behind my relatives I saw a younger lady bent over flowers.
She was touching them in a delicate, respectful, lovely way.
Marigolds and carnations. I thought I might see her face, but didn’t.
The priest droned on. He was trying to save us.
Everyone seemed to wear flowers today, lots of calicos and cottons.
I was wearing a plain black dowdy dress chosen by my mother.
I saw Daddy behind the flower lady. He waved before he disappeared.
I was only six but I have always remembered that last moment with him.
Twirling in cottons of pinks yellows and blue
Prom red satin slides in, so shiny and new
Followed by linen, stark, stiff and tannish white
Black holds her essence back, saving herself for the night
Whirling in wonder the materials swirl
Laughing at the closets of frayed fabrics that curl
Yellows in a stack down the hall ready to be quilted
Some of the shabbier cottons are practically wilted
The fabrics are laughing at each other’s flaws
Bullies on fire, so glad none have jaws
Instead of supporting, they tear polyester apart.
Not realizing even she is a lost pantsuit art.
I dare not peek in the sewing room,
For they are nasty and mean.
They make fun of each other.
Each one thinks she is queen.
The fabrics are nasty, back-biting and bad.
Maybe the worst textures I have ever had.
I enter cautiously, hoping to fix them, to make them play right.
Black holds her essence back, saving herself for the night
Going to follow a destiny to lumber town
Barely lost, trying to be once again found
Showing my heart strings in simple pleasures.
Wearing my cottons forgoing the leathers.
Sharing my truth, taking pills that keep me down.
Windows of happiness creeping in red vines around.
Sanctifying my frankly narcotic induced state.
Meet me in lumber town. Where the next move I shall make.
Narcotics are not for some of us, changing us completely.
I am not one to type up words that make no sense indeedly.
I am one who is trying to weed these pills down and out.
The wee in me is trying to drowned out the way they cause a shout.
Real love takes up residence deeply in the heart.
Two lucky ones,
are focused in, not out,
at the start.
From the inside can't see the outside,
so it makes no difference.
Especially to men, who can get away,
with a double chin, beer bellies, and paunches,
and lots of wrinkles.
With not a second thought,
they order hot fudge sundaes with all the sprinkles,
But what of young women,
bombarded with how they should look.
Think they have to look like a picture in a magazine or book.
In the olden days, cottons balls were the padding of choice.
Made young girls feel more attractive and could have a voice.
But what if young girls grow older, and still think that way?
Think they need to look perfect or the men will stray.
Real love doesn't care about cotton balls.
If a relationship is based on padding, it will surely fall.
Then hearts injured,
will no longer accept tenants.
Low self esteem then, won't win any pennants.
Women of any age,
find a man that loves you for your intelligence, and
the depth in your eyes.
Not the things that falsely enhance your look.
Then a future together, you can make book.
open rice seek cottons drill
lost pistol greet woods coal
elevator handle rust bridge
Scorching Sun in sky, whirling wind weepy dry.
Summer hits hot hammer, tremendous heat caught,
Hard earth, barren fields getting cracked yielding drought.
In torrid sun rays, tired birds don’t dare to fly.
Sun flares send hottest electrons and protons.
Vibrant flame in scarlet blooms of silk-cottons.
Passion in boiling plasma starts to spin, churn.
Drizzling heat waves ignite sizzling heart to burn
Silken materials
spun from fine thread,
beautiful colours
to adorn and to dress,
vessels of energy
in a display of congress,
a meeting of monks
all of whom are blessed,
with the stillness of mind
and the habitual sense,
not to get caught up
in the habits of attachment,
cinnamon silks,
and tangerine dreams,
plum coloured cottons
on a spiritual theme.
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