I find two pre-teens who are eager to help me with a class.
This is an arts and crafts project I tell them.
Are you good with arts and crafts?
They assure me that they are.
Have you ever embroidered or sewn or done crewel?
One of them knew what sewing was.
The other one was at a loss. She had never heard of these things.
I took them anyway, I had no one else.
The mission was to help eight nine-year-olds make stuffed pillows.
They were name pillows. The goal was to decorate them with embroidery.
I spent my entire time unknotting threads, and restringing needles.
My helpers texted each other on the phone. It was a disaster.
Comparable to the dash of a rare jewel.
The first flash to arise on the land crewel.
They'll be pawns of ice nets for all time.
Recent hope doesn't entail lyrics sublime.
But the iota of love that calls on it to emerge.
From stillness: the red-hot coal of love surge.
The artist heeds his tone starting to smolder.
Instantly, as if to brag toward a line bolder.
With his noble sentiments or his violin.
If it generates light or optimum vibes within.
When it arrives, a clean verse will sound.
Clean and calm as a mounting spring around.
The lake lies underneath a visible azure sky.
Nothing, not your name, nor mine, cry.
Written: August 18, 2022
Encounter
A day of mindless lonely wanderings found
Me within an unfamiliar country inn
set maturely in trees at a crossroad's square
The lobby done in tweed and pine
The club chairs large promising comfort
Their arms dressed in fresh draped crewel
Near the fire in a fieldstone hearth
A stranger sits lithely in tailored wool and
Silken blouse long legs demurely crossed
above sensible mid brown walking pumps
A slight handsome woman her pensive eyes
in the middle distance of focused concentration
She exudes a pervasive sense of boyant
middle age and warm demeanour violet eyes
Yardley's Lavender and rich chestnut hair
My entrance brings her face and smile to mine
She rises fluidly walks to me wraps both arms
Around one of mine looks up into my eyes
And speaks
I wished you here... And here you are
When shadows are undefined,
Few candles flicker and lights become dim.
For a moment I stay back,
step into one of the mysteries.
Somewhere I have left it,
An innocent smile, some fragile tears
and a crewel case.
Cold winds, a sunset,
an abysmal truth,
some songs that I crooned in loneliness.
Walking along the aisle,
quiet echoes touched me.
Through the crevice blasted in,
rays of a young sun.
My acme is yet to come,
the door has just opened,
to an uncertain eternity.
The morning comes, TV is on,
channel 13 I believe.
The news of the day is blaring loud.
I feel the coolness of the morning air.
Get up, head for the kitchen,
make that first cup of coffee,
5;30 AM,
oh, why am I here!
Headed for the front door,
no paper yet.
Drinking a cup of coffee, watching the News,
wondering why I am awake?
All the years I slept through my loud alarm,
a bomb could not disturb me.
In my youth my Father would throw a cup of water on me
to get me up for school.
I was impossible to wake,
I always had so much to do.
Now that I am retired
I take things as I get to them.
I wake with a pin drop,
with no where to go.
I never can go back to sleep,
Just another one of natures crewel tricks!
Yeah, it is good to be here.