Embroider Poems

Higher Ground

Every time I turn my radio on
I hear the same old song
and I await good news from abroad today
especially a change is on the way
but I don't believe all they say
as how can they see eye-to-eye
or meet face-to-face
when east looks east and west looks west
in this so-called human race
putting power in the hands
of people who don't give a damn
will only go so far only last so long 
the genie's out of the bottle
there's no going back
where did we go wrong
to be so far off track
embellish or embroider
you can't improve on truth
anything less is second best
for which I have no use
and when it sounds
like chaos all around
it seems no one cares or shares
look to your morals ethics values scruples
and take the higher ground

Fray

The tailor rests in her workshop alone.
Grabbing the thread for the day's work ahead,
she begins pushing needle through cloth.

In exercise, she customizes garments, stitch by stitch,
Though it's slow, her craftsmanship shows
uniquely perfect alterations to all her customers' clothes.

Free of charge she'll embroider!
Weaving colorful flosses in and out,
she's leaving shapes and symbols of brightness about.

Now, next door resides a factory--
Producing pants and gray garb by the pound,
sewing seams a million a minute, 
machines militarily hum-- a deafening sound.

Though it's quick, embroidery: $2.50 a stitch!
Soon soulless, the town paces around;
robotic sporting same-sized sacks,
bland factory templates surround.

Yet the tailor still rests in her workshop alone:
knowing stitches sincere are those that are *****,
perfect to the individual, not the machine.

tapestry of thought

a line of thought came
so eloquent and profound
I must write them down
let words embroider the loom
and thus, a Poem is born

The Shift

The Shift

The shape that simple. 
Not sewn to disguise
the inner person... 
Wise in its design, 
the unmissable adress
complements the mind, 
laid out, informal. 
Desire embroider sight
with hidden shape
and curves not known well... 
Seamless the shift
from closet mind
to knowing it all-
shifts the childlike heart
from unreal to real. 
Rarely left unpicked, 
the cotton - on cloth
of an unshapely mind. 


Aqua Marine:02/12/2024

Sanguine Senility

Eventide drizzle,
dainty ballerina
dances with tinsels 
of molten rainbow,
captured by twilight
transient, 
descends with rhythm
of cosmic ballet 
at the ebony edge  
of the onyx night,
the squashed sordid sky
enwrapped embellished,
waits to unfurl 
rain-rinsed petals
with aurora of afflatus
to embroider
with lattice of luminance 
the halcyon horizon,
splendorous.
	
Juvenile smile,
sparkling sapphire
of innate innocence 
configured intrinsic,
cascades as cheerful stream
in verdant valley 
of fleeting youth
for a nostalgic while, 
with ageless naïve aura 
inundates ignorant
the pristine plateau,
the unsullied face
flash flooded, 
waits expectant
at doorstep of destiny
hope would turn the time, 
drift away
dense obscurity dust,
reveal the fossilized smile 
on petrified portrait
in the crumpled canvas
of senile life,
sanguine.

Concealed Charisma

The chromatic cords
of splendorous spring 
embroider arcane art
on convivial tapestry
embellished elegance
dramatically drapes 
the luminous landscape 
of vibrant vivacity
as dream-drenched 
blue lagoon 
gets lashed 
by idyllic eyelids 
and
the lotus petals 
of luscious lips
painted poignant 
on silken canvas 
of content countenance
the dulcet design 
of narcissist facade
of innate pride
swathes furtively 
the secret scars	
of suppression syndrome 
expunged. 

The toiling time 
revolves relentless
on convoluted canvas
etched with 
fading felled leaves
of auburn autumn
in life consumed
while
the winter spider 
weaves with strands
of twilight moments 
the ordained web 
with senile streaks 
around hollow eyes 
staring forsaken 
at forlorn fringe 
of weathered wasteland
as the lustrous lips
the fading flowers
lose withered
pristine patina 
hedonist psyche 
refuses to gauge 
the grief of loss
the face morphs 
into metaphor 
for living panorama
captured by 
the sanguine snapshot 
of concealed charisma.

In the evening hour, when silvery tears embroider your delicate cheek

In the evening hour, when silvery tears embroider your delicate cheek,
The celestial blue from the depth of your eyes, lost stars,
Gently rest upon the tender altar of love that binds us,
A fragile bridge suspended between the white peace of summer and the tumultuous heart of autumn.
We thirstily drink the mysterious elixir, a nectar not even the gods have dreamt of,
Plunging into the hesitant echo of a prelude to an unimaginable end,
Reflecting our lives like in a crystal within the murky and deep waters,
Slyly we nourish our beings, hurried to heal from the eternal hunger for love.
The night scatters stars across the firmament, shyly announcing the coming of dawn,
And somewhere, in this vast cosmic theater, I softly surrender in your arms,
A tableau of dreams, concluding my saga in the all-powerful love that envelops us.

Do Not Keep Going There

Repeat, remember, re-rehearse, recall,
embroider the memory, live it again.
Various variations repeating a theme.
The pain come back,. repeat,
yet the dead and gone spring up more strong.

Images flow through your open eyes
and you know it's not real anymore,
that its just mind's copying machine
printing fiction as fact.
Look away, refresh, forget,
but then you relive it again.
Try to learn.

Repeat remember, re-hearse, recall.
The memory now so distorted,
so smudged and puffed up
out of nothing at all.
Clear the movie, burn the screen.
Watch the fire consume the past forever.
No more sequels.

Repeat not the long dead letter,
let the past bury the past.
Hand it a shovel.
If it won't go away,
kill it with a Fresh 'Now' Moment.
Don't look back.

Our Novel of Love

Our hands
kneaded together
the daily bread...
together we made the
molds we carve
our lives...
together we embroider
the future and us
we gave posterity.
similar to waves
in surf,
we spread out in the world
our children...!

Hands

Are our hands the antenna to our souls?
As we sew, cook,paint and touch the earth
Sending signals of caring to our soul
Healing and calming us down!

How do we handle pain?
This pain in our minds
That harden our souls
Eased by the touch of our hands!

Our hands and hearts are connected
Lovers touching and holding hands
Nature blossoming with tender touch
We see a whole life lived in old hands

And it won’t hurt as much
As you learn to embroider
The essence of your soul into
The creation of your heart into a whole!

21.6.2021

What a Grandmother Carries

She strains to find her footing in orthopedic shoes
       my grandmother's clop-clop walk to me
       unbalanced 
       steadied by a backbone of faith

She bears a tattered, red carpet bag, 
       solid wooden handles, worn like her marbled hands
Grandma removes jam tarts and her Bible (smell enticing)
       to tutor me for my Sunday School verses,
       Psalm 23, that welds to memory
Her diligence that I adhere to the lines
       despite my craven pull to tarts (a riveting obsession)
Unfussy delight when I learn the verses
Her glow, free floating, 
       a small harp ovation

Grandmother's carpet bag, stitched by history
       brimming with the sweet lure of baking
       upheld by her faith, like a pulse that hums devotion
       in a drawn body softly folding into itself

Nothing can be swept aside
       when a grandma voices validation
       when generosity extends itself
       when her walk thaws the ground
       when words embroider love
                              ensuring preservation




Poem revised: April 25, 2021

Coming Back Home

Calloused by the do-or-die hero's walk on the perilous road
Over hazard's hill stumbling in soldier's shoes of regret and sorrow 
Merciless these wars of tired tyrants, this trailhead I have followed
I should bury these warrior's relics and take a train to tomorrow
Never looking back at my haggard patriot's duty, so torn apart
Go steady, stay strong with freed courage, as my heart's grief

Beats with the journeyed promise of going home unwary to relive
All of my memories there flooding to sing its lost and loving song
Catching 'God Speed' for my soul's simple sanctuary
Knowing these backroads lead to that certainty where I belong

Home
Over hazard's hill of regret and sorrow it waits in restful arbors
Marigolds and carnations embroider a calm and placid peace
Evermore scented in deep-rooted winds leading to my safe harbor


February 16, 2021

Coming Back Home Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton

Needlepoint

She is embroidering me again,
bits of me,
and not the best.
A broken thumb nail, greasy
from engine oil.
A chipped tooth,
a fuzzy nipple,
my wrinkly man-bottom.
Yet, the way she composes
all these scraps of my reality
is a revealing,
a charting of my presence
something she sees as me
when not particularly
looking.
She does not embroider
hummingbirds, butterflies
or flowers,
just these tokens of her
acceptance.
Funky contingent parts,
peripheral yet central vignettes 
worthy of being presented
on a broad white cloth
that I am happy
to wipe my face upon.

Live Your Most Joyful Self

Embroider unicorn dreams into your mind
Soften threads that glisten silver and gold
Create a tapestry of silken ecstasy
Luxuriate in melodic calm of butterfly whispers
Glide on a nurturing magic faerie’s wings
Slumber on the gentles of pink rose petals
Enjoy their beautiful fragrance which delights
Transform each breath into a deeper mediation
Live your most joyful self, drift into your heart song

Goodbye

How do I decide when it’s time to say goodbye?
 The rose tinted contacts of love
Stain my vision as I struggle to decipher
The difference between what I want, 
And what I truly need…

Am I really ready to say goodbye 
To the warmth of his touch,
Or the feeling of eternal attachment
That plagues my heart everytime I see him? 
Would I be ludicrous to walk away
From the peaceful time we share under the sunset
And the unparalleled content his presence gifts me?
The internal highs just embroider my soul
With everlasting joy,
and really makes consider
If it's really the time to say goodbye…

Maybe it’s time to say goodbye,
When the highs aren’t high enough
To balance the overwhelming grief
Of the lowest lows.
The consistency of his hurtful words
Slowly chip away at the shield of
My blind infatuation,
And deteriorates the seemingly imperishable adoration
I’ve felt up until this point.
So although there will always be love
That will last the test of time…--

I Think it's time, I finally say goodbye… :/

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