Tech Rex big hitters
Respect what glitters
Our new babysitters
Not Grandma knitters
X cortex hex twitters
Hate mission transmitters
Gaza or Persian fritters
Emission spate emitters
Vile bile style spitters
Culture war splitters
Astringent mocktail bitters
Seedier leader flitters
Don't get the jitters
Don't be permitters
The media embitters
Don't become quitters
Need pinch hitters
This lot are critters
What's in cats' litters
All just bullshi**ers
She knitted her happiness into a long yellow brick road
The rest of the knitters clicked along beside her
Trying to catch up
But her enthusiasm had overtaken the garden
It oozed down the block and over the hedges of life
How does she do it? Some of the other knitters asked
Clicking their needles as fast as they could,
Trying their best to keep up
Her optimism ran over into a stream of yellow gold
It is her attitude, the fey whispered
They may never catch up
She was born with this enthusiasm
Oh no! It’s those pushy snow pigs the cow lamented loudly.
You mean the knitters who announce their wares proudly?
Oh, yes, the cat replied. They are selling mittens and caps.
Can’t we buy those things online on one of those Amazon apps?
Let’s not be so hasty the rooster said, coming in crowing.
Those warm fuzzy caps come in handy when it is snowing.
Geese flying over in the shape of an inverted vee
Yelled down “Happy sale day, Ms. Sow and McPhee.”
The horse ran to their side to see what they were selling.
There was an old farmer there and he was hopping and yelling.
That’s too much!! I only have twenty-eight dollars and two cents.
Geese landed and bought all the scarves, but they caught on a fence.
The geese are all strangled! A hen said. They are all dead.
McPhee and Ms Sow did not mind. Their haul had put them in the red.
The farmer was astounded, and had to go without a cap.
I guess he’ll have to buy one on that Amazon app.
We know knitters knit wool from skeins,
and when wet, us the wearer complains,
for our pullovers shrink,
and so this made me think,
why don't sheep ever shrink when it rains?
The balls of yarn are all lined up,
By color and by weight.
The knitters check them out, deciding
What they might create -
A sweater, scarf or pom-pom hat,
A blanket or a vest.
Whichever they select I know
I'm bound to be impressed.
For as in "Rumpelstiltskin"
When the straw turns into gold,
A skein of wool made wearable's
A mystery to behold.
I stare at all the choices
Though I cannot quite envision
The transition, via needles,
To the vest of my decision.
Still, at last, I make a purchase
And, will wonders never cease,
Once my aunt performs her magic,
I will wear my masterpiece.
Sound of sea is locked within seashell beached
Just lift a shell to your ear to hear sea sigh.
Morn is locked within dawns red sky horizon
Like flower bud bursts into daybreak.
Sap and sinew of living tree trunk
Is locking within its wood when cut and dried.
Knitters love and enterprise is purled into garments
Finger strokes coiled and entwined, locked within.
Photos frozen, snap shots, shuttered images frozen
Have memories locked within, auras that come to life when images viewed.
Locked within a diamond is flash of light and sparkles bright
Like a star it twinkles its light and shimmers at night.
Locked within a pebble on bed of stream are the clunks and thuds
That have ground it smooth during its passage downstream.
Locked within love locks padlocked to bridge
Is the hope that love locked up, cannot escape and flee.
For nothing is completely new since the big bang exploded
All things solid and spiritual have their birth and legacy locked within.
The threads of time's passage coiled and entwined
Locked within all matter until the end of time.
Everything has some within in tidbits locked inside
'Tis the within of things in lockets.
Elephants get cold, like us
So what, then, could be better
Than putting on a colorful
And hand-knit jumbo sweater?
Some villagers in India,
When temps got down to freezing,
Began to knit so they’d prevent
The pachyderms from sneezing.
The sanctuary photos,
Just in case you don’t believe,
Show a fashion-forward elephant
With each leg in a sleeve.
I say hats off to those knitters!
They deserve to win a prize
Just for counting all those stitches
To create that jumbo size.
I started off in primary school.
Big needles and bits of wool.
Clickedy clack, I learned fast.
Woolly socks made to last.
Long nights as a trainee nurse,
spent knitting, gave me a thirst
for colour and unusual design.
Jumpers for that boyfriend of mine.
Soon I was really hooked.
Intricate patterns from a book.
Picture postcard scenes in wool.
Lesser knitters would look and drool.
Aunty Jean was at it again.
Thomas the Tank for little friends.
Bob the Builder and Fireman Sam.
Girly things for my little madams.
Autumn always turns me on
to knitting those colours that come along.
Rustic reds and with gorgeous greens.
I'm once again a knitting machine.
It is a passion, there is no doubt.
I can't wait to see how they turn out.
How nice to have a passion I can wear.
After long winter nights in my rocking chair.
A little ray of sunshine
Came creeping softly slow,
Alighting up the knighton
Like raindrops made of snow.
When from a Kevin corner
A belly hump drew near,
Quipping from his teeth hole
And singing from his ear.
Great Bratsby in a lamppost
Joined hands with Wilsons tan
And only Devy’s armcake
Could lift their spirits, man.
‘We cannot leave our Bedders,’
A voice did cordall out.
‘He’s part of all of us, yer know,
The sleepy little lout.’
Big Johnny turning tango,
Advanced in quick retreat
And gave us all direction
about where we should meet.
Duff Bryan with his knitters block
Drew matching sticks at dawn
And promised everyone a hat
Made out of twigs and corn.
And so we gather tightly
This merry band, this we.
We shall not falter lightly
In darkness club or cree.
Linen ruffs and lacy cuffs
And farthingales and tassels;
Petticoats and hose and cloaks
Like those once worn in castles.
Fastenings of hooks and eyes
And buttons, strings and laces
Used instead of zippers to
Keep closed important places.
Milliners and stocking knitters,
Shoemakers and such
Pushed for authenticity
In looks and wear and touch.
Seeing Shakespeare on the stage
The way that he intended
Must have had a top-notch team
Who cut and sewed and mended.
“Twelfe Night” was magnificent.
The all-male cast impressed;
But kudos, too, to all the folk
Who got those actors dressed!
Bees make honey; hens lay eggs.
Brewers mash and fill their kegs.
Chefs make meals and cows give milk.
Spiders spin their webs like silk.
Knitters turn out scarves and sweaters.
In Vermont, they fashion cheddars.
Artists sketch or draw or paint.
English teachers cross out “ain’t.”
Donkeys carry; doctors heal.
Actors act and robbers steal.
Farmers till and hoe and reap.
Mothers rock their babes to sleep.
Every creature has a niche
To satisfy that nagging itch.
As for me, I’ve learned that I’m
Itch-free when I resort to rhyme.
Writers write and painters paint
To give themselves release.
Knitters knit and sculptors sculpt,
Allowing them some peace.
Singers sing and dancers dance
To tap into their talent.
Runners run and heroes help
And practice being gallant.
Bakers bake and swimmers swim
And mimes demand attention.
Everyone has skills, including
Those I didn’t mention.
People do the things they do,
With varying success,
To get them through the day and prove
The powers they possess.
Some people never have the chance
To find their little niche.
The lucky ones who’ve found it know
That they have struck it rich.
At this moment in time
There are moms giving birth,
While gravediggers shovel
A plot in the earth.
At this moment a plane
Is preparing to soar,
While a soldier’s blown up
In a far-away war.
At this moment some people
Confess all their sins,
While the gamblers assess
All their losses and wins.
There are folks who are sleeping
Or cooking or reading;
Shoplifters stealing
And knife victims bleeding.
Actors rehearsing and
Bar patrons drinking.
Cars crashing crazily;
Novelists thinking.
Knitters are knitting
And lovers embracing;
Criminals learn of
The sentence they’re facing.
Capture one moment
And measure the arc.
Everything happens –
The light and the dark.
Here in this moment
Some journey from home,
While I sit and ponder
And jot down this poem.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.