Sheep Shandra does not have to go to the store
She knits up her own wool, and she always has more
Today she is knitting an afghan for the king and the queen
they said any color will do, so she is making it green
She dyes it too? The listener was amazed by this news.
She is truly remarkable, said her cousin, McGlews.
If I need a bit of wool, I sit with her and do a spin.
Pretty soon I am covered in her wool up to my chin.
Knitting always looked easy to me,
as a child I wanted to try.
I did try it many times,
oh no it was no good.
I love knitted things,
only store bought.
Is for me,
so sad.
Soft.
Knitting's my hobby, I never stop
Blankets, sweaters, gloves, hats and socks
All colours of a rainbow
Chunky or double knit
Whatever it is
I will not stop
Till the day
That I
Drop
* * *
Moma’s hands of comfort and skills ~~ the sweetest I’ve ever known
When small, mom’s loving hands knitted me Barbie’ clothes.
Bro and I were smitten with her puppet-like animal mittens.
My son’s toddler, fire engine sweater is displayed wall posed,
and a bed blanket of varied, unique squares does heart pull.
Wool surrounds me, it hugs and comforts me, love is wool.
Knit one, purl one
two knit together.
On we go, entwining begun.
Next a loop we pull to tether
Then a purl one, a reversal done.
Now a lace embrace, two as one forever.
Grandma Lulu loved to knit.
She was the knitting queen.
She has been doing this for ninety years.
Click. Click. Click. Click.Click.
She lived in a house full of yarns.
Baby yarns, skinny yarns, fluffy yarns, shiny yarns.
Yarns of many colors, light yarns, dark yarns, balls and skeins.
Knit purl purl knit; knit purl, purl, knit.
For Christmas we relatives got slippers.
Blue, yellow, orange, red, green, gray slippers.
Our babies got knitted layette sets.
Click. Click. Click. Click.Click.
She also created knitted Christmas ornaments.
Penguins, socks, or ruffled candy canes.
If you visited her, she never looked up.
You heard the constant click of her knitting needles.
The first thing we noticed after her funeral
Was the sad silence of her house; no longer a home.
Knitting a tiny woolly sweater, for a sweet-tempered mouse
He sleeps on a blue letter, that arrived from grandmother’s house
Using scraps of yarn, that came from a pair of socks
Was keeping it to darn, but seems cold dwelling in a mailbox
Started offering him pieces of cheese, I no longer eat alone
Eventually I pour us both teas, by the garden that’s overgrown
Working with double pointed needles, carefully in the round
Looking out towards a mural, l see him on the church’s ground
I am excited to witness, that he has his own schedule
This mouse is full of cleverness, he returns with a spool of wool
I am slowly making progress, as the churchmouse grows a belly
We started to play chess, both just pushing pieces curiously
Casting on is thrilling, just as thrilling as casting off
Weaving frail ends are gruelling, but it will all soon payoff
He happily wore his new jumper, colours of autumn in stormy weather
So came an idea, thoughts of knitting a matching sweater
Seasons have come and gone, no need to wear thick wool
We’re having a picnic on the lawn, wearing a full matching ensemble
toasty variegated yarn from Oskaloosa
the hues of colors
red blue yellow green
knitting needles are clicking along
warm mittens and slippers
afghans and shawls
a dress for a toddler
clickety clack clickety clack
Some days, God weaves a tapestry,
Life's circumstances furiously knitting.
Other days, leaving things to ourselves,
She does needlepoint, while sitting.
Song to love, song to listen and song to sing.
In life, Music holds a specific meaning.
In list of hobbies, Music at top to bring.
Knitting is carried on through maternal gene.
In this trend both my Grandma and Mom were keen.
Natural skill continuing from my teen.
Since childhood, Drawing - Painting : My recreation.
Simultaneously those are my creations
Not as an expert but I wish to mention.
Composed Drama being a story - Writer
As such, script writing became my hobby later.
Stage performance - Telecast displayed better.
But why is she knitting a nest? We asked each other.
We knew the old bird was too old to become a mother.
The bird sat quietly with knitting needles clicking away.
She liked it when she confused us on a rainy Tuesday.
It was really a scarf, but she said nest to get us talking.
We are a chattery bunch, and soon were squawking.
Arguments ensued, and hens began pecking each other.
She snickered to herself, and so did rooster, her brother.
Hearing of a sitting mouse is as rare as a sock without a hole.
But today we have a knitting mouse, an afghan is her goal.
She has already made one for a fox, a frog and a foal.
This one is for her crotchety great uncle named mean Joel.
How many more slippers and mittens can Elvira knit?
This was asked by her mother who was throwing a fit.
She wanted to be a grandma, so wanted Elvira to get with it.
But Elvira was now knitting hats for her slippers, the little chit.
Isn’t she interested in men? Her mother asked, as she paused to sit.
“Doubtful,” answered her sisters. “All she wants to do is knit.”
“If she doesn’t come through for me, you will have to commit.
They were teenagers who laughed like loons, thinking about it.
Elvira kept knitting, ignoring her mother who was a nit-wit.
She was only nineteen-years-old, she was not in a hurry, a bit.
She was now making chair doilies, for every chair where one could fit.
She said to her worried sisters “don’t worry about it.”
Knitting is an activity
I like to binge on and explore
Tempted by the colours
At the local spotlight store
All manner of gorgeous hues
In all different kinds of ply
Glow brightly from the shelves
Priced ludicrously high
I started off naively thinking
I'd make something fab to wear
Massively overestimating
My skills and time to spare
It's taken me absolutely ages
And honestly, it looks a bloody sight
One sleeve is longer than the other
And the neckband far too tight
Never mind! I soldier on
It will look better when it's done
But now I see I've dropped a stitch
And a holes begun to run
At last I'm on the homeward straight
Casting off the final row
But as nearly always happens.....
I'm out of yarn. The final blow.
Darn, fleeting her soul life, sitting away.
Rests snug against the wall twixt cabinet.
6 pots on the window sill, stalks daylight cross.
The horizon two windows still six pots.
Views of the apartment across the street.
Minded I am nothing life’s so discreet.
Alone-quiet-gray blue antique surround.
Instilled Look N down as I AM knitting.
Solitude and darning in mine silence.
Just an alone, age lady, sitting in.
My mind solitude knitting in silence
As her blessed quiet time, so in her.
Her subdued time her mind she's so alone.
Yet getting into the conversation
10/18/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
Placement in Contest 1st place
For Get into the Conversation Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Contest Judged: 10/20/2023 6:54:00 PM
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