Long Doilies Poems
Long Doilies Poems. Below are the most popular long Doilies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Doilies poems by poem length and keyword.
She came from that special tribe of women
whose hands have six fingers each.
Fingers that appear a blur of agitation
chattering amongst themselves
in a language I could never understand.
9th Row: * Yo, K1, yo, sl 1, K1, psso, K13, K2tog, yo, K1, yo,
K2 tog, K2 (yo) twice, K2, K2tog; repeat from * all round.
As a child I watched
as her architecture exploded
in rhythm and rhyme,
my eyes dazzled with reflections
of their ceaseless motion.
I thought of spiders spinning webs,
of clouds delivering snowflakes made
of white unfolding tapestries.
It was living art,
breathing from an inward rhythm,
gaining life before my eyes.
Her fingers, ten of flesh
and two of bone,
like fencing masters
parry- thrusting patterns in the air.
long bones bobbing, weaving,
nearly, neatly, kissing, then retreating,
fast as fighter jets leaving contrails
of air and finery behind,
kissing the air,
to leave each slender thread embraced,
membranes laced
with love and intuition.
Doilies brought to fruition
with loving hands;
her many fingers moving,
proving themselves
over and over
in secret patterns surging,
revealing their purpose
merging crocheted gifts
of adept urging.
Breathing life
to limp and simple strings
with all the love
that her attention brings.
Gifts brought to a world
made better
by hands and willing heart.
Hands that held six fingers each
and turned her sacred language into art.
BLUE shaped hair is styled to rigid perfection by rows of orderly, PINK curlers
BLUE notes from an "Oldies" station linger, a calming WHITE noise to soothe
BLUE scents of expensive musk linger, permeating the YELLOW walled salon
BLUE flavored grape juice is thoroughly enjoyed by thirsty GRAY haired patrons
BLUE velvet blouse, worn by an elegant BLACK woman, is admired by all.
PINK shaped flamingos dot the salon decor, bringing a nostalgic feeling
As notes of WHITE laced doilies punctuate the mood of times gone by
In an atmosphere of musky scents, the little parlor glows in a YELLOW haze
With GRAY heads of wisdom and manners, their words flavored with grace
To dispel any BLACK mood with a velvet word of care, wearing their BLUE hair.
No time for coffee, as the dawn arrives....
I raised the shade. The crowd's outside!
The mob takes over...I'm still in slippers
But someone bought our old hedge clippers!!
Those folks just paid me a ton of money!!
I could use some help..........Hey! Where's my honey??
I swear...if he went back to take a nap
I'll sell his priceless baseball cap!!
Oh! They are looking at that wobbly table....
"I'll help you load it, Miss, if I'm able!"
She grabs dog-eared, dusty, vintage books
And one old crock-pot that still cooks!
I show her some doilies, and a ragged Barbie
And a costume for her Halloween parties?
A rusty shovel, and a dented bucket
And a fishing pole from old Nantucket
I'm selling Ma's old apron, and some broken dishes
A chipped glass bowl for all her fishes
Aunt Edna's ugly painting, and her candle holders
She lives down the street....hope no one told her!!!
One old bike for exercising
Doesn't work....it's not surprising!
"What's the point?" our husbands mutter
While we fill the garage with all this clutter
I explain to him..."She buys mine, and I buy hers"
"Then, we won't need to shop the stores!!"
"Dear...don't you know the grass is greener?"
"OH LOOK!" "That couple bought my vacuum cleaner!"
Just then I point across the street!!
Another yard sale.....and we both shriek!!
He points at me and shakes his fist
But I'll just ignore and toss a kiss
And side by side I'm in a race...
Who gets there first will buy that vase!!
Whoopee!!! I spy a broken chair...
That other shopper gives a glare!
So what it's broken? Well, I can glue it!
Just hope she doesn't beat me to it!
The point I'm making is simply this
This neighbor's junk became my bliss!
_______________________________________
For Skat's Yard Sale Contest:
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Polished now in the hallway, my fond antique
Recalling Grandaunt’s delicate craftwork--
Each pattern of fabric threaded with zest,
As her hands would bounce around pinpoint needles,
Weaving an array of doilies rugs garments
Intently absorbed in a foot pedal’s rhythm
That her hums trailed beyond Nam’s bombings :
The war years seemed like only yesterday,
Calming her through spindles of moon’s quick cycle .
Along each evening’s gloss, we rollicked laughed
Exchanging banters like friends… till she crossed over :
Tonight, I gently pat her own quilt laying on my bedside,
Lining our decades of sweet remembrances…
For a moment, my eyes gazed at stars’ fading wicker,
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.
Viv Wigley’s Contest: One nine and sixteen
Written 5/1/2018
Men in tailored suits
and satin waistcoats,
gold watches peeking
out of their pockets,
walked arm in arm
with women in wide skirts ~
hooped,
crinolined,
elegantly sculpted.
Their tight corsets tease each careful traipse,
leaving traces of elegance and opulence...
dotting the streets at Christmastime
with exaggerated silhouettes.
They kissed under mistletoe ~
hung in doorways,
each kiss claiming a berry
until none were left.
Saliva dried from whispered promises,
and crisper breaths.
When mouths moistened anew,
their laughter spilled under winter's sun,
burning with the thrill
of ice-skating parties.
Half-empty plates of Christmas pudding,
roast meats and other festive dishes —
littered Victorian tables,
attesting to well-fed tummies
and indulgent hearts.
Back home, the evening evened
with silent acting charades,
Blind Man's Bluff, Forfeits, and Snapdragon.
Pass the Slipper, Piggy Squeak, and Hunt the Ring ~
played near wood-burning fireplaces,
transformed by Christmas
into coziness, family warmth
and seasonal magic.
Christmas trees stood adorned,
strategically placed
to frisk each risk of its sly trick
that might sneak out
to steal away their joy.
When the gift boxes were opened,
the fiancé received
smoking caps,
shaving soaps,
and tobacco pouches.
The fiancée unwrapped
doilies,
silver tea balls,
and tea strainers ~
simple treasures exchanged
beneath candlelit ceilings
in that age of elegance,
where laughter and love lingered long,
like the scent of pine needles and roast goose,
long after Christmas Day had passed.
The soaring sinews of morning sunrise,
Ascend like attacking phantoms with flailing spears;
They rise thinking of fond amusements in the foggy darkness;
They appear as an apparition appears through an old curtain,
As a suffering ghost lurking, groaning in the back room there,
In the old back mansion
Amidst the dark tuft of beckoning willows,
Out back, hidden and forbidden, their erotic shadows.
Then we stand close together,
I have my fingers on Cape Hatterus,
Gently and firmly, as ripe apples in the wind
Topple, I guided you breathlessly amongst the doilies.
I let my masticating mind fixate visions of contorting sweat.
I, as a force of destiny,
Spiraled straight into boneless sockets.
Don't move female person, you, with wafts of perfume strong,
Stare into me female person, stare into my eyes,
There is no other river to cross,
The boa constrictors have put on blinders.
They don't see you. They don't care.
But I do. As a lone bloom on a strong myrtle branch,
I see you over there,
As much as the sky sees our rising voices,
But now my brain hears your voice,
Yet you are silent.
Shrunken sweaters, dusty ball caps
Tarnished silver, and hedge clippers
Pointed hat pins, gaudy jewelry
Faded jeans and worn out slippers
Greasy fry pan, wobbly table
Crates of dog-eared musty books
Tattered doilies, ragged Barbies
One brown old crock pot that still cooks
Rusty shovel, dented buckets
Ma's old apron, broken dishes
Dated calendar, crooked lampshade
Chipped glass bowl for all your fishes
Ugly painting, candle holders
One old bike for exercising
Broken TV, toaster oven
Doesn't work....it's not surprising!
What's the point?" our husbands mutter
While we fill the garage with clutter
I explain to him..."She buys mine, and I buy hers"
"What's the point of shopping stores??!"
"Now...don't you know the grass is greener?"
"OH GOOD!" "She's bought my vacuum cleaner!"
Just then I point across the street!!
Another yard sale.....and we both shriek!!
He points at me and shakes his fist
But I'll just ignore and toss a kiss
And side by side I'm in a race...
Who gets there first will buy that vase!!
Whoopee!!! I spy a broken chair...well, I can glue it!
Just hope she doesn't beat me to it!
Another point about my purchase
Perhaps I can use it for another purpose
Oh No!!...he's found old tool collections!!
And points at them with great affection!!
The point I'm making is simply this
Another's person's trash or junk, may soon become your bliss!
" One man's junk is another man's treasure" - author unknown
To some, old collectables and antiques are nothing but junk,
even heirlooms kept safely in their grandmother’s old trunk.
They say antiques sales are diminishing and not as popular today,
but I believe antique collecting is still an interest and here to stay.
It’s fun to go antiquing on the weekends for old forgotten treasures,
buying trinkets to discover their provenances by researched measures.
Exciting to imagine the energy and stories the antiques may hold,
and delightful when finding collections of history so rare and old.
An old empty apothecary bottle that once held medicine to treat the flu,
or helped saved the life of a sick family's toddler when he was only two.
The old handmade quilts and lace doilies that are now dull and faded,
some kept as cherished family gifts and some bartered and traded.
The beautiful Currier and Ives fruit print I found today for sale,
with foxing and colors not as vibrant and some getting pale.
I wonder the story it holds, was it in a mansion or a small home,
displayed as a collection of art or in a shack on the wall alone?
Garage sales are popular places today to find antiques and old junk,
seeing the large number of people who stop can’t be debunked.
Antique collecting is here to stay and will regain popularity,
and still exciting when finding a treasure that is a known rarity!
3/4/23
Contest: Writing Challenge -" J " words Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Who remembers? Only me?
An emerald morning, the month of May
We'd spread upon a kitchen table
Paste of flour, fingers nimble, holding
scissors, rainbow crayons
Pretty paper doilies folded, then….
Posies, roses folded in
The memory shrugs so many years away
Where innocence, was cut and shaped
Into bright-sprigged paper cones
Such sweet accomplishments, each our own
Then quickly running out the door
To pick spring beauties, one by one
Fresh Lilly of the Valley, wild wood fern,
Gathered, heavy on their stems
Sweet and fresh as morning dew,
So filled with springtime, filled with bloom
Then paper cones were flower filled
Small bouquets of sweet perfume
Then down the dusty road we trudged
Side by side, with grins of pride
No greater pleasure as a child
The thought of bringing someone smiles
Timid knocking on a neighbor's door
Calling “Surprise...Surprise! Look what’s in store!”
Our little legs would run fast, down the road,
Behind a tree, where we would hide
And watch them find this flower prize
Must not....get caught.....must not get caught!
And we were taught
That bringing light to someone's eyes
Was worth a lot !!
Under Emerald May Day's vibrant skies
For Tracie's Contest: "Flowers or Stones"...."May"
1/17/12
Indian Princess
This woman laughs and makes others laugh too.
She comes to church with her sweet husband.
He is kind.
They are a breath of fresh air, from yesterday.
Age has touched the edges of their life, but their spirit…
protected, cherished and loved by Our Lord.
It is easy to see.
She makes wonderful dolls, dressed in bright yarn.
Skeins of color, every shade including crisp, stain-less white.
This woman makes sweaters, doilies, hand scarves, and head scarves.
Treasures from wool and cotton, that are all imperfect…, on purpose.
Only “He” has no flaws.
Her hair is dark, and a little gray.
I wish we could be friends forever.
She is moving… not close but far…away.
The place she is going to, they are lucky folk.
They have no idea. But soon they will find it hard to do without…
the air of sweet kindness, one in the same… just as her name.