Some days, God weaves a tapestry,
Life's circumstances furiously knitting.
Other days, leaving things to ourselves,
She does needlepoint, while sitting.
Categories:
needlepoint, god, humor,
Form: Epigram
leaves weave through birthing flowers as jade ink
sunshine stitches gem gardens
pearl moon glosses with gloves
March 25th
Categories:
needlepoint, color, flower, moon, nature,
Form: Haiku
A needlepoint of stars I see,
When falls the darkest night;
In fact, the fewer stars I see
When the nearest is most bright!
For by darkness do I count the stars,
And of late, the sky’s aglow—
How very odd this paradox
Is most clearly what I know!
Categories:
needlepoint, dark, hope, light, loneliness,
Form: Rhyme
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.
Categories:
needlepoint, poetry,
Form: Free verse
love sits
in that frozen phonograph of life
a broken record
playing the same bit of song
over and over and over
not knowing when to stop
not knowing when to start
it’s a hard feeling
on this record player
that always skips our song.
i waited and waited
for you to come out of your shell
and when you didn’t
i called the nutcracker
but that little wooden man
just didn’t show up
so i tried to do it myself.
i’ve always said i have no muscles
so you’re stuck.
i’ve jammed the catch to your little box
lined with foil
and you’re locked inside
locked away from me
indefinitely.
maybe in time
the locksmith will come ‘round
or maybe in time
you’ll run out of supplies
and force your own self out
but until that maybe-time
i’ll move on
and try to find another song
that the needle doesn’t skip and jump
that doesn’t have a scratch in it
like ours does.
only one man can fix it, you know,
and he’s stuck in a shell
lined with foil
with a jammed lock
too scared to break out
and i won’t wait anymore.
Categories:
needlepoint, life, lost love, love,
Form: Lyric