At a nature-type center,
We looked at displays
Of the wildlife that’s local,
Describing their ways.
From a room that said, “Meetings,”
A woman came out
And approached with a smile
And nary a doubt.
“You look like a quilter,”
She said, just to me.
“I am!” I replied,
So she said, “Come and see!”
At twelve or so tables,
With sewing machines,
Were fabrics and projects
And twelve quilting queens.
They all come together
Four times every year
Just to kibitz and sew,
Schlepping all of their gear.
Their work was amazing
And thrilling to see
And then they extended
An invite to me.
“Come join us!” I couldn’t,
But what a delight
To encounter these women
At such a strange site.
Categories:
quilter, appreciation,
Form: Rhyme
I read a poem to my quilting class,
Which happens over Zoom.
It got a warm reception, so
They liked it, I’d assume.
I wrote it several weeks ago;
The topic: sewing curves,
Which even to a practiced quilter
Oftentimes unnerves.
It’s satisfying seeing
A reaction to my writing,
Since mostly, just my husband’s thoughts
Are those I am inviting.
While written comments gratify,
Like a fellow poet’s note,
A responsive audience can make
My spirits rise and float.
My quilting skills are modest,
Though they have improved with time,
But the talent I’m the proudest of
Is setting thoughts to rhyme.
Categories:
quilter, poetry, writing,
Form: Rhyme
they are talking about fat quarters again
if you don’t know what they are, let me run this by you
thimble, needle, Elna, Singer, Brother, White
Could they be referring to astronauts?
If you think that, you are not a quilter
Fat quarters are blocks of fabric sold together
Could be plaids, polka dots, stripes,
But they have something in common, maybe color
There are a variety of quilt styles too
Log cabin, crazy, appliqued, wedding ring.
If you do not speak the language, get out of the sewing room.
We are here to quilt and gab and eat some lemon pie.
Categories:
quilter, women,
Form: Prose Poetry
A quilt is a poem that’s been crafted
With stitches that cleverly mime
The words that a poet has drafted
In manner and rhythm and rhyme.
For in piecing a pattern together,
Every section, once stark and alone,
Must be seamlessly tailored to tether
It to others when carefully sewn
Just like adjectives, verbs and conjunctions
Plus the other unnamed parts of speech
Let the writer arrange, so their functions
Form the meanings that readers can reach.
When the final thread’s snipped from the needle
And the pencil has made its last mark,
Neither quilter nor poet need wheedle
For responses their efforts should spark.
Categories:
quilter, analogy, poetry,
Form: Rhyme
Let’s go see the quilt maker my aunt suggested.
The quilter was an old woman.
I did not like oldsters, but I was polite about it.
The quilt maker had a lively sense of humor.
She and I became friends.
Later, good friends.
And now best friends.
I learned that oldsters are not all the same.
She taught me this in all the right ways.
I am now learning how to make a quilt too.
Categories:
quilter, age,
Form: Free verse
Laughter had subsided, but the stitches were coming faster and faster.
Not so large, honey, oldster said to the young one who was learning.
Quilters are particular about their stitch size, in case you did not know.
May, another quilter nodded encouragement to the young one.
Baby’s foot was dangling from the stroller' the puppy was snoring.
Tiny stitches were making the new quilt come together in a sweet way.
I think she will be excited! One said. Another gave a harrumph sound.
Some glared; they did not want to ruin their surprise for the young mother.
Categories:
quilter, women,
Form: Prose Poetry
Poetic lines
plucked out of the universe of creativity
a structure perhaps in place.
The poet's mind
a receptor
like a television receiving radio waves.
A message and a form emerges and a pattern appears
then to be arranged and carefully designed
like a quilter creating a quilt.
Further guided to play with words and structure
so as to fine tune
like a musician fine tuning a musical instrument.
The poet beckoned
by the universe of creativity
summoned to create the poem.
N/A - Brian Strand - All Yours (Apr 14) Poetry Contest
Categories:
quilter, poems,
Form: Free verse
My favorite quilting shape’s a square;
It’s simple, quick to stitch and spare.
Such plainness shouldn’t be ignored,
For it can form a checkerboard.
This pattern’s friendly and it’s neat.
To quilt beginners, it’s a treat.
Each square attaches to the next;
No circle folds, which leave me vexed.
A rectangle’s not bad to sew;
It lacks the square’s attraction, though.
And triangles can be a pain;
I seek those perfect points in vain.
Next time you see a quilt, please note
The shapes and think of what I wrote -
For every quilter everywhere
Got started with a humble square.
Categories:
quilter, tribute,
Form: Rhyme
More Gardening
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015
The heat it just keeps rising, there’s a lot of work to do
I’ve had enough of gardening, you could say that I am through
but I’ve done what I had to do, no matter what you think
and now I’m going to go inside, and get myself a drink
So will I have a lemonade, or will I have a beer
there’s lots of sharp tools still to use, I should keep my head clear
I pour a glass of lemonade, no sparkle ‘cause its flat
looks like it will just be the beer, so that’s the end of that
At least, that is what I think, and then she comes inside
the gardens looking lovely, she says, with lots of pride
if you just bring the green bin round, we’ll clean up all the mess
I think of lots of reasons not, and then I answer yes
For my wife’s not just a quilter, she loves the garden too
working with the flowers, pots, and fertilizer poo
you don’t have to help me, she tells me, quite sincere
I’ve fallen for that trap before, and say, I don’t mind my dear.
Categories:
quilter, earth, social,
Form: Rhyme
by Robert J (Bob) Moore © 2015
My wife she is a quilter, she quilts by day and night
cutting cloth and paper pieces, making sure they’re right
she likes to get me involved, “do these colours look OK”
I ask her, “what does she think”, cause she has the final say
I think they look real good she says, I nod, and I agree
she walks away all happy, more brownie points for me
we’ve been doing this for years, she thinks I have a good mind
never had the nerve to tell her, I am colour blind
Categories:
quilter, wife,
Form: Rhyme
Pity the poet who cannot produce,
When writer’s block’s mocked as a flimsy excuse.
Ache for the author whose well has run dry,
Each crumpled page taunting his need to deny.
Sigh for the sculptor who stares at the stone,
Once viewed as companion, now feeling alone.
Cry for the craftsman, the quilter, the painter
Whose passions, once purple, grow paler and fainter.
Worry for all who once flourished and soared,
Existence distilled, now bereft and/or bored.
Wonder if such is what waits for us all
Unless we still heed creativity’s call.
Categories:
quilter, art, writing,
Form: Rhyme
In grammar school, my favorite part
Was weekly show and tell.
It was the one activity
At which we’d all excel.
We’d bring to class most anything
Of which we were quite proud.
It was a time to share our joy
And boos were not allowed.
One time I brought my special cup;
Its handle had a bird
And when you blew into its tail,
A whistle’s what you heard.
Some other items I displayed
(I had my mom’s permission)
Were medals from the war
That gave my dad some recognition.
Though years have passed since grammar school,
This custom perseveres.
In quilting class, a finished product’s
Shown to claps and cheers.
We ooh and aah at every stitch;
The quilter grins and beams.
We never notice crooked borders
Or uneven seams.
For show and tell’s a time to crow
And strut on center stage.
Acknowledgement feels wonderful,
No matter what your age!
Categories:
quilter, childhood, happiness, time, time,
Form: Rhyme