I brush my pen to hone,
Knowing the time I spent for you would never be alone.
For him I cherish, not the bond we embellish,
Where my sin once found it sweet,
Let my poem heal for you to repeat.
Suffering the wrath of my walls,
Shielding me in your arms,
Holding me tight as you poured out your soul,
Shrinking the sand that slips through your palms.
Avoiding the love that you once found,
Thankful for this day as time goes by,
Waving to the love I lost, we say our goodbyes.
Nothing left to change, no excuses to turn the page.
a free fervent feel
kindled by an unseen light~
friend that makes us heal
a fragile thread spun
holds the unknown, whispers hope~
trust what not yet won.
sunlight through the clouds,
a sudden warmth upon the face~
winds dispel the shrouds.
doubt's chill breeze may blow,
testing the weave, stretching out~
still, the string does glow
night stollers alone
guided by a distant glow~
belief in unknown
seeds beneath the soil
unseen growth, a patient wait~
life shines through one`s toil
when all seems vanished
when the path is lost to sigh~
guiding faith cherished
a gentle whisper,
across the vast and silent space~
trust turning crisper.
more than simple verse
a living, breathing essence~
holds the universe.
Tie Dye in July
Like Phulkari women in July
I dye the plain days
then stitch gold flowers where the sun burned me
Like dyeing fabric with turmeric indigo and madder root
I carved yellow joy under the amaltas bench forever
Singing while embroidering with messy thread on the floor
Summer heat reminds me of sorrow
curved in black thread of thorn
With wounded fingers I make the woman
who wore burning coal on her feet
The vibrant red reflects my emotions
and love for my past life
Then I turn to another phase
when shibori binds me in July heat
sashiko mends me with white thread
tie the chaos stitch the light back in
Every color blends and comes together
like a rainbow after rain
Memories are crafted with grey ash
and sometimes with vibrant amber
Healing and wounded
like a storm stuck in a heaven star
I exult this is a dark weave of a white thread, unduly discarded all but the waste and winnowing sortilege if cause gave rise then a room filled with pearls is illogically bent away from their holders, so is the cause such is the reason that like any entire world the fountains have run dry and only the manson of stars endures.
I find hope because I am not dead,
I find hope as the sun gets out of bed.
The bright and pretty light will spread,
for all to see and be read.
With hope I will always look ahead,
hope can be a common thread.
She is the thread,
When I'm lost in my head.
When my brain is on the floor,
When I just cant push anymore,
I look to my side,
It was there as if it would always reside.
I grab the thread off the ground,
And when I do, I hear a faint sound...
Her voice in the dark,
Like an out of sight landmark.
As I follow the thread where it leads,
All my fears give way and recede.
Her voice will help me find the light.
The thread will guide me through the night.
Ill find the path straight back to her,
With this thread and that voice... of this im sure.
Destined by a thread,
Stories untold,
As the sun turns red,
And the earth grows cold,
The future unseen,
The stories untold,
Life goes by day and night
Written in the stars,
Our fate takes flight,
A map of scars,
That glimmers at night,
The heavens whisper,
What time cannot hide,
A cosmic scripture,
Where dreams collide.
A pilot, a nurse, a doctor too,
These are all dreams,
That has to come true,
What is fate?
When it's a God that guides us,
Everything he has done,
Is done for us.
Destined by a thread,
Written in the stars,
What's there to fret?
When we know who we are.
Our love—a tattered tapestry in twilight torn,
Blood-stained vows, I ne’er should have sworn.
Yet still, I grasp the ghost of hope long dead,
Whilst my heart lies trapped in love’s unraveling thread.
Our past—a patchwork of promises loosely sewn,
A mosaic of miseries, lies I shouldst have known.
Colors once radiant now washed and bled,
As sorrow’s heavy tears soak each tender thread.
Our vows—etched upon withered parchment thin,
Sealed my fate with sorrow’s sanguine pen.
With futile needle I sought to mend,
The pale, torn veil of love’s forsaken end.
Our souls—once spun upon seraphim loom,
Star-crossed lovers ‘neath empyrean moon.
As fate’s spindle spins tenebrous threads taut and thin,
O’ how I yearn to weave us whole again.
But thou—unwind the tethered twine,
That once bound thy haunted heart to mine.
Where art thou now my false Valentine?
Lost in the warp where truth and treachery entwine.
And though thou hast sundered our seams apart,
Thy name shall ever remain stitched in mine heart.
—Edward
Cold is her name
A tweed hides her quiet eyes
Beneath coarse outer skin
Is there warmth she tries to hide?
Threads tell their tale
Woven bright with whispered past
Hard to crack her pale heart
A staple that will still last.
Second in TEXTURE OF MINIMALISM Poetry Contest by Nette Onclaud
If I could turn the clock's proud hands around,
And make the past a silent, yielding clay,
What single thing would be my hallowed ground?
What solitary debt would I repay?
Not Caesar's fall, nor some forgotten war,
No grand design upon the human stage,
But just a little moment, nothing more,
A single, unremarked, forgotten page.
I'd find the day the friend-thread started thin,
The one I broke with words of careless spite.
I'd go to the spot where pride won the grin,
And chose the bitter shadow over light.
While with my power used to hold my tongue,
To bite the lip and let the anger cool.
To choose the path of love while we were young,
And not to act the self-important fool.
The world would turn, the stars would still align,
No empires built, no new philosophy.
Albeit, modest, subtle world of mine,
A broken thread would mend, eternally.
And I would trade history's roared acclaim,
I'd bid that one small change, so soft and low,
To keep a bond from ever knowing blame,
And watch the seeds of understanding grow.
From the silent loom
the single thread is drawn,
A fragile line
that binds the present day;
It weaves through shades
of twilight and of dawn,
And maps the paths
where fragile heartbeats stray.
In sorrow’s night,
in joy’s ephemeral gleam,
The pattern forms
a tapestry of time,
A waking truth,
an everlasting dream,
Touched by the hands of fate,
of human crime.
We watch it flow,
this river of our years,
A current deep with laughter
and with loss,
Through sunlit fields
and valleys of our fears,
We bear the weight,
accepting of the cost.
Until the shuttle halts,
the pattern done,
The story told beneath
a common sun.
UNSEEN THREAD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
it is the quiet hand that steadies
the stranger’s trembling cup of tea,
the pause before the sharp reply
that lets the wounded silence breathe.
not grand, this thread that binds us close—
a choice to hold what others drop.
We were both operating together,
vibrating at an oscillating frequency -
short-band radio signals reaching
no greater than brief steps away.
It was love, but it was also that infinitesimally
narrow gap between heaven and hell.
A bulbous red on/off button,
the size of a large tomato or small planet,
kept our brains alert
to any nuclear explosions
that might otherwise have destroyed
those thin strings of real intimacy we could
have accidently blundered into.
In the end, slips of the tongue
led to neither truth nor lies,
only figures of speech.
Friends and on-lookers
watched as we turned off
all the early warning signs, one by one -
then to no one's great surprise,
we were done.
I stitched the stars with thread of gold To bind the wounds the ages told, Where cruelty broke the world in two— I gathered light to sew it through.
The needle sang a lullaby Of souls who never said goodbye, And in each seam, a prayer would gleam: That love outlives the darkest dream.
Don't push me to the brink
Where life's spark starts to fade,
Lest I lose the will to live,
And hope's light is betrayed.
27 July 2025
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