Slip Stitch
gave chase
lost face
Whip Stitch
LaRue
debut
Loose Stitch
sought it
lost it
Old Sewl
pedal
treadle
The Christmas Zipper
David J Walker
That tool kit you gave me
At two, Mom
was meant to be a toy
But made of real metal
How did I know
What to do with the saw
That I called a “Zipper”
Did I see Dad
Zipping through boards?
I only remember that your
Sewing machine cabinet was
Open and presented itself as
A Christmas morning opportunity
And after two short but damaging
Zips that ripped a straight line in
Drop leaf treadle cabinet table
someone brought in a 2x4
which I soon lost interest in
exchanging it for a
screwdriver in the kit
What could go wrong?
What did you expect a boy to do
At two
With a brand-new zipper in hand
On Christmas Morning
Sex for you is all I have.
Just a simple title.
The chance to give you all I am
just to keep you vital.
A pleasure we could do without
for just a little mettle.
But really who're we running from
We'll just admit to settle.
But wait- there's more to me than words-
there's something in the mettle.
Just what you'd think would please me now-
your comment in the nettle.
But wait- Just words to scare me off
-we're something of a fettle.
When thoughts like these make
thoughts to please- for love within this kettle.
But- I can't see to let you go
for something less than petal.
When all our love brings hope again-
each time you click the shtetl.
But wait- your mouse is all we have
for something more than treadle.
And we all know that we belong-
to much more than the peddle.
So hear me say you're just the one
to hold me on the medal.
When we both know we're both for work-
that clicks more when it's meant all - CLICK!
The Object Lesson
Written: By Miracle Man
3/15/2019
In minutes the tornado had abandoned the scene,
Undisturbed, was a borrowed, glass Butter churn.
Still sitting on the treadle of her old sewing machine,
Placed there awaiting an opportune time for return.
In the yard, what remained, of the trunk of a tree,
Bed springs wrapped around it, as if made that way.
As a testament of God's power for the throngs to see,
In nature, HIS power, was once again on display.
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Its turn-of-the-century frame clad in rust
Sitting in the old attic’s dim lighting
It revived memories uninviting
Her dauntless spirit still seemed to be there
Helen, hard at work in her wicker chair
The bobbin spun as she pressed the treadle
To mend her husband’s Civil War medal
The war years seemed like only yesterday
When the North fought in blue, the South in gray
Ben had battled Rebel troops at Bull Run
Led by McDowell in hot July sun
Hope was extinguished in a young girl’s heart
The first time she and Ben had been apart
He was one of thousands with no grave mark
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark
*April 28, 2018
Blue-checkered curtains are faded and drawn,..
after the years since she made them from gunny-sack cloth
The Singer, long idle, now gathers more dust,
with its needle still threaded and the treadle at rest
As I clear out the room, I think of long hours
of foot-peddled power, and strength in her soul.
She would unroll the fabric of roses and flowers,
with determined resilience in dark circled eyes.
But prudence, endurance, would salvage a way
Abandoned and left in a sea of lost dreams
She picked up the pieces, of patterns and hems
Making a living, and raising her kin,
didn't come easy, but she had to win
A life left unraveled, she must sew up again.
Working past midnight. Spindles would spin. Somehow rekindled
to live once again.
Making ends meet. Selvedge edges and hems
Sowing her heart, sowing her skill, and sowing her soul
Sewn together again
______________________________________________________
4/20/18
Vicky is an archer, born on the 14th of April,
In 1977, and started getting that archery thrill,
In 2010 when she competed for the first time:
She found archery thru a friend’s lucid dime.
She lives in Malvern in Worcester, England,
So she trains in Lillishall in Shropshire’s land,
At the National Sports & Conference Centre,
Where there are facilities and lots of banter.
Her coach since 2013 is Rikki Bingham, tough,
She’s right-handed, not left, it does the stuff,
Vicky throws 26” long arrows at weight 24lbs,
And she went international in 2014, grounds.
Indeed, at the Euro Para events in Switzerland,
She shoot a new WR to get a silver garland,
Then at the Para Worlds, in Holland at Almere,
She won a bronze and a coherent team silver.
And then in 2016 again at the European Paras,
But this time in Saint Jean de Monts in France,
Vicky gained another individual bronze medal,
So she is also going to Rio de Janeiro to treadle.
A combination of Haiku and Kyoka
designer originals
from feed sacks
after the chickens were fed
her artist's touch
honed with the aid
of her foot movement
on the treadle machine
I found in my tapestry
a rare golden thread,
I began to unravel it
to see where it led
The weft that was freed
from the intricate weave,
changed the course of my life
more than I'd ever conceive
While the threads of my past
went back through the heddle,
they were detached from my present
as fate worked its treadle
The familiar tableau
that I'd known all those years,
one of struggle and sadness,
did soon disappear
As the mural was altered,
each new vignette enlightened,
the scenes became joyous
and my spirit was brightened
Now, the tituli tells of
a hopeful potential,
one of love and compassion,
perhaps, exponential
S'true that our stories, our legends
are written by fate,
but one can change the outcome,
it is never too late
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