Glasses were sweaty in July,
so I wouldn’t pick them up
Mom mixed the concentrate perfectly,
but I wouldn’t pick it up
Warm juice in a wet glass
doesn’t cooperate
with me
I remember you, grandpa
only by the scratchy wool
of your suit holding me
while I had chickenpox
It made me feel worse,
as if I never would know intimacy
But I think I will love you,
in Heaven
Sheep Shandra does not have to go to the store
She knits up her own wool, and she always has more
Today she is knitting an afghan for the king and the queen
they said any color will do, so she is making it green
She dyes it too? The listener was amazed by this news.
She is truly remarkable, said her cousin, McGlews.
If I need a bit of wool, I sit with her and do a spin.
Pretty soon I am covered in her wool up to my chin.
Moma’s hands of comfort and skills ~~ the sweetest I’ve ever known
When small, mom’s loving hands knitted me Barbie’ clothes.
Bro and I were smitten with her puppet-like animal mittens.
My son’s toddler, fire engine sweater is displayed wall posed,
and a bed blanket of varied, unique squares does heart pull.
Wool surrounds me, it hugs and comforts me, love is wool.
Feathery white lines
cotton wool stretched across thin
folding and rolling
Horn Bull Full of Wool Haiku
has been a big bull
who with Trump there is much pull
always will be full
How about that one?
His sweet little lies,
Dazzling love, wool over eyes,
Loved him, I surmise.....
Lonely is the one who only ever follows
Cursed is the one who chooses his own path.
For neither ever will be truly satisfied.
A problem such as this
Doesn’t seem to exist for a sheep.
Even on a cliff’s edge,
A sheep is neither hurt nor dead.
Perhaps only weighed down by his own coat.
Perhaps that is not only his predicament.
But is the case for all those around him.
Vision obscured by his own wool.
If he cannot see, why should the world around him matter?
He is the center of the herd.
Never a leader but never last.
However, a day will come
When time has passed
His life will be nearing the end of its rope.
He will be old and without hope.
And he will wonder why he never just sheared his head.
But, he is only a sheep on a cliff’s edge.
These problems don’t exist.
Sheep don’t have to take risks.
They stay in a herd
With a shepherd in tow
They will never know what lies off the path
Or a hundred feet below.
When my knitting queen aunt
Feels that needlework pull,
She starts knitting some squares
Using leftover wool.
They’re rectangles, really,
With colorful stripes,
Their patterns and stitches
Of similar types.
Then when there are enough,
Using needle and thread,
She will sew them together
To cover a bed.
If no blanket’s requested
By someone she knows,
To a charity’s stockpile
That handiwork goes.
Though some unattached pieces
My aunt did produce
Found their way to my granddaughter
For a new use.
Now her dolls all have blankets,
Two interests in sync,
Crossing ages and miles
In such a sweet link.
Jill jerked into a pool, The water was certainly cool, She had no tool, She felt like a fool,
Wiped chill by wool, And she sat near the shool.
It is instinctive,
No parent can help it,
If cotton wool is in the house,
A parent will find it.
When single we don't see a need for it,
But as soon as that little bundle of joy arrives,
It is added to the must have list.
It has caused many a marriage to self-destruct,
And should only be used as directed,
Preferably by a maiden Aunt,
Or understanding grandparents,
Who were brought up on a farm.
Of course there are dangers to protect children from,
But sooner or later the real world beckons.
Preparing them to live in it requires less cotton Wool,
And more risk management teaching.
But before you throw out all the cotton wool,
Experts agree that it may be,
The only thing to keep them safe,
From Danger in the virtual world.
Oh ewe, oh ewe, dear don't you run away
I've come to play ‘Ba Ba’ with you, so will you stay?
I'm not going to shear you like I did before
I've left shearing tool behind 'cause my hands are sore
It's a beautiful day, and Uncle Sun is out
The bad wolf will not come hunting, we have dog scouts
We can play with the rams too, but beware of them
They have lusty designs on you and every femme
The stupid rams are so vain and proud of their horns
We'll send them, and dogs, chasing wolves into bush thorns
We'll dance all day to 'Old MacDonald Had a Farm...'
Evening we'll have fresh hay, blanket to keep us warm
Night we'll play 'Ba Ba Black Sheep Have You Any Wool'
When you're tired and drowsy, I'll shear you with my tool
Job done, I'll tuck you in, and put the wool away
‘Morrow, light and sprightly, you'll again want to play
Mill boy, meets pit girl.
Wool and Iron.
Protection and strength.
Complementing.
Opposites attracting.
The magnetic core pull,
unbreakable.
The outer, nourishing, nurturing.
The perfect balance.
A symmetry.
Loved and loving.
Life shared, family, forever friends,
Vows, distant, but stronger.
Sons, raised, fledged and flying
Dreams realised.
New lives, new dreams.
Hope undimmed.
Love eternal.
Forever us.
Beguiled risks sensitive alterations
that redesigned unknots and cutup trice
as the fresh teases through the looking glass
exposing timepiece resemblance glossed spilled.
Bemused forgives absence, mindful at hand,
tenuously gripping the rolled spent yarn
that edges fingertips loosely as threads
answer questionable finds, stitch-by-stitch.
Period accentuates the sensed thence
for the bestilled entangled narrative
plots exclamation points of those foregone
chapters ... period midst frames of escape.
Styled room for maneuvering that spirals
at a loss now hangs overhead ticking ...
mockery behold guardians of greens
that grow within disoriented poise.
Blue compliments presence expressed squarely
drafting the voiceless lucid residue
that nurtured former brush and forever
sealed a dream sweeter than a Danish roll.
hoped for
white down
but it's
saran wrap
settling dust
soak staining
weathered wood
laquering streets
warming bars
and hearts
gray wool
hugging the earth
softly
snuggling me
on this
see-your-breath
morning
You're the April in my March, you make my tulips grow
In brilliant colors, majesty, bursting through the snow
Your sunlit face, your dazzling smile, warm my coldest day
And the bluest eyes I've ever seen do whisk me away
To a land unheard of, never mapped, and never someone knew
Where the sunsets are incredible, and only seen by two
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