Wool Poems - Poems about Wool

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...

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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...

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Jill jerked into a pool, ...

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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...

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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...

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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....

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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...

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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...

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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...

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When a Woman insists that she does all the work and the man does nothing what is this condition called. My Great Grand dad said it was called "silly Bytch Syndrome" but I have come to find it is calle Female Imposter Syndrome. Is it that she wishes the maintaince of the home to be done on system that doesn't include seasonal fixes. Or just getting...

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The wound becomes inward like the pink moon after a little rain. It glows and then becomes red as the blood and the wool of the wail dangling white like a sheep in the wind. And this thorn that now curves in your breast; you will not bring to the garden nor to the throned light. It lies at your...

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Dvornikov & Putin have a plan To destroy every body they can It is their thesis That bits and pieces Swept Syrian War Crimes spick-and-span...

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Courier arrived today, Doorstep gift in the usual way, Nothing better than this, Inhale wool to craft and knit, It's about textures and threads, No wool is what I dread, "Fat chance!' is what the crafters said!...

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weaver’s spindle fulls the cloth teasel Note: Scottish thistles were once used by weavers as spindles....

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I took a pen to bed with me 1 night That only i could tell To comfort all my nightmares away You see i passed my exams By counting the wool on sheep And woke up in another street With only your face for cover 6 feet under blossoming flower Winter had passed and gone Hibernating in a soil coffin Death has taught me patience For...

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