I’d Rather Write a Yarn

Mother’s fingers rocked needles;

they swayed a rhythm just their own.

Between the babbling strands of yarn

a clickety-clack, tender melody forlorn.

 

Yarn back, then forward, and front.

How confusing can knitting be?

Yet, she hummed each stitch with love

this I effortlessly could certainly see.

 

Binding off, a hopeless endless thing

to make that final, finished row.

Cast on, not as outdoorsy fishermen,

in their tranquil, pastoral river throw.

 

I with awkward, clumsy hands would

drop a stitch. Which could not go unseen?

My eyes powerless to see like hers:

SL1, SL1K, SL1P. What does it mean?

 

With her passing, the needles went to me

a novice or newcomer; not yet fledged.

Housed in cylinder case, gone to bed

till I heard their cry from closet’s ledge.

 

The aged needles won’t dance a waltz,

as mother could create them do.

Yet, in her memory of aged fiber art

I’ll construct a simple thing or two.

 

I’d rather inscribe a yarn or two,

put the needles to rest, bring out

the inky pen and let the paper sing.

Compose a rambling story stout.

 

I think that’s what I’ll do.

 

In the spirit of Irish poet, Seamus Heaney, we are writing about artisans over at dVerse. Having a little Irish in me and a love of fiber arts I write.

Little One

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Infant’s cheeks

soft as dove’s wing,

rosy blush of sunset.

Gentle breath…

 

in out, in out, in out.

 

Slumber my little ones

no cares this day.

Bring stillness to my

tender heart,

 

I whisper, “I love you.”

 

in small still voice,

“I love you.”

Over at dVerse it’s Quadrille Poetry (only 44 words) and make sure to use the word ‘whisper’. These precious darlings are ages 9 and 4 now. The photo hangs next to my exercise bike encouraging me to stay fit, so I can enjoy these special girls.

 

Winter’s Curls

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Chilled,

heavy laden is the snow

curled on darken limb.

Hooting,

nocturnal owl nesting

carcass curls among chilled eggs.

Swirling,

morning sky, awaits curl of color

along horizon as distant train hoots.

Sleepy,

heavy are my eyes, body curling

between swirls of blankets.

sleepy…

 

2016 slipped by with little poetry for me, maybe 2017 will inspire the poet curled away. I’m linking to dverse where curls are coming up in quadrilles

Woodland Woodwings

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There’s harmony with a hornet’s nest
but I prefer the chirp, twitter, or tweet
of the eastern towhee’s “drink your tea.”

While butterflies are beating wings,
the bullfrog’s sing in baritone,
and cicadas play their violin;

I slurp my glass of iced tea!

 

Like others, it’s been awhile. I couldn’t help to say, “Happy Anniversary dVerse!”

Dverse Poetry

 

 

 

 

Duck Jingle…

DSCN1680Dabbling duck on lucid rise

mallard in my murky pond

paddling, swimming all around

waggle tail a wishing wand

 

Bright green head bobs in fen*

mirrored image crystal clear.

Now still waters, you are found

waiting, wadding, weightless here…

 

Beetles, worms, and dragonflies;

bill is pushing like a probe.

Plant food grazing toward the ground;

time for nesting ‘cross the globe.

 

Nintendo Duck Hunting is near…

goose invasion in the sky.

Deep beneath marsh grass you’re bound;

emerald feathers dwell or die.

 

As I pen this fowl verse…

stumbling quickly back in time;

a tender melody hounds

of my son’s childhood rhyme.

 

Words, lexis to describe

What simple pleasure they stir;

each one so carefully bound

to make a little lad purr.

 

I’ll hum simple melody;

brush off former frosty rime*

slowly sauntering; spellbound,

smiling… stop the hands of time!

 

“Duck quack, quack

Duck quack, quack

Wiggle waggle, wiggle waggle

Duck quack, quack

Here comes another…

Duck quack, quack.”

 

Tribute to Dan the critter man.

* (fen-swamp, rime-ice)

Conquer

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Thirsty windblown leaf
longs for taste of spring;
taste of Living Waters.

Chaff lost upon the breeze.
Now, seeks the Lamb of God;
seeking that which can set free.

Tears falling as raindrops,
seasons turning briskly;
turn frigid and rather thin.

Earthly seasons leave this life.
Yet, there’s true life in water;
there in the Living Waters.

“They shall neither hunger anymore nor thirst anymore; the sun shall not strike them, nor any heat;for the Lamb who is in the midst of the throne will shepherd them and lead them to living fountains of waters. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” Revelation 7:16-17


Back for a bit over at dVerse; saying “hi” to the gang.

First Day of School ?

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Formal Setting:
Depending on which side
of the chalk board one stands;
bubbling excitement of new friends
or old begin the school year.
There’s the teacher who spent summer
lining lesson plans to unlock children’s mind!
Student’s whose feet…
are still wet with summer sand;
building castles from last year middle age studies.
Stiff shoes, clean clothes, waxy crayons, and lunch…
Piles of homework stuffed in heavy packs,
crowded halls, bells ringing, and long days.

While at home:
Summer studies melt into fall’s colors;
caterpillar still hangs in wrapped chrysalis,
frog is a lesson in metamorphosis, and
summer’s flowers are a science project.
Mornings are spent in P.J. lab coats;
pounding out the hard stuff like everyone else.
Afternoons linger in literature and such;
exploring to one’s heart’s desire.
For one day you’ll be that engineer,
medical advisor or build your own business.
Education started at home… with your first steps.


Home Education isn’t such a surprise to people anymore, but 30 years ago we battled a few giants. Between my sis and me we taught all our eleven children: two began their own businesses, one became a police officer, another a nurse, one a day manager of a restaurant, an engineer, two are in the personal care, one serves in the Starbucks community, one is still studying to be an electrician, the youngest just graduated and is on her way to a medical profession.

Through the years my boys socially were involved in church clubs, community sports, organized educational outings, and monthly home school activities (where dozens of children competed in different events). I now have the privilege of helping educate my granddaughter and watch her flourish into the woman she will one day be. Watching her take those first steps in so many different things life has to offer is breath-taking.