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BlueInkDitty Dec 2018
There's a pretty purple floating tissue,
A winter coat that I have made for you,
To keep you warm and happy someday you'll be freezing.
There's a weaving of friendship at the sleeves,
And a few kind wishes for you to live,
Hidden in the creases on the strings under your head.

The lining is no gold,
I sewed as I was told,
But I made it yours only.
And you can make it black,
And you can make it *****,
But it will be yours only.

Embroidements of laughter at the seams,
Tainted with your words and voice in my dreams,
To keep your lips and eyes pleated and sparkling.
You can wear it whenever you feel cold,
The silk gets better when it's growing old,
And be sure the shades of your heart and his won't fade.

The lining is my heart,
You wore it from the start,
And you made it yours only.
And I could keep it there,
And I could give or share,
But it will be yours only.

So come out in the snow walking on your hands,
I will try to keep you warm 'til the end,
This coat is the love I have sewed for you, my friend.
James LR Sep 2018
Life is not a tapestry
It is a single thread
The people are the knots and kinks
Who just get in the way of things
Of Mother Earth's sewing machine
My mind is a web of
and String
That I cannot fathom into a
Jumbled and confused in this big, endless world.
Lyn-Purcell May 2018
Watch as she holds her gold needle
in the half-light
attaching a soul to the blossom's shell
and ensure that their dreams
and their lives don't fade
So their tongues and music
will last forever

Watch as she pulls her golden thread
The petals curl, revealing the beauty of
flush-kissed shoulders within
Sweetened with the fragrance of love
and care
Painted with colours that give our
senses love and rest

Watch as she pokes at the roses
and their thorns sprout
A rose extends their blades
to shield their beauty

Watch as she cuts her gold thread
and it whips around in the wind
As the earth erupts in joyous laughter
far and wide,
flowers adorns all that it touches
From the babbling brooks to fields,
From our parks to the mountain tops

How the Golden Thread can be sewn
and sprout the soul of music,
fragrance and purity.
Wow. This poem I remember writing when I was younger. Most of turbines were scratched out again but I managed to get the words anyway.
This poem I remember was when I was in a seeing class and I was actually seated near a window that had flowers for what looked like miles.

Anyway, be back soon!
Let's see what else I can find in my jungle of a room!

Lyn x
Tatiana Mar 2018
What is that which looms on the horizon?
My own response so carefully crafted.
Designs that I have embroidered eyes in
to see my own hand-sewn chaos drafted.

Your stitch-in, flowery language lacks work
and your seams seem to lack proper binding.
My dear, I can't accept mangled patchwork,
it's clear that you needle more reminding.

It's funny how you tailored your response,
yet you didn't know of the fabric's face
that laughed as you fabricate and ensconce
yourself in lies as delicate as lace.

You have barely weaved a good running stitch
Don't curse the seamstress who seems less stressed, witch.
An odd, sleeping beauty/pun/wordplay battle inspired poem that I sent my friend who thought he was being super clever with his words and I thought I show him how it's done. Haha i'm not sure if this follows all the rules of a sonnet, but that was the style I attempted. And witch was originally a cuss word.
This was silly and written without checking.
&#x24B8 Tatiana
T R S Feb 2018
Sometimes there's a seamstress sewing in my head
Quilting batted blankets of existential dread
Comforters and covers cover all of our cold dead
They're neatly surged and finished in copper linen thread
Jenny Gordon Feb 2018
Alas, is there truly no excuse for me?


Take icy cloth's embroidered linen's sense
Of April's warmth to task for darts, as hale
Pink butterflies weave paths to yonder's bail,
And what is stylish now is red, deep hence
With snappy blue in patterns I've tossed thence
Aside as "not my taste," and oh! t'avail
How Valentines' tricks out most ads' detail
With hearts in tow, where I've none in defense.
Remember how our heavy kissing's tour
Of things I'd never tasted, left me too
Far Dis-illusioned in betrayl, as poor
As all that, and I miss the violets dew
In silver droplets used to kiss as twere.
So flowrs are knit on linen while none woo.

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