i’m crocheting a little friend
out of teal and white yarn i am spinning him
he is tighly woven and
and his eyes are stitched of black yarn woven into sloppy crosses
i don’t know if i’ll keep my little friend once he is complete
he is something that should be given away
to someone who needs his soft company more than i
i could make a thousand stingrays once i understand the pattern
but in giving him away he would be
someone’s only stingray
and i think everyone should have
a soft tightly wound sea creature
at least once in their lives
Really, there was no need to fuss,
I signed on with Yarn Anonymous,
Here I stand to confess,
I bought more wool, not less,
Then I did sign the pledge,
I took abstinence to the edge,
Here I stand and say,
I have not bought wool for ten whole days!
Feedback welcome, one for my craft group ladies.
i like it when my vision fills with color
kaleidoscoping into hybrid hues
or when skinny fine lines
grow into weathered wrinkles
i like it when borders border on nonexistent
and everything blends together
i like it when lines grow bold
the strokes of a paintbrush gaining confidence
with every motion
i like it when lines are crossed
over and over
into a tangle of yarn
a ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff
i like it when lines are blurred
and reality breaks down
letting my imagination roam wildly
i like it when things don't make sense
because i always know
that i can find that line
that leads me back home
just a poem about lines, guys.
Just a poet hidden in a rhyme?
No Poet nor Poetess can
describe me re-invent create me
disintegrate or compare me
nor understand me
I am you I am him
I am even all of us
yet very unique as each one
of us is
only one of me on earth
interconnected to everything and everyone by nature
like we all really are!
I do sparkle in my birth chart
with an April's diamond
I am a mystic daisy
Aries is my Constelation
I was born to lead and the opportunity blossomed obscured by great pain and untimely loss.
only my old true love decided to get to know me behind my back using his strange methods as oposed to giving me a chance one on one face to face to
get to know me
impossible to know me through the slanderous affiliations of selfish jealous people who don't have my best interest!
if bad men and women who might envy me or feel rejected by me must help you decide where your heart is about me
you'll never know me at all!
you will be lost in the maze of your own ignorance and lose a chance to know me as a great lover great parent great wife greatest friend that you could ever have.
This isn't any wild thought of mine here. NO. It's my life how it has unfolded how I experienced great fortune great love great loss rejection admiration
and how I had to heal all alone
because friends came not to me in this life time at all.
Most masculine gender saught only to use me and I got tired of them playing their nasty impersonal text photo **** games requested leading nowhere
Most married women envied me and were sickly unecessarily jealous of my unmarried non challant status and sincere platonic friendly disposition.
My dogs cats crows and raccoons
remained my better friends then any humans could ever be.
My few diamonds are forever though their sparkle never lied steal cheat nor deceive or commit treason,
OR DO THEY?
I tried singles adds for friendship but t.v's episodes of
"Mission Impossible" was
an easier task then finding even a friend much less a husband a best lover a good father
for my kids!
I tried chat lines most men seemed to be functioning through their ****** primarily and heartlessly offering to pay soliciting full trust so long as it was all between two strangers no strings attached, right unto instantly intimate chaotic
dangerous *** games
which I was never into any of it.
So I put my Kama-Zutra brain I inherited from my Mom and Dad inside a tini match box all to sleep.
A husband of my choice was forfeited
and a second one or third of my choice seldom materialized.
so I didn't settled never sold out.
My true love's diamond heart promised stayed in his coat pocket waiting for my
" jealous tears" now scintilates in another woman's finger.
I couldn't like her as a greedy drug user law liar manipulator much less be jealous of her answering your phone.
Much less be jealous of the *******'s calling photo card you showed me so I cry of jealousy and anger to earn your huge diamond ring!
You could have tried telling me
"I love you" then marry me,
filling my woumb with your beloved seed, and at last
stand by me;
then I would be jealous only when and if, a real good reason to be jealous, existed!
Wasn't I ballanced in my emotions? beautiful in and out being self assured!?
Couldn't you reward that in me instead?
A beige yarn still wraps around my left ring finger today.
I guess in the end even my sparkling diamond betrayed me.
an ugly insecure jealous greedy woman won it.
what's left for me are my pets my grandkids and my 41 undeserved unprovoqued enemies to busy myself with praying for!
and to finish my books depicting my hell, my almost paradise
a new heaven on earth
I never sold myself to men never sold out, no. I don't regret it
but I regret not playing one man's game to earn my man back at any cost because in the end I still
very much remain loving one man no matter what he put me through
his kind of love was all worth it .
Welcome to planet Earth
jump into life!
All rights reserved.
Let's ransom positive energy from one another by understanding each other so we wont miss out on a perfect man and woman made for each other. I believe in rewarding the ability to ballance non destructive emotions instead of promoting unhealthy ones as means for a man to feel loved by a woman
the process of crocheting an
afghan is about just that
you make an afghan looking
forward to the nights you will
curl up under it and relishing
the way it fits over your
legs when it's halfway finished
or thinking and hoping
how much someone you love
will love and appreciate
your gift of time and callouses
weaving a container for whatever
emotions you need contained
i realized this that first winter
deep in february when i began
my long nights of scrap yarn
desperately trying to piece
something together out of
the not knowing why
i told myself that this was it
the sum total of my works
the item they would fold up and
place on the table next to the jar
of my ashes come september
and it was done by march
a slow and roundabout way
of pushing myself through
the suicidal smog
smeared through my mind
my friends had blankets wrapped
around them that bright morning
of the anniversary we all cried together
my tears falling on my afghan
i made them each an afghan
plus a few more
always pushing myself
to look forward
lost count of how
much yarn i used
how many stitches
passed through my hands
but by the time the next
march came around i
had made or charted
out five more
to fill the void
clawing at my insides
spent a year making
in tight ripples of
time and television
in two years
is an accomplishment
that might send the
head of even the
highest caliber of
i have no more afghans
left in me to make
so instead i crawl
down into bed
two i made
two from friends
and one from
void of energy
in the space
between my afghans
copyright 4/20/18 b. e. mccomb
My childhood is a ball of yarn,
and I am a curious cat
as I play with it
one moment it surprises me all over again
the tangles, colors, delicacy
then I remember I've been playing for a while
and I leave it be
rough draft... streaming thoughts
The battlefield is a pasture, a desert, an Escher-esque catacomb of cosmic proportion...
It is a scribble, a stick body
With a hollow circle head...
It is a block of Earth, creating life with the dead.
Ink is the blood running; scattering non-uniformly
Across symmetrical horizons
And vertical skewed faces,
Asking for the emotion you're feeling.
A loaded glue gun fires
Building muscle and cartilage
Sealing wooden bones and providing the foundation
Of an artist born...
Hair of yarn
Marbled tooth and nail
Skin of clay.
I am a weapon...
A heart of paper folds and a mind untold
Written in BOLD.
A work about the creation inside all of us artists.
I would rather
to no body
to no country
a loose end
than to bob
at every tug
of the yarn's
a wriggled up
I would rather
in a basket
and held in
as my length
up and up
like a long
I would rather
the one that
refuse of a
than be made
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Sometimes it's better to be alone than to be in bad company. Sometimes it's better to be independent than to be dependent on the wrong thing.
I bought a few sprigs of lavender tied with yarn from a boy outside the bookstore during the brightest days of summer.
The small decoration lay on a stack of books by the bed, scent fading with the passing days, inches from my pillow.
Meanwhile I ran about dusting and polishing, fluffing and waxing, making everything nice.
At night I fell into sleep moments after lifting my feet from the floor, forgetting all I dreamed.