#knit
I let Fast Fashion pass me by
I choose a slower way
I watch the needle drop right down
And I while away the day
I choose the Slowest Fashion
The one grandmother wore
I now knit at the slowest pace
With no desire for more
I knit and purl to my content
This is my path to peace
But don't ask me to knit for you
This one is for my niece
Oct 6, 2024
Oct 6, 2024 at 4:14 AM UTC
Knitted together by colours,
Thread by all experiences.
And through _God's Love needle;_
I'm stitched with his image.
Living in a material world;
But in an the after-life,
No longer in its texture.
Oct 23, 2021
Oct 23, 2021 at 4:21 PM UTC
And I shall knit a blanket of compassion
and send it round the world.
Stitch one peace
Pearl two love
Stitch three prosperity
Pearl four
a new world.
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 8:48 AM UTC
what is it
just another sound
i begin to knit
for another round
come to think about it
it never quit
i’m feeling it
from the bottom of a pit
one sight in years
unbearable tears
liberty sounds lovely
but it is heavenly
they say this is worth
anything else is dirt
i take it for granted
letting myself pricked
does it get better
it does taste bitter
does it ever end
i can only pretend
cause this is the sewer
where people suffer
idling the reality
and nurtures it within
frankly
i’m aching for light
but alas
the thread lasts
and there’s nothing i can do about it
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 8:32 AM UTC
the process of crocheting an
afghan is about just that
the process
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
myself another
in tight ripples of
time and television
and now
my fingers
slow
and stop
seven afghans
in two years
is an accomplishment
that might send the
head of even the
highest caliber of
grandma spinning
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
my mother
and lie
head pounding
eyes puffy
void of energy
in the space
between my afghans
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
"When you learn
to knit," he said.
"It's not a mistake
you make; it's
the thing that
makes your work
unique.
"Each one,"
he said,
"is a signature."
I think of my
life--with all
its lumps,
tangles, rewoven ends,
dropped stitches.
You are all
my signatures.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 12:48 AM UTC
You created my inmost being; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I was woven together in the depths of the earth; from the first stitch your eyes saw my unformed body. Before you completed that first row all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
You selected the yarn by colour, by weight, choosing the texture with utmost care. You picked out the ideal needles, counted the ***** of wool and with a smile settled down to cast on that first stitch.
Your fingers blurred into action as you chatted with family, confident of the pattern you yourself designed -
With a knit and a pearl the stitches increased and decreased to ensure the desired shape, maintaining a consistent gauge stitch after stitch, row after row.
And after hours of knitting and chatting, with a satisfied sigh you cast off and held up the result of your handy work to the light for all to admire.
How precious you are to me. How I wonder at this body knitted together with such love and with such great skill. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully knitted.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 4:29 PM UTC
I want you to love me in a sweater,
grey,
cable knit,
a little too big.
I'll wrap my arms around you,
like fluffy wings,
keep you safe for a change.
(There is something about you that makes me want to.)
We will tangle up in warmth,
and I'll curl my fingers in your hair and press kisses in each curl.
The contentedness between us will be tangible,
filling the air around us.
I want you to love me in the soft way that I love you,
Warm linen sheet-like,
A nestling-into-you kind of thing.
We fit together,
you and I.
Just right.
I want to feel your sleepy breath on my neck,
your lovely eyes fixed on mine.
Your fingers can trail along my shoulders,
your chest can heave contented sighs.
The crook of your arm could be my pillow,
the space between us nonexistent.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
I remember when we knitted
Our fingers together
And our lives interwove.
They eventually became whole,
And they eventually broke.
-- Eleanor
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 11:55 AM UTC