#yarn
while trying to gather
the unravelled yarn
from the clenched teeth
of the mischievous puppy
hoping it remained
intact and unbroken
able to be wound up
into a ball or bullet
for future use
i realised it probably
wouldn't matter
even if it had
snagged and
snapped in two
as not all knitted items
are made of one
continuous strand
new and old can
be joined easily enough
overlapping or
weaving together
to finish any pattern
unnoticed by most
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 8:55 AM UTC
There was a hegemony on the stage,
There were listeners downstairs,
And the latter were Et Cetera.
The stampede killed the Et Cetera,
Not touching those on the stage,
Sparing the spinners of yarn.
Mar 3, 2025
Mar 3, 2025 at 8:17 PM UTC
we're all just hanging on
A could go any day
R's already tried
so have i
but every thread
is different
and sometimes our threads get
tangled
if A goes,
what happens to K?
if L goes,
what happens to G?
if they go
can my thread break too?
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 8:46 PM UTC
i’m crocheting a little friend
a stingray
out of teal and white yarn i am spinning him
he is tighly woven and
thinly drawn
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
Jan 19, 2020
Jan 19, 2020 at 12:21 AM UTC
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!
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 9:56 PM UTC
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
unseparated
unsegregated
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
everything connecting
dissolving
into
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
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 10:02 PM UTC
Unfathomable
You think?
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 prostitute'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
painfully forfeited.
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!
~~~~
By: Karijinibba/ASG
All rights reserved.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 6:05 PM 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
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.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
I would rather
be a
wanderer
a belongerer
to no body
to no country
a loose end
than to bob
eagerly
at every tug
of the yarn's
end
whose
wound-up
mass
amasses me
a wriggled up
ball of
wriggles
I would rather
be alone
than
scooped up
in a basket
with others
of my
supposed
ilk
and held in
by the
over-under
wicker
edges
domed up
for containment
ominous
clicks and
scrapes
of my
destiny
clattering
and chattering
above
fraying
frizzled
frazzled bits
smoothing out
as my length
is tugged
up and up
like a long
slurpy
noodle
I would rather
be loose
and scrappy
and stumpy
and ragged
the one that
nobody loves
the discarded
refuse of a
more discerning
eye
than be made
surreptitiously
into somebody
else's
jumper
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC
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.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 11:45 PM UTC
*Ours is like a strand of yarn
Stretched across a narrow gap
Though the wind berates
And the rain pours out in the summer storm
It will not break, it will endure
But perhaps in time will sag and fray
As if we let it so to go
Or even chose to cut it down
Because you have your own phone lines now
Made of woven steel and unbroken arms
As we were just a childhood yarn
Or a single strand between two hearts*
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
My head is a tangled mass of string and wire
They don't connect
They don't lead into something greater
I am full of yarn and old embroidery thread
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
lonely autumn nights
blisters and calluses
forming on my stiff
cold hands
*(pure cotton
is forgiving of
hasty tendencies
or picky forms)*
wrapped and wound
tightly around my fingers
every loop an attempt
at controlling chaos
*(thinking about
how i'm not
an outcast and
i never was)*
i'm the shoe in the pair
that is slightly too tight
on the one foot that's a
bit larger than the other
or the shirt that you
keep wearing for years
because it fits but you
don't really like it
i am the paint on your
windowframe that's just
fine except for the white
flecks it left on the glass
*(i've never been
an outcast
i've always been
different?)*
i don't like to say
i'm different because
we're all different
i was just different
enough to be a slight
nuisance or distraction
**i apologize too much
for what's not my fault
and too little for what i
should take ownership of**
*(something about my personality
maybe just misplaced anxiety
dictates that all things must be
stacked and aligned perfectly.)*
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 1:09 AM UTC
Though weary eyes are still worth seeing,
Sometimes the sight isn't worth the time.
I'd encourage you instead to rest,
And escape from yourself within your mind.
Just go close your eyes and be at peace,
Embrace the darkness with remind.
Like a weary ball of worn out string,
Sleep quietly until you unwind.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
Rolling ball of yarn
Sometimes just too hard to catch
Even for quick cats
- l.c
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 8:51 AM UTC
Life is a mandala!
Everything is a mandala!
-oh my God, I can use my lungs-
Nothing lasts and nothing
matters, however lovely
or terrible
Murderous fingers ripping
unimposing string of
yarn, row by
hourly row
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
Once upon a time
A bard told a tale so wonderful
So moving
That it was told and retold again and again
Across all nations
And in all tongues
This tale became the greatest myth
More believed in than any religion or god
It became a part of every culture
As important to our genetic make up
As any particles
As integral as breathing
Pumping through our very souls with each beat of our hearts
Yet this story's happy ending remains elusive
But such is the profound power of this yarn that men and women drive themselves to ruin yearning for its realization
And upon such an occasion are consumed by the fiery nature of the story never to be the same
This fable has a name
And it is Love.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
Captain Marryat's chariot
Was hijacked by Judas Iscariot
But with the aid of a lariat
He got it back.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC