"stich" poems
What made Rumi
is not the poetry.
That's media not
the end of the discovery.
The reality, ***
Can a bard stich
a word on it
where none nothing
can stand still?
Treading on the way
poet Rumi sings.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 12:10 AM UTC
I feel inspired.
Inspired to write about the man in line who I do not know, but I do know.
Friends, strangers, & self.
So well acquainted as a seamless stich.
I smile.
Hand touches arm.
The endearing laugh of an unfamiliar sound, but I hear you so well.
Faces around turned and gauged in.
Gravitation pull, loneliness lost in the open.
Closed by the proximity of our spaces colliding.
Today, a stranger saved me at the sound of hello.
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 4:50 PM UTC
Seamstress sew me a line of word
Make it colourful,
Make it stand out,
She did it, the words weaved in and out
One over the other,
They flowed vibrantly,
She was a master at sewing word
Her pins were
Pencil
&
Pen
Woven with each, shades came out
Each told a story, a life of its own
Happiness
Darkness
Terror
&
Joy
What was asked, she would sew
Every stich was new in her mind
To sew a word profound,
All took time
Once stitched there was no going back,
It was complete
Colourful,
Dark,
The words woven in style
Like it or not,
Her woven words stitched to the page
This seamstress of ink and lead,
Now waiting to once again sew words
Upon a blank page...
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
It's as if my heart is sewn to yours
And as we grow apart,
The threads are ripping out of mine.
You have the stronger heart.
But my soft heart can feel each tear
You barely even flinch
I can't tell if you feel at all
As you rip me stich by stich.
And now I'm here, all ripped and torn
And here is where I'll stay
Pieces of my heart still belong to you
But you've had your final say.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
Toes lead us like thread through each others bodies
Filling empty crevices with our own parts.
Lips stich our breaths together through kisses.
Moans pull us tight unable to detach
Because we are now one together.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
He was the only one that made the yarn trees blossom,
From silken leafs to flowers grown. Then as petals tumbled
Yarn cascaded upon branches and hung. So rich in colour
Were these pieces that they glided upon gentle breezes.
So many colours flowed and creation was gathered each
Picked delicately as not to fray to keep whole. Some of wax
Were covered while others were light like a feather and felt
like air when sewn. All was plucked till blossom fell once more.
He had knitted the cows from birth they were but a yarn
Now they had grown extra stitching with each passing year,
To help them expand and grow. Upon fibered grass they did feed.
Each one was of a different fibre for milking purest silk.
Everyday the cows would be milked, and white silk did flow
Into buckets collected and off to be designed maybe into
An elegant swan, A dove, butterfly of white did fly upon its
Creation wings so light its beauty fluttered and flowed.
But Farmer stich had other animals, others to create the
Things needed for twine is fine, but to knit we must have
Buttons to hold. And with that they were fed on pellets
Of plastic proteins and quality was a must.
Every day they laid many a egg. Farmer Stitch would
Hold them to the light to see if they had a flurry of
Buttons inside each one different when cracked open.
Some with one hole, two holes, three, rare was a four.
Farmer stitch was a man of sewn words, he would fasten
His thoughts into ideas. When yarn had flowed upon
The breeze, and eggs did buttons fall from. Many a thing
Would be made, and now this yarn is over till again sewn.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
Do not send me flowers until I'm dead
You need not pretend you ever cared
Save those tears for another time
Life will not go per your design
How long will you keep tearing my wings
How will you pay the price of your sins
To k*ll someone with just your words
To cage me in , under the sword
It's easy to lock me behind the door
And wipe the blood you spilled on the floor
But Even if I die a thousand deaths
I won't be a victim of your threats
No more being your slave
I'd rather lie in a grave
I'll stich my wings and fly away
You can no longer turn my blue skies to grey
Jul 16, 2020
Jul 16, 2020 at 3:24 AM UTC
The acrid smell of darkness
"Permeates me"
I am surrounded by the skies
Of hell fire,
Brimstone,
Sulphuric,
Odours
Breathed as if air
Burning with each inhale,
This is a place of eternal penance
Why do I sit on a thrown of spines
Those around grovel
Hungry as if to taste my milk,
I look down, hot coals are under foot
My thrown room blacker than sin,
I am jested towards the window,
Torture,
Screams,
Souls
Bound to instruments, some scream in
Redemption, why'll others ask for more,
Broken, crazy lost souls that once
Screamed as the souls now bound to
"Smouldering coals"
I glance as heavy doors open,
Skin,
Bone,
Muscles
Entwined with black stitch
No words permitted,
As stich tightly woven
Upon blooded lips
I felt enticed at her vulgerness
She approached as if to touch my Hand, I
Repelled,
Declined,
Opposed
Her advances, I cut in to her muscle
she moaned as if ecstasy,
As black droplets burnt upon the floor
"She again ushered towards my hand"
I let her grip as she cut the
Stitches
From her bleeding lips,
"I smelt her breath"
A thousand souls decaying within her,
Breath
Exhaled,
Putrid,
Odour that was irresistible,
Lips meet, flesh burnt and the
Mists of what was clarity was ushered away,
My reaper of souls beauty of the underworld
I tasted with that kiss corruption, hatred
"He who shall never be named"
"At his tricks once again"
"I sit o my throne of spines"
My horns ignite once more
The light that shined briefly now
Extinguished,
Smothered,
Obsolete
Feelings from a place one stood upon,
"I am that which others need to fear"
As all will pay for this
"Moment of Clarity"
As I engulf souls, redemption
Is for above, below there is just hatred and misery
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 9:47 AM UTC
I stitched each of them on to me, knitted
It tight on my flesh. I bleed for a moment
But it was just another etched on my flesh.
Each perforation was another that joined my flesh,
Entwined on my soul I made their hair in to fine
Cotton and each was given a place upon my being.
"Eye,
"Neddle,
"Backstitch,
"Scissor,
"Seam,
A honour of their offering was felt as I seeped on
Their twine. Pain was a lust that was sort but
Never harvested and my culling was full.
Flesh was just moment of time aging ever moment
Decaying since birth. Their hair lived longer than
What was but food for thought now no more.
My limbs like a puppet on stings, but I am their keeper
Of life on me, in me they live on. I stich their memory
So many colours do I weave on to myself.
Blonde,
Brown,
Chestnut,
Ginger
But the ones that are lucky that never grace my being,
They are those of least crowns on their scalp.
I am one of such no hair on myself. But weaves I
Sculpt upon myself, they live on even though bodies rest.
I have many stitches on my flesh of weavings not my own,
But their essence will always be here as long as I live on.
Seeing those moments which will be etched on myself,
I will weave all into the picture etched on my skin.
"A stitch in time ebbs your existence your soul to mine,
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
I feel as though I’ve been entirely flushed out. It’s like my whole body has been turned inside out, rung out like an old cloth and my internal organs have set flight. At this time, they no longer belong to me nor do they reside in their original places. I've cookie-cut like pieces inside me now; empty. I’m walking round with hallow spaces where things should be inside my chest, my torso, and my pelvis. I’m told time is short on how long the body can survive without these crucial organs, but I’m hoping I’ll have enough time to sow up all my flaws and stich myself back into something worth being. Maybe, second time round, I can rebuild myself without all the things you hate so bad.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 2:20 AM UTC
I've been looking for an escape for 3810 days still there's no way out. Once you're in, you're in. Don't even try to shout. That's when time stops and all eyes are on you. The crowd draws closer to you and closer to you, until you can't breathe. They will mound it on your chest, stich it in your heart, burn it into your mind. Your label Your creed. Mine is still undetermined. There's too many flaws to choose from, but trapped is the most popular one. I am trapped in an invisible straight jacket due to my wild imagination. I am trapped, forced to listen to lies. I am trapped in a bubble of isolation. I refuse to listen to the lies I was told in the world I lived in at age four, where the biggest let down was if I didn't get a cookie. There was no such thing as war, but that world was taken from me, just as I was taken from them. Now I'm trapped in a world where no one listens. No one will listen to me, when I got trapped here I was that idiot who shouted and now they think I'm crazy. Well I'm not!....Okay, okay, okay, a little insane maybe. Yet it makes me stronger. It's my tool to survive even longer, longer than I should have to live. They keep me trapped here because apparently I have so much love to give, but I will give and I will give until I run out. Then go back to stage one... Try not to shout. But until then I'm trapped in a world where pretty seems better, in a world where heterosexual is the norm. I'm trapped in a world where my heart has been shattered, stomped on, and torn. Here.... it's here out of all places in the universe, it's here that I am TRAPPED
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
You're a blood stain on a wedding dress and through countless bottles of bleach you still refuse to fade.
I scrub my teeth until my gums bleed, but I can't get rid on the feeling of your tongue in my mouth.
I'm scratching at my arms because I promised I'd never use a razor blade again but your hands were daggers that cut out my arteries and left me bleeding out while I begged you to stich me up.
Your drunken eyes were bloodshot the night you drank so much you vomited blood, I took you to the emergency room, and in your hallucinogenic state you muttered her name, not mine, and I swore I would die that night.
My parents prayed and prayed to a god who turned the Nile into a river of blood that I would leave you, but I always had a hard time leaving a problem unsolved, and the blood that gathered at the surface of my skin in the form of bruises was my problem to solve, not yours.
The broken glass of your whiskey bottle left cuts on the bottom of my feet as I snuck out that December night, and left blood stains in the snow for you to find on Christmas morning.
As I clutch the photo of us all these years later it is my tears which splatter over our faces, not my blood.
My scars are innumerous, and so are the stars, and I would have given both for you to love me.
No amount of blood transfusions could replace what you took from me.
My A negative blood will never work for everyone but it is enough to save the lives of those bleeding out on operating tables with families begging for another day like I begged for you when you would have let me die.
I read in the newspaper today that you were found dead on the scene of some a drunk driving accident, drowning in a pool of your own blood, and I nearly laughed because finally the bloodshed you caused was over.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
if i really could
i'd cross-stich your name on my
arteries and veins
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
I wish that I could tell you that life gets easier
that its not so bad around the bend
a soft whispered lie
to help you with your struggles
a half felt truth to mend the cracks
a hand to hold out there in the dark
a voice of reason that comprehends
a mirror to hold that reflects
the beauty of what you need most
a love to comfort the sea of tears
you're drowning in
and I would be whatever you wanted
and sink down to your bottom
and be the air to fill your lungs
and be the thread and needle
to stich back all the pieces
you've lost and broken
and flow and pulse within your blood
and be the love that makes
all this misery worth living through
and be the silent truth
waiting around the corner
that's not so bad
and the wish that turns to the reason
of why life gets easier
but I'm afraid that the words from my lips
would only be an illusion
of gun smoke from deaths revolver
as it is death that makes liers
of us all in the end
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 5:17 AM UTC
Loving me is hell and hell is dense
And hell is heavy
And hell is hot
Dense with the influx of passing souls
That nudge elbows of their brother sinners
In tight elevators that hum not
Piano music but drums so loud
They convert heart beats to 808 rhythms
They shake the victims of vices so
Hard the change falls from their pockets
And bounces back up into their eyes
Hell is heavy
It is heavy with the weight of lies
And of the truths of passions sought and met
With only finger tips and white lips
The vicious bosses of mobs
And the cemented feet of snitches caught
Hell is dense
It is packed tighter than fingers in fists
Clenched fixed on righting wrongs
The air there is hot with breathes
Held in and finally released with
The unbuttoning of sliming corporate tuxes
Fastened inside out so the brass buttons brand and burn
The business boys’ bantam bodies
While they look up at the men the tired to measure up to
But where always a stich or two short
Hell is hot
Hot and steaming with the blood of the corrupt
That was spilt and then encountered a tilt
Down a funnel mixed with rotten oil
Left stagnant by sinners that sought not
To move a finger to clean up that gunk
The steam from sinners water not sweat
Boil sweet and steamy up into the
Mouths of men with jaws wired open
And rested on their bellies that are propped up
By guns taking all that is sweet for themselves
This is hell
This, like me,
Feels tastes sounds and smells
Of dense hot and heavy
Sins deadly appealing
And dammingly just.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 6:43 PM UTC
He called her a **** at dinner
Told she could be thinner
Played the part of being an ***
Voicing opinions deemed crass
A waiter wandered up
Refilling a cup
Gave the girl a wink
But was more of a sporadic blink
Her date stood tall
And turned his fist into a ball
Told the waiter to **** right off
A comment muddled by a cough
Then, in an act of violence
Came a brief respite of silence
The waiter was struck in the jaw
Knocked on the floor captured in awe.
He was then beaten ‘til dead
Over inferences read
The woman screamed
At her date, the blood coated fiend
Police were brought in
The man simply grinned
Cuffs were attached
As the man’s might was matched
A month later
Due to the dead waiter
The man had his day in court
A bailiff acted as his escort
The man was sentenced to 15 years
The woman, in attendance, shed no tears
The man was taken
He appeared visibly shaken
Taken to a cell at Briar Field
A place all go to yield
He was beaten for days on end
By prisoners looking for time to spend
Searching for a sense of hope
Utilized in avoiding a knotted rope
The man found a friend
With a helping hand to lend
Then one day talking wasn’t enough
The man’s friend got rough
After a quick stich
The man was anointed a *****
Sitting for dinner he was called a ****
By his friend, who had become quite blunt
A guard came by and batted and eye
The friend asked if he wanted to die
Said this man was his slave
A poor butt-fucking knave
The guard retreated
Victory conceited
But the friend pressed on
Until the guards life was gone
Then walked back after the stunt
And called the man a fat old ****
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
"I'm walking away,
I'm starting a new.
You could of came with me
but that was on you.
I'll find a new world full of colors.
New memories, new smiles.
One foot after the other,
let bygones be bygones.
You were a beautiful soul,
gave me so much magic & knowledge.
So I'm at peace now with kissing you goodbye.
I'll take the lessons yout gave me & craft a boat that will take me to new heights.
I'll love yout forever but at a distance it's fine.
I'll take back my bruised heart & stich it up with time.
The last grain of sand in my hourglass has fell.
So I was slowly walk away with a heavy heart.
I'm pushing myself forward.
It's a start.
This must have been what you wanted all along,
to drift away & become strangers to one another..to forget the magic I felt.
Goodbye."
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
Closed heart
Closeted mind
Apart as one
Closely fine
Stitched seams
Loosely tight
Everything's great
And not alright
Fighting internally
External bruises inflicted
Carrying burdens
Heavy
Even oxen
Wont
Bear
Spooky night
Haunting chills
Souls taken
Upon thrills
Oh closeted heart
Closed eyes
Gouged
A sight
To devious to view
Do you think of me.
For i dream of you
A love
So lustful
Sexually taunting
Welcome sensual spirit
Goodbye wanting
Shoveling fears
6ft under
Lightening
Shocks of thunder
Pul me down
Closely fine
TO far from me
Near being mine
To hell i go
For i truly know
Demons stich me down
Loosely tight
Moments right
Shoveling fear
Laying burdens
Hard to care
The end is here
Murray
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 12:59 PM UTC
Stick and stones can Braked your bones
But words will tear your soal into tiny pieces
Maybe not all at once
But little by little
Slice by slice
The wounds will heal
But the wounds of the soal takes more the just time
And if those wounds don't heal
U die, not physically you can't be that Lucky
, no I can't be that lucky
When your soul bleeds it bleeds hope
Hope of change, hope of man kind, and hope that you are not the words, that people call you.
My soul has ran dried befor,
Sliced way to many time
And me with no confidence to stich it back up
I was to the point of opting out,
Saying **** it.
I was tired of being called a freek tired of being told that I am less
That my life ment nouthing
Then I started to bleave it
That the world would be better with out me
And hell it would of been
I did not contribute to this world
Never made a change
I was so **** close
Blood flowing down my wrist
My mettifulical soul
Looking like my wrist
And obviously I lived
But you don't get over that kind of **** alone
It doesn't despair
It builds
U need a rope to get out of that rapid
You know what mine was.....
Words
The same thing that sliced my soal
That night I dreamed
That I was a writer
That my words did more good than the words of the outhers did harm
Not just for me but for others like me
Despair oozing out of them
Hatred coating there mind
That the only thing keeping them alive
Was the fact they cut across the tracks and not along
The next day I wrote
I wrote stories and poems
Letting my worries of the fuecher draw hope from the page and into me
Letting me clime out of my self pity
Without drugs
Without other people (the way I do everything)
And I lived
Not like I was, day by day
No I was finally alive I wanted to live
Not just because its what was expected
But I wanted this, I wanted my dream
I wanted to save not just my life
But some one else
To tell them
Yea words can beat you down, drag you to your grave, dig u a 9foot grave and berry you
But they can also brang you back to life, more alive than before.
Words can give you some thing that you felt you never had
Love, and love is what repair the wounds of your soul,
Show you that you have a reason to live,
No matter if those words are internal or external
They can heal you, and free you from the world that I once feared
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
When I was a little girl I wanted to be beautiful
Like the princesses I grew up watching
I wanted to look like a sunset
Feel like velvet
Sound like the prose
Spoken by lovers in the throws
Of shedding of every stich of their clothes
And in a nose I would smell like a rose
Every sense sensed of me would
Make sense of me
Since sensing me would be like sipping sweet sensuality
But now that girls want is a woman’s burden
Because I am beautiful
And men flock to me as the ocean flocks to the shore
As Desdemona feel in love with the moor
As the lion is obligated to his roar
But I want more
Than to be beautiful
More than the summers day I can be compared to
More than the ways you can count to
I want to more than just inspire the lyre that plays a song
I want to make the notes it plays
I want to write down everything it sings for days
¬¬to Put into words truth as beauty
And beauty as not always truth
To have the eyes of angels but be ****** for their knowledge
That creating beauty holds less weight than when its clear on your face
But by grace
I will still always want to be viewed as the poet and not the poem
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 1:08 AM UTC
There's soon to come a day where this
And all else cease to exist
Where every line and stich in time
Will make its way into the light
All the saints that have been called
From daily battles they have fought
To rightly claim their reward
Eternity with their Sweet Lord
Without its sting, death lost its curse
Where first is last and last is first
Every plan once made by man
Will reach its final bitter end
Every tear that ever wept
All dried eyed in a flash
A promise made a promise kept
On the day the Lord comes back
And on that day, all this you see
Including sin, will cease to be
When every line and stich in time
Makes its way into the glorious light
Jan 5, 2025
Jan 5, 2025 at 11:04 AM UTC
The house is now silent,
as if always it was this calm -
all asleep, all tidily done -
and in a thoughtful gesture
she reaches for the quilt,
grabbling for the needle minder.
In her mind, a coloured trickle
of threads draws upon the
inlaid tree branch - oh, the blossom
would happen before us,
would we look it trough her eyes
- as she picks a flaming orange
for the feather stich
and an ocean blue one
for a stich of satin feeling
and - there!, it starts showing,
the bird she nested for so long,
that bird bursting into songs
- now and forever catching your eye
here, molded by her hands.
It is so late, now.
Slowly, the unfinished quilt
is folded, threads and needle kept away.
The bird in esquisse flutters in her heart,
watching her stepping down
into the dark frown of the bedroom.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
My heart left my body,
As the axe of anger,
A tool brandished blood red,
Did cut off my head!
It was placed on a table with
writer's ink and paper.
A heartless head
ready to make
hurtful verses.
Words flowed from a place
My heart no longer dwelled.
The axeman tore out my heart with
a ***** fist,
Chucked it onto the stone.
My swollen eyes glanced at the
****** ***** -
Bleeding to death on the floor,
Hearty blood that echoed your name.
Without Heart,
I created words of revenge.
The dark creating spiteful spoken lyrics
Into spiteful words
on paper heading for you.
It had an evil style.
A mocking tone.
My mouth and the floating pen cried-
**** YOU!
While my torn heart raged at its
absurdity.
It was too late.
I was executed as heartless.
Lying near death.
Gentle hands wipe my tears.
A sewer's stich patching up
my mutations.
I am frozen,
Alone in the dark.
A just punishment.
I realise now, the black ink
Was as black as evil itself.
My souless state has turned
Love into Hate.
It has ruined me.
I want to tear out the stitches.
Show the whole world my ******
up mutations!!
I deserve to die.
For I would rather be dead
Than have lost your love.
The loss I caused with my body
that was
without heart.....
**** myself.
I truly did.
I wish I could undo time.
But I am only human.
One who does not fight to keep her heart.
Her soul.
Her memories.
One who turns anger into words.
Words into the end.
Fini
Jan 30, 2010
Jan 30, 2010 at 10:33 AM UTC
I love you
irrationally, without reason,
And no matter how I try to cure myself
of you,
My eye stays drawn to the outline
Of your worn face and dissonant mind,
Your flaws that remind me that
We are all human—
I shouldn’t love you with this
hemmed up heart
I’ve let you destroy,
then sew back
so carelessly together
So that every stich, every oozing
Drop of messy adhesive keeping me
was by you.
And there is no rational reason
I should still love you,
and not the man who has not the heart
to ever intend the slightest of sin…
The pale angel who never deserved
some dysfunctional adulterer ,
who remains drawn to the dark and hateful
lust, of her favorite demon.
And perhaps us sinners deserve eachother;
I’ve grown to watch you live off of ***** by the
bottle and your abused old guitar—
And never could I pull myself together to fit
my shattered edges of disarray
into the blunt puzzle of their world.
They decry us in the absurdity
of our very existence,
A drunk and a misfit, children of a lesser
creation, as we stand against the bitter winds of hate.
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
Your velvet whispers trace along my neck
and snake into my ears
and stich their venom into my heart
and force grateful moans from my lips
wet from your flowers kiss
and I sink deeper into you
as your poison races
within the blood of my quickened pulse
and my heart feels ready to explode
as our flesh and bones ****** and grind
outside of time and space
I am drowned beneath the crashing waves of your silken skin
and fire dances between our entwined fingertips
as our limbs tangle
and melt
and merge
and we slide in and out
and through the mist of your soft folds
and the raging flow of my hardened skin
and we become more than just a dream of lust and sin
and we flow beyond the lost stars
of the indigo river of eternity
and transcend through the dark secrets
from the moons heart
floating in the sky of perfections love
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 7:45 PM UTC