"wools" poems
Now,
We are mellow.
Having spent the evening exploring the threads of friendship.
That had come adrift of warp, weft and weave.
Time and distance had
silks, snag-tagged-torn,
on the bustling-busy,
hectic-hustling of work
and family.
Teasing-taunt,
needle-gnawing,
small, gap-rip-rents
in the snug comforter
that is... the wonder of us.
Us, so many secrets woven. So many, nights of tissues and sobbing tears.
Darning in daring exploits. Cutting away knotted,
fear-angry-scream-fighting feuds.
Cutting work, for days of delight and nights of desperate yearning.
We used anything at hand, rough wools, pieces of string and twines.
To weave a blanket,
to hide us from life's storms.
We were,
so young, so strong, recklessly-brash,
stupidly-joyous
and braveheart-fools.
And now, time and age,
has softened our work. Felted and fuse-melded,
the fibres into a beautiful entity.
That we store-save in the heart's cupboard,
of special and precious things.
It is an heirloom of sorts.
We bring it out,with occasional, humble-grace,
to be dandled and stroked with reverence.
Caressed and cossetted are our memories held within the abstract weave.
We are the dwindling
of a youthful exuberance
flung-thrown-heaved
to the wild winds.
So now, we are grateful to be curator-custodians of the retrospective nature
as we augment-append
and reiterate-repair.
A new thread here,
now,
embellish-embroider,embed
and tatt-stitch.
My son and your twin girls, squeezed, splashing
into your tiny bathtub
big-grin-giggling in the gurgling water.
Our future, here and now,
is the brightest of silks,
Our past, mellow and yielding in,
the luminent opulence,
angelically-asleep in,
the other room.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
*"On the seventh day of the Seventh-month, in the Palace of Long Life,
We told each other secretly in the quiet midnight world
That we wished to fly in heaven, two birds with the wings of one,
And to grow together on the earth, two branches of one tree.
Earth endures, heaven endures; some time both shall end,
While this unending sorrow goes on and on for ever."*
- Bai Juyi - A Song of Unending Sorrow - 300 Tang Poems
+++++
The first day they met he gave her the poems
he'd carried all the way from China, a young boy
with a dream and 300 poems a thousand years old
...on the seventh day of the seventh month...
How could she not fall in love with him?
And his sculpture... carved with fire,
the strong, bronze back now frozen,
arms raised in wild and sensual supplication.
Were they his arms reaching for her?
He'd kept it hidden for twenty years,
waiting for someone, the right woman to give it to
And he'd told her,"I knew it was meant for you."
How could she not fall in love with him?
Each night before she sleeps
she reads a poem and traces her fingertips down
the cold beauty of that graceful spine
*Wish he were here
wish this was his back
curving around me
curving around me in my bed...
whispering the poems of his ancestors*
She knits her loneliness into scarves,
soft pink wools like clouds of candy cotton,
rough mountain wools that smell of heather and winter solitude.
Years from now, she'll wrap them round her neck to remember
how he once kissed her.
Didn't she write a poem about it?
and this is her dream:
*they meet when they are young,
they fall in love,
they fall in love and marry,
they fall in love and marry and have ten children,
they fall in love and marry and have ten children and grow old together,
they grow old and blind and deaf, and still in love, they fall into the final sleep together
and their children's children's children will remember their love for a thousand years.*
It's just a dream.
He will have children
but not hers.
She'll die alone,
she wrote that poem, too,
thirty years ago.
karma, karma, karma
stealing heaven
she writes:
what does this world mean to me without you?
utter loneliness
Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 1:49 AM UTC
bye, bye, pie in the sky
I made a dream
I made you out of nowhere,
Out of the mountain snow and out of the air.
I was spinning your head
On my spinning wheels
Out of warm sunshine and out of cool moon beams.
For months and months,
I was spinning your head.
I was weaving your hair
Out of silky threads
For weeks.
Carefully pedaling my old fashioned,
Singing
Sewing machine,
I spent nights
Stitching adornments on your pockets,
Embroidering your cuffs.
Crochet crazy,
I crocheted laces for your sheer enjoyment
And for your windows,
Hooked on the crocheting hooks
Way up high.
I knitted sweaters
For your sacrificial lambs
Of colourful wools.
You are almost finished,
My just a dream, just a dream,
I'll let you go
With the African hot wind.
I am all done
With you.
Sorry, I couldn't hold on
To my golden
Knitting needles
Any longer.
(1-16-07)
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 3:38 PM UTC
I'm starting off agressive because I'm sick of this ****
You seem to have more excuses thn a crack head *****
Either your going to the store or out with your friends
And today for the 7th time you walked the dog again
Lies
Quick thought travel to the mouth and released thru the lips
As I watch ya mouth move I know its all bullshyt
No way in hell you been to work all week and your missing 2days pay
**** right I know ya hours, clock-in time, and hourly wage
Why the lies
You continuosly try to pull these wools over my eyes
Oh yea she ya cousin from ya father side
I know its bullshyt I see no resemblence at all
And I saw the look in her eyes when I kissed you as she walked off
Your lies
Has put you in a compromising position with me
Sick of your lies ya stories my once blind eyes now see
Here's wat you do take ya going out with ya friends, dog, and shopping sprees
Don't forget ya missing days paycheck, and cousin who don't like me
And step
One foot in front of the other ***** salute
March out my life cause I'm done with you
Yea I kbow its a rude way to say good bye
But you ****** up the day you thought it would be better to LIE........
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 10:50 PM UTC
To divine the truth, is to define a miracle --
since you asked I'll reach into the bag of
both realigned and canned answers I keep
with the good intention of weaving old
wools for you, into wisdom anew,
just for you
Hell, I'd rather reach inside my lungs,
scrape with ten jagged fingernails at
lining sprayed with silver by what's
become known as better judgment
until the flesh caught underneath
peels away
There's gotta be more to this exhaling
exchange of words than we've let on
constructions of construction in the
destruction come from centuries
of hard and stark speech revision
for science
Ever open restaurant rooftop under
four grounded legs, four gazing eyes
Sky scape splashed navy painted dusk
You ask lightly, highly of me
How do humans rust?
A burlap bag broke in bleeding insides
I reach deeper into my recesses
the cavities keeping my trying heart intact
and pull that bleating piece of trash
up through my teeth and cough
up for you
Is there a soul there?
Is there a soul there?
Is there a soul there?
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
how can they make such rigid stuff
from soft wools, take the thing then
harden it.
they say it will last a lifetime, hold its own.
tradition.
looks as if it would hold
the rain out, repell the scattered
words of cold,
and evil. a coat so heavy
it dragged us down.
there was crocheting yesterday,
with blue and softer yarn, a small ply.
a gentle thing, a memory.
sbm.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
The bitter wind hits your face,
you put on layers, But
are never quite warm enough
always one part that insists on, staying
cold, refusing to accept the warmth
you offer it.
Wools and furs,
Nothing helps, yet when
a roaring fire is waiting
your feet start to realise, they're
defeated.
You look out and sympathise,
With the poor soul running from the hail,
Nose red, hat half off
fighting and losing the battle.
The warmth is shared,
But it's got a special place in it's heart, for
you, the smile is passed,
You realise your home.
Oct 25, 2009
Oct 25, 2009 at 10:24 AM UTC
we will not have blankets,
if there are none, take the old
rags, layer , stitch and stitch
by hand till fingers bleed.
work along the coast
with thread and diligence.
gather wools, layer carefully,
we shall have warmth this winter.
we will have quilts to share.
sbm
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
Now hiding hearth and packing wools away
A careful tide arrives to mark changed towns
Chartreuse of verdant blooms commence decay
While we can’t stop what grows by leaps and bounds
Which soil holds firm or shifts beneath the clowns
It’s blind to glimpse so far as nations go
Unfaithful seed of those whose blood still grounds
Our stars and stripes which fly through ebb and flow
Mothers may darkly wail by morning glow
Seeking to raise their daughters to bright dawn
And burn hewn totems to some men they know
Dancing through smoke which wafts hither and yon
Yet fools by terror ******* and billions mocked
Win while we wait with angst by tics and tocs
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 3:52 AM UTC
gathering up my threads,
my bits my pieces my wools
those funny little socks
these tight ****** garms
all my happy sparkling pieces
THEN there is the cadence
of tying my red laces
licking and lapping over my sappy amber boots
my foot tickling inside a fossil.
And of course the happy little dance
--the wild jig of putting on my pants
a look at you. a slow saving glance.
with your arm above your head
the wild grains grown on your chest...
you unspooled me! my bits my pieces
my wools, and my silvery threads too
you took them all, took them all
took them out
FINALLY stepping outside
existing away from your bed
I feel like there’s a trumpet playing somewhere
walking into some sunlight,
a shimmering realization:
there's a parade in my head!!
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
To the bones that births wisdom
And swallows life,
Like sniffing grapes gasping for freshness;
That the nation may one day
Walk on the streets of renaissance.
At the mills;
Tales of recollected wools ready to heal,
The over three-hundred and seventy
Pieces of broken fabrics
Into an assembly of fitted rhymes.
When the clouds are consumed by heavy grief
They drop their tears on us
So that sands may travel wider than their range
To earth a new evolution with fate
And moments mightier than cold modesty.
© A. O. Nwulia Literary Diary 2017
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
Sitting here i suddenly realized
It's oh so clear to me
The wools been lifted from my eyes
And it's oh so plain to see
The lives we live
The things we give
Have no meaning
Can't stop this screaming
You screamed at me this lullaby
But i can't sleep until your throat is dry
Incapable of making an sound
You still manage to bring me down
If i loved myself as much as i loved you
Then i wouldn't be wishing to become someone new
A few hours have passed
And i'm still sitting here
I have a brief moment of clarity
As i drink my warm beer
The things we do
The things we use
We lose everything
Left with nothing
And i screamed at you until my throat was dry
With nothing left to say "Goodbye"
If i loved myself as much as i loved you
Then i wouldn't be wishing to become someone new
And in an instant
What we thought was permanent
No longer existant
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 8:50 AM UTC
And to think that even the otherworldly
Is made other by this world of ours.
And every fiction
is just some little reality
wrapped and tied in ribbon
or cloaked in elven wools
painted in one thousand colors
or masked in grime and muck.
And, so disguised,
Reality becomes truer.
Jul 9, 2021
Jul 9, 2021 at 2:11 AM UTC
Eve, bride of my pride
Eve, beauty of my dreams
Look at you, how you're-gorgeous
Listen-feel-see, how you’re-glorious
Magnificent, good-looking and golden
As the unconquered summer moons
Up high in nights with cloudless sky
Burning the tiring night into a new day
See how hearts sweet you make melt in your graceful glow
See how you beautiful build, fascinating as a fountain flow
Like smooth symphony of walking waves
Rising and lessening in their peaceful runs to the wharves
Your hair falls and floats in the bare breezes
Sweet, tempting and teasing in their wheezes
Lovely and lively like young river poplars sprigs in springs
So soft long as satins wools strings
Their stable stallion's tail straight strand ends
Dancing with the winds wheezes and whispers
Reflecting and glistening as in sun beams at vespers
What a blend of sacred strand brands!
Eve, instrument of my adores
Eve, O my saint, mi amours!
How beautiful is your trace
So graceful, everything in its space
All occupants in their rightful place
Look at your face, like an infant angel’s
So tender and soft, brilliant and bright
So sacred and smooth just as purity light
Overflowing with holiness and goodness
Your slender neck tender, elegant as ascension’s splendours
Your feels and fascinates, glances and reverences
Your contemplations and obsessions, images and illusions
Your desires and admires, your embraces and caresses
So holy and venerable, like seraphs touching sacred salutations
Your fragile soul, delicate in my arms
Your feathery feels, light in my palms
Your tender body, abandoned in my built
So pious and precious, pleasured and treasured
Eve, cherub of my pleads and praises
Eve, goddess designed for me
Dream, resurrected from mine
Alloy, made from mine meats mettle
Pretty and pricy, so gentle and brittle
Flower, eternal instrument of my delights
You burn my Hittite’s heart with softness and tenderness
And all I dreams of, is your touches and catches-imminences
Eve, apple of my youthful eye
Rose of my maiden garden
Pomegranate of my pleasures
Eve, woman of my resting ribs
A make of my make, glory of my cheery!
How lovely you are!
How excellent you are
Covet of my cravings
How wonderful you are
Woman of my desires
How piously holy you are
Benediction of my adorations
O my object of obsessions
Dream of my awakes
Slumber, sleep of my smooth soothes
Massage of my mild caresses
Soft, tenderness of my feels
How do I wish to always wake
In your peaceful palpable palms
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC
Beyond the prairie,
grew the grade.
As we trekked
the mountain's shade,
Earth grew stony underfoot,
the wind blew unallayed.
Two of the horses
were made lame
before a quarter trip was made,
so we divided up their burden,
and made camp for the day.
Two more night's march,
boulders growing along the way,
brought us 'round to skirt the giant,
the landscape: disarray.
A man was thrown from mount,
and he died, to our dismay,
in a state of so much pain
it was a frightening display.
The ground was much too vile
for the horses on this foray.
Two men left, for the castle,
with the equines, at my say.
We left the mountain's shadow
for the heat of a new day.
The warmth was welcomed
by the men and I,
after our climb
on the mountainside.
Quickly, though, we realized:
The sun was wolf,
in sheep's disguise.
We shed the wools,
and all the hides,
carried a minimum
of supplies,
and still we found,
to our surprise,
a heat that cooked us all alive.
It scorched our skin,
and burned our eyes
with pain that grew
throughout the night.
We then travelled in the darkness
for what seemed an endless flight.
We tried to sleep during the day,
but the sun yet brought us plight.
We travelled two days under moon,
and one day through the light.
On the fourth day in the desert,
our objective lay in sight.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC
Green, long grass.
Fields tamed by stone walls
Fences twisted by stray twigs.
Breeze that brushes through
Cows' ears and lambs' wools
Strokes my hair as I stare
With glee knowing that we
Are joined by this same sensation.
Perhaps they avoid stepping on bluebells
And then regrettably flatten buttercups
like me.
Might they not step on the cracks
between stones,
As I do not step on cracks between drains?
We share the same fear as other
humans approach,
Ready to flee if they come too close.
For they could be the death of us
Or we the death of them.
Once this fearful distance is breached
What will happen then?
Jul 13, 2020
Jul 13, 2020 at 5:40 AM UTC
Posted on March 6, 2017
we will not have blankets, if there are none, take the old rags, layer , stitch and stitch by hand till fingers bleed.
work is steady, absorbsion as if the outside world is ended. looking up find it has not. stitching can be rhythmic, and never mind the capitals. other words confound. birds beat the window.
the questions came that i cannot answer here or ever. did not count this time only the final one. noticed the first ones are now undone. the wrong knots.
maybe we need to check our numbers at the end to see if one or more are missing. ? we need to count them carefully, one side then the other?
work along the coast with thread and diligence. gather wools, layer carefully, we shall have warmth this winter.
eight thirty till five. it could have been easy, yet there were issues of the electronic kind meaning wasting time with wires and connections.
cover the surface. it takes time.
sbm.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 1:59 AM UTC
Jesus Christ was just another ***** tryna fit into the new society picture,
Peep the optics, revolutionary hot picks, see they hate when you off topic,
Broke the government script, now they wanna make me a crip,
But the same bloods gonna drip, gang affiliated pressure,
On a rise, saw black jeeps to tahoes, taking a ride, through my,
Neighborhood and there I stood, plots all over the streets of Herschelwood,
Houston Texas baby, another project to make us crazy,
Rats in a cage, I stay engaged let the beast out of me, constantly on a rage,
But don't let em, see you break cuz they wanna see ya in ya wake,
Another tear shed for another who's dead, keep tallies on the feds,
I stay ahead, I know their game, numbers is all the same flame,
I'd rather accept losses than gain, that way they'll think you ain't change,
I play the role of Hermes, then let god of lightning swarm me,
Can't strike me down, if I gotta lotta souls conscious to ground,
Grim reapers creeping around, another soul waiting to be taken, underground
Yo what's that sound????
Glancing at my cannons, letting shots off like Manning, tryna be,
The last man standing, but y'all ain't understanding,
Me I been made for prophecy, black leader of the new to old society,
Quietly, I gather my thoughts slowly, on a hill I sit mediate to gravitate,
A stronger pull, grew out my wools, let the lamb spread, blood shed,
All over the news spread, they think I'm dead, took what Machiavelli said,
And play dead, what's a ghost when I got my heat, to make the most,
Smoke in the room, no mirrors of cameras to zoom, in the scents,
Of deaths perfume, catch the hellish heirloom, til I touch the tombs,
I'll be making alot of room, too much pain so it's hard to consume,
I thought I was living well, until I seen the spiritual side of hell,
Folks waiting in line, to be judged let the first to the last be behind,
I saw my baby standing from a distance, angel wings presence,
Swarm of seraphim's around me, telling me my time is close to thee,
Winds calling from a grave, how I can I find peace, and still be saved,
Feb 20, 2022
Feb 20, 2022 at 11:46 PM UTC