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Here’s that First Poem called Sisterbridemother
The poorly spun chair
with a man scanning houseguests
swiveled and moved
while his eyes burned past carpet folk
carefully, carefully, through mob and bytender
the man tracked and labored for sisterbridemother
his limited speech as he rocked and he creaked
conjectured a seizure which might soon emit
and then he’d be talking with words gone untrackable
slightly tangential, but loud like a horse
and the room would divide
like all houseparts do at times
the moment a singularity reaches its height
that woman and her man had come there by mission
though those in the place would have seen them as friend
normally to him she was close like a flower
like a lotion or a soap bubble whose smell does not leave
but here they’d conspired that she would go network
and he would just swivel and pray over the crowd
and while she had wingswept the chair spun more fully
and the words in his brain did dribble his chin
and all began to hear it, or it least most they noticed
and even sisterbridemother repented her course
returning to pre-crimescene she straddled the poor chair
leaned down caressing and hugged the man’s face
gentle as star light, yet smart as the sun’s ray
she hummed certain sounds to calm down the fray
and even the guest-ones did sit again in random place
and the chair with its man did start more to simmer
“Don’t Stare at Me” was all he said
and then like work his smile arose
and sisterbridemother did also turn cheeks up
and the heat in the room rose up like a chair
she squeezed at his side parts, put wind in his ear drum
and gently by gently he also rose up
and all in the room did repent of their coming
as a storm without precedent broke out like wave.
Here’s the 2nd piece on Quilting: Art as Cocoon
family timepiece
crest on some cloth
needles like sharp teeth
to shake the frost off
building a flag
with gently spent thought
dye pours into rag
where some meaning gets taught
windblown through time
to wrap kin in thread
weaving life’s rhyme
where the wee ones will bed
teaching another
to repeat this finesse
for sister or brother
with bits of old dress
a smile and some focus
like painting a hug
care-wrapping one’s locus
with an elegant rug
grandmother proverbs
whispered into soft cotton
to cover a sob heard
where feelings turn rotten
a tender caress
that should stretch through tomorrows
a stitch for life’s mess
to embrace the night’s sorrows
a gladdened reminder
of people we knew
of traditions and warfare
and children who grew
this is how some art gathers
in the arms and the fingers
how memory passes
when the speed of earth lingers
an aria made of patches,
seamed with patience and grace
love to cover all that hatches
in one’s lineage space
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Sorry, I had my equipment out in a day which was hotter than I thought and it overheated and cut my cast down prematurely …
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