We Align
People don't live a facade of niceness
It is birthed from the heart
Overflowing with love
For a picture does paint a revealing moment in time
With encouragement, reliance we fight to aligned
With each moment passing a strand gathering strength twines a stich of hope binding a tapestry of belief
Where gratitude displayed bring a subtle release to cure all humanity from self-centered greed
I found that unity brought through love calms each weary heart to rise high above
We conquere
We rise
Through
Like minded minds
We search
We forge
peering to find
A resonating light
Prolific in design
There once was a fellow named Will,
Whose nose was exceedingly ill.
He sneezed with great force,
And altered his course,
he's orbiting Jupiter still!
There once was a lady named Sue,
Who found a strange thing in her stew.
She said with a grin,
And pulled out a pin,
"A stich in time, it is quite new!".
when we would know which
had been a hitch with a stitch
ending up with glitch
SAME TO SAME
Yesterday my friends came.
Do you know all of them ?
No problem : Take part in game.
Excuse is lame.
Put photo in frame.
School Emblem to stich in hem.
Stones are Gem : Lustre to claim.
Root down : Up stem.
That's plant- system.
Oil of grains sesame !
Glow of candle flame.
Pets to love and tame.
Children are same, none to blame.
Good work brings fame : Bad work gets shame.
What's your aim ? What's your name ?
Middle name and Surname ? Or, pseudo name ?
King rules realm : Queen whelms.
Respect star of Bethlehem
and National Anthem.
05/25/ 23
Three cousins who know how to sew
Are cutting and talking and laughing.
Telling stories that make no sense to grown ups
But are hilarious to each other.
Stitch. Stitch. Stich. Hem. Hem. Hem.
Sew. Sew. Sew. Using a thimble.
Cutting threads, showing each other their projects.
Dolly’s blouse, dolly’s skirt, dolly’s dress.
Three cousins making memories
That will be forgotten for sixty years
Until they find their box of dolly clothes
And it all comes back, making them smile.
Stich could not believe his sister gave him a tree!
It was the best thing ever! Whoopee! Whoopee!
I love this so much he said, Yippee Dee! Dee!
Settle down, his sister said. The tree is not free.
You have to do the laundry and make your bed.
You have to scrub your cheeks until they come out red.
You have to clean the kitchen before we can decorate.
Okay said Stitch! He ran off to do it and celebrate.
Is love an addiction?
Some say yes it is,
With no center for rehabilitation.
Some say no it can't be.
It is like meditation,
And soul attain salvation.
Some say it motivates,
Which help to upgrade.
Some say it is cancer,
Which repeatedly occcur.
Some say waste of time,
Never forget a stich in time saves nine.
Some say it is mind blowing,
But never an easygoing.
Some say it is a one way traffic,
But still it is terrific.
Idea of love uniquely unite all,
Each creature stands tall,
And finds no discrimination at all.
As I dig in this ditch,
The ground spiders make me itch.
'I'm not a ghoul', that is my pitch,
As I long to be a witch.
This graveyard labor makes me twitch,
As the more holes I dig, I will soon be rich.
And as for the universe, I found the stich;
Digging holes is my niche!
Saturday, October 16, 2021
Grief,
like a woven Thread,
Binds together everything,
A fragile flower,
Its bright petals,
Opening
to meet the sun above,
Blown gently by the breeze.
A Grief,
Stitched with love,
with
hope,
Pulling, Stretching,
Bringing together
broken dreams,
and for a moment
We find
shape
John Roberts
She used to write letters to mother
She used to write from Azerbaijan.
She was learning to stich ‘koblan’
She was raising my little niece.
She had the sharpest face of us all.
Mother used to tell often times
Azerbaijan, an almost prohibited name
Where I belong in current time.
I remember some walks have no route
Some monsoons no rains
Some hearts had no longing
N some brains no logic
I remember some eyes have thirst
N some cheeks weren't moist
Some letters we're unsentimental
N some nibs drew a line betn this n that
I remember those books piled up n up
N written words weren't meant to be read aloud
Some souls were mortal inhuman
But those bodies buried still felt immortal
I remember retelling stories dat I loved
N some stories I tell scatter ur worries
Over the grave of ur stories
From day to day, minute to minute we each live our challenges.
Some have more now, some less and others are in waiting.
But whether visible or underneath the still lake, it's there.
What's the stitch that holds us together individually or as a group?
Is it a hope for a better future? Is that firmly stitched in our hearts and mind? Is it woven in fabric of cotton, polyester, wool, synthetics, and silk?
Can it withstand the changing textures of climate in the world?
I hope we all stitch well. Maybe that can be our common stitch.
A common stich
This lonely life of the scarecrow man,
Rewards are few, but I do what I can,
I’m losing straw, where I’ve lost a stich,
Me arms are aching and me nose does itch,
The cold, cold snow gives me frostbite,
The hours are long, and it’s lonely at night,
The heavy rain soaks me to the straw,
While the noisy crows just caw, caw, caw,
Not much to do but count the corn,
Sometimes I feel that life’s forlorn,
Me clothes all tatty and I look a slob,
But at least I’m lucky; I’ve got a job!
I am a poet
I am a healer
a real pain feeler
I don't inject
or give pills
to take 2, 3 times a day
but I undress the truth
to stich pieces of a torn heart
and un-blind the closed eyes
I'm a word spoken,
a man chosen
with a heart unfrozen
and words unbroken
I am story book
of a thousand contents,
pain and joy intertwined
tears and fears
colliding at the edge of smile years
my word is medical,
healing remedies,
my words
are meals prepared
to feed hungry earth souls
I am a poet
I am a healer
my obsequiousness
to worship crying souls
is a definition
of why my pen bleeds to paper
its was like a open door
I grew up poor
but also rich
cloths need a stich
but we were close family
with love that was heavenly
yes times was tough and rough
that's a fact
GROWING UP GETTO BLACK
Related Poems