Tuesday, September 1, 2009

week two

in a poem, describe a ball of yarn. try to write this poem without any references to felines or old ladies.

12 comments:

  1. I'll get things moving with this and come back with something else later:
    CLICK ME

    ReplyDelete
  2. This comment has been removed by the author.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Here it is; no old ladies this time:
    HEART

    ReplyDelete
  4. The Widow

    Baaaa Baaaaaa
    Bleating sheep
    Billowing through sweeping hummocks

    Shears rapidly working through
    Soaked, muddied wool
    Sacks filled for
    Spinning wheels

    Clumps straightened into
    Chains of fiber
    Channeling their way

    Into a cylinder of fluff
    Intertwining itself with dirt and dust
    Irking the spinner
    Impulsively picking bits from the floor

    Free bag
    Fleecy lines
    Fumbling into one another

    Tightly wound
    Tucked away for winter
    To create
    Topcoats

    ReplyDelete
  5. The Ball of Yarn

    Well the band started playin'
    and we danced til our shoes were steamin'

    Not a pair of legs that didn't have little
    flames leapin' from their calves

    Some of the lady's gowns caught fire we were
    so tarantella'd like that Saint Vitas Dance

    where spasms become lightingbolts and
    every dancer fizzles into a roman candle

    It set the drapes on fire it sure did
    and pretty soon

    the dancers were down the fire escapes

    though the band continued playin' just like
    on the deck of the Titanic only this time

    it all dissolved into a pile of burnt
    timbers and shattered disco balls...

    That was one ball all right...

    OK, maybe it wasn't completely like that
    as the midnight bell tolled and we all

    returned to pumpkin form in the moonlight...

    You don't believe me?
    You think this is all just a

    ball of yarn?

    ReplyDelete
  6. radclyff sliced a bar of soap
    in half with a Cambodian machete

    then held the end of a ball of yarn
    to one half of the soap with his finger

    wrapping the red yarn
    around the broken bar of clue soap

    the yarn became a strange metaphor
    for our relationship to work

    we are soap wrapped tight inside
    a ball of soft yarn like armor

    ***

    when he finished wrapping to soap
    he tied the end of the yarn to my finger

    and as i walked away from radclyff
    the ball unraveled and soap fell loose

    spinning along the vinyl floor of the bathroom
    until it hit and knocked into the other half

    ReplyDelete
  7. a wooing

    if tomorrow or two years from now,
    you stare at the ceiling and decide
    you are tired of wrapping your days
    around a core of life that came before,
    would you come to me and unwind,
    expose your knotted, gnarled parts,
    and tangle your timeline into mine
    like yarn balls jumbled in a basket?

    ReplyDelete
  8. By the hearth,
    recessed in shadows,
    amid baskets of hooks and needles
    rest a collection of gold...
    red and brown.

    A slight imperfection of spherical form,
    these balls of wool;

    Nimble hands once caressed these
    threads of ware. Busily creating
    items to ward off the bite of
    winter's coming.

    This sacrifice of wool
    left behind naked flesh.
    Flesh soon replenished with
    a new woolly coat to keep them warm.

    Washed and combed,
    these itchy pieces of fleece
    were lovingly rolled into
    skeins of color.

    The color which rest in the corner
    ...now collecting dust.

    Balls of wool once held by nimble hands
    when items were easily created.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Such a mess
    these rainbows of apricot and cerulean
    soft and frayed
    like ribbons of indigo and mulberry
    strung from limb to limb
    worn yet strong
    this vibrant ball of yarn.


    Ps. Thanks for the invite here:)

    ReplyDelete
  10. sometimes im tired of making sweaters
    tired of raveling unraveling far from
    what I was
    once undone as I’m sure you know
    I’m never together quite the same

    who keeps me warm then -
    when I’m one long lonely strand
    and not a ball of wound color,
    close-knit

    ReplyDelete
  11. The three year old sat
    and balled
    and amidst the sobs
    regaled his long-suffering mum
    about all the things that vexed his poor, sensitive heart
    and all the things that tested his as yet incapable mind
    and his lament
    was a yarn of almost unbelievable improbability
    though to the three year old
    his perceptions were as real as he was
    or as his mum was
    though to his mum
    who was losing patience
    having to listen to his ripping yarn
    it was not ripping at all
    but the most tedious, boring, annoying yarn
    that any tiresome three year old
    could come up with
    amidst this fit of emotional indulgence
    balling like a three year old.
    "Why can't he act his age?"
    she thought.

    ReplyDelete
  12. She eyed the ball of yarn he presented

    “This is strange”

    “Just do it”

    “OK”

    She fingered the frayed virgin merino fibers

    They were soft

    “OK”

    “You said that”

    He thrust the ball forward

    She took it from his hand

    It was pure white

    Unsullied by roaming hands

    Dirty fingers

    Dirt under jagged nails

    “OK”

    “OK?”

    She began to unravel the long strand of yarn

    "Slower"

    "This is weird"

    "You said that"

    "Strange, I said this is strange"

    "OK"

    She slowed her pace

    Inch by inch, the yarn was emptied into a soft puddle of fluff on the bed

    He cut the piece she held between her fingers

    "Eyes closed"

    "Closed?"

    "Yes"

    "OK"

    And it commenced.

    ReplyDelete