I'll get things moving with this and come back with something else later:CLICK ME
This comment has been removed by the author.
Here it is; no old ladies this time:HEART
The WidowBaaaa BaaaaaaBleating sheepBillowing through sweeping hummocksShears rapidly working throughSoaked, muddied woolSacks filled for Spinning wheelsClumps straightened intoChains of fiber Channeling their way Into a cylinder of fluffIntertwining itself with dirt and dustIrking the spinner Impulsively picking bits from the floorFree bagFleecy linesFumbling into one anotherTightly wound Tucked away for winterTo create Topcoats
The Ball of YarnWell the band started playin'and we danced til our shoes were steamin'Not a pair of legs that didn't have littleflames leapin' from their calvesSome of the lady's gowns caught fire we wereso tarantella'd like that Saint Vitas Dancewhere spasms become lightingbolts andevery dancer fizzles into a roman candleIt set the drapes on fire it sure did and pretty soon the dancers were down the fire escapesthough the band continued playin' just likeon the deck of the Titanic only this timeit all dissolved into a pile of burnttimbers and shattered disco balls...That was one ball all right...OK, maybe it wasn't completely like thatas the midnight bell tolled and we allreturned to pumpkin form in the moonlight...You don't believe me?You think this is all just aball of yarn?
radclyff sliced a bar of soapin half with a Cambodian machetethen held the end of a ball of yarnto one half of the soap with his fingerwrapping the red yarn around the broken bar of clue soapthe yarn became a strange metaphorfor our relationship to workwe are soap wrapped tight insidea ball of soft yarn like armor***when he finished wrapping to soaphe tied the end of the yarn to my fingerand as i walked away from radclyffthe ball unraveled and soap fell loosespinning along the vinyl floor of the bathroomuntil it hit and knocked into the other half
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?
By the hearth,recessed in shadows,amid baskets of hooks and needlesrest a collection of gold... red and brown.A slight imperfection of spherical form,these balls of wool;Nimble hands once caressed thesethreads of ware. Busily creatingitems to ward off the bite ofwinter's coming.This sacrifice of wool left behind naked flesh.Flesh soon replenished witha new woolly coat to keep them warm.Washed and combed,these itchy pieces of fleecewere lovingly rolled into skeins of color.The color which rest in the corner...now collecting dust.Balls of wool once held by nimble handswhen items were easily created.
Such a messthese rainbows of apricot and ceruleansoft and frayedlike ribbons of indigo and mulberrystrung from limb to limbworn yet strongthis vibrant ball of yarn.Ps. Thanks for the invite here:)
sometimes im tired of making sweaterstired of raveling unraveling far fromwhat I wasonce undone as I’m sure you knowI’m never together quite the samewho keeps me warm then -when I’m one long lonely strandand not a ball of wound color,close-knit
The three year old satand balledand amidst the sobsregaled his long-suffering mumabout all the things that vexed his poor, sensitive heartand all the things that tested his as yet incapable mindand his lamentwas a yarn of almost unbelievable improbabilitythough to the three year oldhis perceptions were as real as he wasor as his mum wasthough to his mumwho was losing patiencehaving to listen to his ripping yarnit was not ripping at allbut the most tedious, boring, annoying yarnthat any tiresome three year oldcould come up withamidst this fit of emotional indulgenceballing like a three year old."Why can't he act his age?"she thought.
She eyed the ball of yarn he presented“This is strange”“Just do it”“OK”She fingered the frayed virgin merino fibersThey were soft“OK”“You said that”He thrust the ball forwardShe took it from his handIt was pure whiteUnsullied by roaming handsDirty fingersDirt 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 paceInch by inch, the yarn was emptied into a soft puddle of fluff on the bedHe cut the piece she held between her fingers"Eyes closed""Closed?""Yes""OK"And it commenced.