All the poems on this page are the creation of me, Lindy Weber, Art from the Heart blog owner. I love to share, but please let me know you want to share by emailing weber.lindy@gmail.com and please make sure my name stays attached to the poems. I really don't want to change my name to Anonymous. Thanks! Enjoy!
Town Seamstress She was the town seamstress.
How she could embroider the truth!
With the thinnest thread of it,
She could weave resplendent tales.
She mended the most ragged stories,
'Til better than whole cloth.
She hemmed the most reluctant resident
Into telling all.
She left tattered old widows
On pins and needles.
As seamstress,
She excelled at cutting remarks,
Snippy replies,
And altering the pattern to please.
Every stitch of her life
She spent sewing, all over town.
Every scrap, every shred, every article,
Vicariously pieced together,
Until,
Under the counterpane of colorful lies,
She was buried.
Lindy Weber http://quilts-artfromtheheart.blogspot.com/p/quilter-poetry.html
The Bee
Needles up, needles down.
Plying of the needles.
Ten stitches to the inch,
On the frame basted quilt.
Four year old Olivia
Under the frame,
On the floor,
Sees knees.
Knees and sensible shoes.
Granny Stanton's brown calico,
Crocheted house slippers.
Marta pink roses, faded with washing.
Mama's navy pin dot, polished white oxfords.
Aunt Bertha's green check, Lizy's dove gray.
All the knees wearing dresses.
All the feet in well worn shoes.
Olivia serves tea in tiny dishes
To the doll that came from Sears
Last Christmas.
The murmur of voices,
Hums and hovers overhead,
"New beauty parlor opening on Hershall Avenue. "
"Aunt Patsy is going to have another baby.
They're hoping for a girl this time. "
"Uncle Thomas is looking mighty poorly these days,
since Clarice passed on. "
"Price of potatoes has gone plain out of sight!
How's a body to live?"
"Wasn't Sunday service just real nice?"
Olivia places her head on mama's polka dot knees,
Drifting off under the blanket of conversation.
Mama's hand stops quilting,
Reaches beneath the frame,
Stroking the strands,
Of silky brown hair.
Lindy Weber http://quilts-artfromtheheart.blogspot.com/p/quilter-poetry.html
Quilted Countryside
Scattered across the counterpane,
Knots of cattle and sheep with lamb
Roads threading over soft folds.
Needles of sunlight piercing the clouds.
Plowshares feather-stitching the fields.
Circles of oats, squares of timothy,
Diamonds of alfalfa, rectangles of rye.
Farmhouse yards with calico flowerbeds,
Striped cat and spotted mongrel dog.
Velvet waves of golden grain.
Corduroy rows of grass-green corn.
Denim blue ditches crisscrossing fields.
Warm woolen warp of wheat.
All pieced with the plowing,
The planting,
And harvest.
Lindy Weber http://quilts-artfromtheheart.blogspot.com/p/quilter-poetry.html
I Am A Quilter
The beds are not made, the dishes not done…
I’m at my machine, sewing up fun!
My only gardening is Grandmother’s Flower.
Only TV? Eleanore Burns’ hour.
As I munch lunch, I read quilt magazines,
Or peruse Country Living for quiltable scenes.
I write quilt poetry, attend quilt guilds and shows,
Work on my quilts if it rains, shines, or snows.
Only ironing I do is to flatten a square.
Only cooking I do is chocolatey fare.
Only math that gets done helps me build blocks,
Leaving no time for sorting of socks.
My stash is on shelves-glorious rainbow display-
Yards crammed in boxes, bought more today…
Dinner’s not on.
Nothing is dusted.
Husband comes home.
Quilter is busted!
Lindy Weber http://quilts-artfromtheheart.blogspot.com/p/quilter-poetry.html
More of my poetry and writings can be found at http://lindy-seasons.blogspot.com/
