Jul. 21st, 2013

poetree_admin: Paper sculpture of bulbuous tree made from strips of book pages (Default)
[personal profile] poetree_admin
jjhunter


Sunday, every Sunday, let's have a community picnic. It's probably been a long week, and it's lovely to have a few minutes to sit back and relax and enjoy some good conversation in a less formal space. Feel free to bring something for the Picnic Basket - a poem you liked this week, a thought you had or something you experienced, or even something completely unrelated to poetry whatsoever that you just feel like sharing. Just take a moment to say hello, and maybe have a bite to eat; no one is going anywhere fast, and the shade promises some relief from the everyday heat. Let’s get to know each other a bit better, here under the branches of the poet’s tree.
untonuggan: white handspun yarn next to various seashells (yarn white handspun)
[personal profile] untonuggan
(Note: posting this a couple hours early so I don't forget in my state of brain fugue.)

I had a bit of trouble getting into gear for this poem, as I've mostly switched to attempting to use, if not Simple English, then closer-to-Simple-English purely for accessibility reasons for most of my blog posts, etc. (Note: I do not always succeed). So while I sat staring at the screen and wrote a couple stanzas of a poem that was just not me, I changed everything up and decided to pick a topic that is near and dear to my heart: yarn. I spin, and knit, and all manner of fiber things. It's a Thing.

Here, for your enjoyment, is the poem that flowed from the simple choice changing topics made.

To Dye Today
by [personal profile] untonuggan 

When I delicately dip the handspun yarn

(made with a loving twist and flick of my fingers

by ancient art honed by women of yore)


into the swirling bath of dye

(a sunburst of turmeric, pokeberry vermilion,

Nature’s dyes of every hue, none trumped by King Indigo)


the wool blossoms in the water and

(small fiber scales teased open with vinegar,

the sheepish dragon’s guard relaxed for dyeing)


the yarn transforms: a butterfly in chrysalis.

(I the Alchemist with my quest for God and gold,

or perhaps a hedge witch with my call for healing)

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