Related quotes
When I'm not writing or tweaking my computer, I do embroidery. When I'm not plunging into the past, tweaking, or embroidering, I'm reading books about history, computers, or embroidery.
quote by Lynn Abbey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Better go to heaven in rags than to hell in embroidery.
God’s Embroidery
God’s embroidery
Of life’s complex beauty sewn
Together with love
poem by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A revolution is not a dinner party, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery.
quote by Mao Tse Tung
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Tombs are the clothes of the dead and a grave is a plain suit; while an expensive monument is one with embroidery.
quote by R. Buckminster Fuller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Revolution is not a dinner party, not an essay, nor a painting, nor a piece of embroidery it cannot be advanced softly, gradually, carefully, considerately, respectfully, politely, plainly and modestly.
quote by Mao Zedong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
Flowers of Heaven; Quiet but uneasy
Sharp needle and the silky thread
friends forever
And I am very familiar
to their friendly chat.
'We do an embroidery of posh flowers
for the unborn child's pillow case
That could be a surprise for Baroness.'
Old seamstress dreams.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Flowering Orchard
Silk Embroidery.
Lo silken my garden,
and silken my sky,
And silken my apple-boughs
hanging on high;
All wrought by the Worm
in the peasant carle’s cot
On the Mulberry leafage
when summer was hot!
poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Dream Of You
Crinoline Vermeer with eternal folds
Golden silk with burgundy embroidery
Stone hallways clap like Hiroshima
Dreams soft forged in Moloch fears
Cotton slaves rise into Borg columns
Streams of love grow along my soul
Is it only a storm or really the end?
What ever it is I love you
What ever it is I dream of you
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Needlewoman
I see the fading light of my neighboring Seamstress's room.
The poor widow does embroidery of the mysterious life pattern.
I too have some darn work of my patchy clothes
And I want to borrow a needle and a thread from you.
Is it too late if I knock at your door in the midnight?
And I am sure the evildoers definitely chatter a gossip
When a bachelor meets a widow.
* I dedicate this poem to all the widows of this oblique world.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Haberdasher's whereabouts
The lonesome bachelor stuck in his small boutique
among the needles, threads, thimbles and etc.
The nearby widowed seamstress who comes there frequently for different yarns and materials.
It's a rainy day and she has forgotten to bring her umbrella and borrowed his one.
He said ' Please do not bother Madam I'll collect it when I pass your place one day.'
'Certainly, then I could give you the embroidery which I finished last night' she replied.
*Needles and threads are always friends. Isn't it?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It's A Pity
It's a pity that
you can't take off your skin
like an old dress
can't cover the rags
with a smart dress
so that to impress
can't embroidery stitch the holes
made by moles
it's a pity that
you can't pull out your heart
to bask in the sun
can't force it cut and run
from the life of one
can't let your soul
fly in the sky like birds
to defend it from hurts
that's how you go
trying nothing to show
avoiding the turns
keeping scars and burns
anxiety and echoes of doubt
can't speak aloud
being hurt so much
by the occasional touch
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Moods
coming out of the frame,
in evening without a sun, unflinchingly,
he said, he was talking to his father
daily, in his mind, who was in grave,
(when he was on ventilator)
about a lesson of deception, about the things
evolved in endogamy,
cherubic, it seems, but there was water on the moon too,
in solitude, on gravel, under the rocks;
he kept on washing his hands for hours,
to remove the dirt and stigma, gathered on shaking
the lamps around the dark and then he started
collecting the flowers from the embroidery
of clouds
do not cry in the afternoon
SATISH VERMA
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blackwater
A self-protecting game was going on.
After the paternity test
there was slow burning
inside the moon.
Earth heaved a big sigh.
Blackwater was making a muddy sound.
Embroidery was fading
aftermoon.
I open the window to uncover
the chill. A young lass has jumped over
from a flyover to meet a concrete end.
The liberated soul of nation
indulges in cocktails of free erotica.
In beginning there was a sacred river;
now in bed, dry bones
were found soaked in release.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Words Of Some Sort
The balancing action of a few words wraps us in sin,
Sin has a way of telling others the whole secret.
The embroidery so sudden enacts the religious view and worship,
A word or two carried new meaning to the select.
A balance of words means new phrases and more sentences,
Sentences cause us to seep in thinking, more than you.
Those words are plentiful for the soul, in effect,
The affectionate soul marries to the other soul.
My acts are numbered by the absence of fondness
For words that encase a comprehension of some sort.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Serene Love
as we step into the
clear water of the river
we create the ripples
we lose sight of the
face of the blue clouds
we find for ourselves
an embroidery of
drifting leaves
we dip our bodies to
the coolness of the water
i search for serene love
at the bottom where
you are waiting
we kiss and embrace
beside the slippery stone
the moss is green
each step as slippery as
an ell
each kiss and breath a
bubble we send
to the surface of the river
the water flows farther and farther
until we begin not to see what happens.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An Angel
An Angel…Or?
I knew as soon s she came in she was from
a place I hadn’t been… before. She was silent.
sat down and began some embroidery work,
a silk dress for a delightful nuptial.
By the entrance to a house we stood kissing,
the door was black as the entrance to hell,
and the ground was white as snow…her eyes
bottomless green, flickered in desire.
Search light, we had been caught in the glare
unbecoming lust, and ran to a bus shelter.
Silent rain like tears, knew I had to run away,
she wanted me to take the lift heavenward.
The elevator out of order, and her face was
lost in a miasma of the unremembered.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rose
Here sit thou down upon this flow’ry bank,
And make a garland for thy Lacy’s head.
These pinks, these roses, and these violets,
These blushing gilliflowers, these marigolds,
The fair embroidery of his coronet,
Carry not half such beauty in their cheeks,
As the sweet countenance of my Lacy doth.
O my most unkind father! O my stars,
Why lower’d you so at my nativity,
To make me love, yet live robb’d of my love?
Here as a thief am I imprisoned
For my dear Lacy’s sake within those walls,
Which by my father’s cost were builded up
For better purposes. Here must I languish
For him that doth as much lament, I know,
Mine absence, as for him I pine in woe.
poem by Thomas Dekker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
That Old Woman That I Know....
the old woman
goes to church everyday
reads her novena, spends more time in church
than in the house
she is close to the parish priest
gives sums of money to the
religious activities
noted for charity and
enjoys many indulgences
from the Pope
always she is dressed in the proper
whiteness
her head covered by
the required embroidery
her movement restrained
her poise reserved
holy and
silent
what they do not know
(and this is her secret that i have discovered)
is that
just this morning she slapped her maid
because her coffee was served
and no longer that hot
to satisfy her
cold longings
exactly the opposite of what she is
in society
this old woman takes away the faith of
the maid
from the same God that she adores
in her Sunday church.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ballade d'amour
(dedicated to Mr. Krystian Zimerman, a great pianist)
a rich ethnographic
a vaulted ceiling
ornate windows
carved glasses
colorful lace
floral patterns
folk embroidery
priceless codices
lyrical and dramatic
narrative qualities
contemplative
elegiaque
wh ite stones
wooden benches
decorated frescoes
an exquisite mansion
a chateau in your heart
soaring longing voice
conquer the anger
no more sadness
a love come true
hillside vineyards
melodious memories
excellent wines for lovers
(inspired by Pierre-Auguste Renoir's In the Garden)
poem by Ahmad Shiddiqi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!