I Feel Horrible. She Doesn't
I feel horrible. She doesn't
love me and I wander around
like a sewing machine
that's just finished sewing
a turd to a garbage can lid.
poem by Richard Brautigan
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Even from my front porch
the rusted sewing machine
yearns for golden thread.
haiku by Warren Falcon
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The most casual examination will reveal the fact that all the jokes about the horrible results of masculine cooking and sewing are written by men. It is all part of a great scheme of sex propaganda.
quote by Heywood Broun
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Growing Up Hard
Counting pennies, to buy a loaf of bread
More often than not, hungry going to bed
Us carrying mothers sewing machine, every thirty days
Three blocks to the pawn shop, till the welfare check pays
Got the welfare check, would get the sewing machine out
We'd pawn it again next month, without a doubt
Living on commodities, free peanut butter and cheese
Going to school without a coat we'd always freeze
We never had many nice clothes to wear
Mother would mend them when they began to tear
Having meat for dinner was a real rare thing
Breakfast and supper, beans and rice we were eating
We wore our shoes until they fell apart
Mother could only buy one of us a pair, at the mart
Quiet often we were left all by ourselves
While mother worked or went out for cocktails
The days weren't so bad alone, we were in school
But young and left alone at night was really cruel
Feeling so alone, just us three
Please stay home tonight mama, we'd plea
Times were hard when I was a child
This poem I've written, is putting it mild
poem by Donna Nimmo
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The Sewing-Girl
The humble garret where I dwell
Is in that Quarter called the Latin;
It isn't spacious -- truth to tell,
There's hardly room to swing a cat in.
But what of that! It's there I fight
For food and fame, my Muse inviting,
And all the day and half the night
You'll find me writing, writing, writing.
Now, it was in the month of May
As, wrestling with a rhyme rheumatic,
I chanced to look across the way,
And lo! within a neighbor attic,
A hand drew back the window shade,
And there, a picture glad and glowing,
I saw a sweet and slender maid,
And she was sewing, sewing, sewing.
So poor the room, so small, so scant,
Yet somehow oh, so bright and airy.
There was a pink geranium plant,
Likewise a very pert canary.
And in the maiden's heart it seemed
Some fount of gladness must be springing,
For as alone I sadly dreamed
I heard her singing, singing, singing.
God love her! how it cheered me then
To see her there so brave and pretty;
So she with needle, I with pen,
We slaved and sang above the city.
And as across my streams of ink
I watched her from a poet's distance,
She stitched and sang . . . I scarcely think
She was aware of my existence.
And then one day she sang no more.
That put me out, there's no denying.
I looked -- she labored as before,
But, bless me! she was crying, crying.
Her poor canary chirped in vain;
Her pink geranium drooped in sorrow;
"Of course," said I, "she'll sing again.
Maybe," I sighed, "she will to-morrow."
Poor child; 'twas finished with her song:
Day after day her tears were flowing;
And as I wondered what was wrong
She pined and peaked above her sewing.
And then one day the blind she drew,
Ah! though I sought with vain endeavor
To pierce the darkness, well I knew
My sewing-girl had gone for ever.
And as I sit alone to-night
My eyes unto her room are turning . . .
I'd give the sum of all I write
Once more to see her candle burning,
Once more to glimpse her happy face,
And while my rhymes of cheer I'm ringing,
Across the sunny sweep of space
To hear her singing, singing, singing.
poem by Robert William Service
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Forward
Have you ever made a quilt? I have. its one of the most therapeutic and calming things Ive ever done. and I had a huge sense of accomplishment when I finished.
Both of my grandmothers made quilts, my mama did, and my aunt jeannie did. I loved to open that big box at christmastime knowing it was a quilt that one of them had made. I was so flattered that after all the time and energy they had spent on that quilt, they had selected me to receive it. even as a young girl, I knew a quilt was a gift I would cherish always.
Back when I was living at home, I remember during the winter months mama would set up her sewing machine in the living room over by the window. at night when wed all be in there watching tv after supper, mama would be over at her sewing machine, making another quilt from the scraps left over
From a dress or blouse she had made for one of us earlier.
Then, when she had sewn all the squares sewn together, shed lay the batting on the living room floor, lay the quilted piece on top of that, and then start tacking it down. when that was completed, shed sew the border around it. then it was finished. all that remained was for mama to decide who would be the proud recipient of her precious handiwork which represented so many hours of love.
I feel very blessed to have received one of mamas quilts. I sleep under it every night Im home. it doesnt match the fancy comforter we bought in los angelos, but it feels better than anything you can imagine. just because I know my mama made it just for me.
When daddys mother died in 1950, one year before my sister alice was born, mama got the trunk that held all of the quilts, china, crystal, silverware, and knickknacks that grandma had collected during her lifetime. mama discovered that grandmas trunk also included a few quilt pieces that she had started but had never finished. my sister susie eventually wound up with those quilt pieces and we all figured she would finish them out and keep them for herself.
But as only susie would do, she cut the makings of the quilt into four squares, had them quilted, put a picture of grandma mcentire and a descripion of the quilt ogether, and had them framed for alices, my brother pakes, and my christmas present.
Thats how thoughtful susie is. she could have kept the quilt for herself, but, instead, she shared with her brother and sisters something so special, which had belonged to a woman none of us had ever met. thats part of susies charm.
Thats also the charm of a quilt. like a mother, it wraps its arms around you-sosoft, yet so sturdy, and so comforting. in my grandmas time the sewing of a quilt would bring friends and neighbors together, and in quilting circles today that lovely tradition continues. now we live in a time when so many women do not even have a sewing machine in their home and when country quilts hang in the fanciest boutiques and galleries selling as decorative art. that would sure give my grandma and her circle a good laugh and more than a few shakes of the head.
Can you just imagine the visiting, the stories, and the fellowship that have gone on during the making of all the wonderful quilts through the years? and can you imagine all the children who have been tucked in securely underneath them in their beds night after night? and us adults too?
Thats what you call comfort from a country quilt. I hope this book is as comforting to you as my mamas quilt has always been to me. like a quilt, this book is made up of small pieces of material-some of my favorite stories, memorable experiences, and more than a few opinions-written, rather than sewn, from the stuff of my life. I have stitched these pieces together with my sincere hope that you will find the quilt of a book friendly, warm, and enjoyable, something you can turn to for comfort and entertainment and for sharing with friends and family.
So grab your favorite quilt, wra up, get comfortable, and enjoy.
From me to you.
Love,
Reba
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Through The Day At My Machine
All through the day at my machine
There still keeps going
A strange little tune through heart and head
As I sit sewing:
'There is a child in Hungary,
A child I love in Hungary'
The words come flowing.
When I am walking home at night
That song comes after,
And under the trees in holiday time
Or hearing laughter:
'I have a son in Hungary,
My little son in Hungary'
Comes following after.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Big Britches
Too big for those big britches...
At the seam they're seen to rip.
No sewing them will masquerade,
The thickness of your hips.
You're too big for those big britches.
Do you care with me to switch?
I'd like to try them on to see,
IF on me they will fit.
I've had my eye on those big britches,
Ever since I was a kid.
I know just how to wear them and stand tall.
I've had my eye on those big britches.
And all you did in them was sit.
Stretching them with a lazy way you crave.
Too big for those big britches...
At the seam they're seen to rip.
No sewing them will masquerade,
The thickness of your hips.
You're too big for those big britches.
Do you care with me to switch?
I'd like to try them on to see,
IF on me they will fit.
You're too big for those big britches.
And on me there's a better fit!
You're too big for those big britches.
And on me they will fit!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If you put garbage in a computer nothing comes out but garbage. But this garbage, having passed through a very expensive machine, is somehow ennobled and none dare criticize it.
quote by Rory Bremner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sew Who Needs Who
You're a needling....me
like a sewing machine
I'm in stitches over you
If I wanted to be nagged
I'd clothe in leather...dragged
Don't look at my unbridled soul
Will horseshoes bring us luck?
More likely hockey falls on us
while we're chasing one good puck
I tried to slightly sew this up
in a rags to riches way
but the rags were hags
the britches were bitches
no matter what I say
poem by Boink Boink
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Do Ya Feel
Joan speaks French, not a word is said
For those who set sail on her waterbed
It's a fetish cruise, our pleasure to
Hmm do business with you
Do ya feel like taking 'em down
Do ya feel like taking 'em down
Love and hope, trust and faith
After prayer, it's back to Alice's place
Peaches and cream, angel food
If you can't get up then just get rude
Do ya feel like taking 'em down
Do ya feel like taking 'em down
Fight it all you want it's a love machine
Fight it all you want it's a love machine
Fight it all you want it's a love machine
Fight it all you want it's a love machine
Jean's well aware that time's no friend
Gravity's calling, the party will end
But until it does, love's for lunch
Half the world blows and half the world sucks
Do ya feel like taking 'em down
Do ya feel like taking 'em down
Fight it all you want it's a love machine
Fight it all you want it's a love machine
Fight it all you want it's a love machine
Fight it all you want it's a love machine
song performed by by Right Said Fred
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dreamt of in a thought (Nafaka)
we are all made of words
fragile sewing
we are all made of stars
shiny sewing
we are all made of stone
solid endlessly
we are all made
of a grass leave
seen by the matter
we are all made of breath
endlessly breathing
we are all made of waiting
dreamt of in a thought
dreamt of in a thought
dreamt of in a thought
od rijeci smo svi
sasiveni krhko
od zvijezda smo svi
sjajem obrubjeni
od kamena smo svi
cvrstinom u nedogled
od travke smo svi
sagledani u tvar
od daha smo svi
disanjem u nedogled
od cekanja smo svi
mislju odsanjani
mislju odsanjani
mislju odsanjani
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Crying For Bread
"Please, lady! please pay my Ma for her sewing;
The suit fits you splendidly--that you'll allow.
Oh! don't say tomorrow! I see you are going;
But this will not hinder long--please pay me now.
Ma work'd all night for you! ev'ry minute;
Now she lies groaning with pain in her head;
And there by the pantry (with not a thing in it),
Sits poor little Theodore crying for bread!
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!"
"On! driver, on! they have all gone before us,
And I will not be late at the ball," Beauty said;
And wintry winds echoed her answer in chorus
With poor little Theodore crying for bread!
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!
"Please lady! please pay my Ma for her sewing;
I'll run and get change for you. Don't call me bold--
But how could you dance tonight all the time knowing
That we were left suffering, hungry and cold?
Ma looks so wild! she keeps calling for Daisy;
That was the name of my sister that's dead.
Oh! what shall I do, with my Ma going crazy,
And poor little Theodore cryiing for bread?
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!"
"Please lady! please pay my Ma for her sewing;
She must have some medicine--that let me buy.
Now, don't speak of beggars! 'tis money you're owing:
Do please, pay me part of it--else we must die."
On the wheels roll'd, and Fidele returned weeping;
Ah! in her absence a spirit had fled,
And morning light found her a weary watch keeping,
With poor little Theodore crying for bread!
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!"
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Cutting out well is better than sewing up well.
I preferred sewing to bossing little children.
quote by Mother Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perseverance can reduce an iron rod to a sewing needle.
It used to be twelve people crowded around a sewing table; now it's ten.
quote by Benjamin Shahn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Loop
I heard from people after the shootings. People
I knew well or barely or not at all. Largely
the same message: how horrible it was, how little
there was to say about how horrible it was.
People wrote, called, mostly e-mailed
because they know I teach at Virginia Tech,
to say, there’s nothing to say. Eventually
I answered these messages: there’s nothing
to say back except of course there’s nothing
to say, thank you for your willingness
to say it. Because this was about nothing.
A boy who felt that he was nothing,
who erased and entered that erasure, and guns
that are good for nothing, and talk of guns
that is good for nothing, and spring
that is good for flowers, and Jesus for some,
and scotch for others, and “and” for me
in this poem, “and” that is good
for sewing the minutes together, which otherwise
go about going away, bereft of us and us
of them. Like a scarf left on a train and nothing
like a scarf left on a train. As if the train,
empty of everything but a scarf, still opens
its doors at every stop, because this
is what a train does, this is what a man does
with his hand on a lever, because otherwise,
why the lever, why the hand, and then it was over,
and then it had just begun.
Granny Krendoll Brings Star To Life
Granny Krendoll with her sewing flair
sews Star doll and yarns her hair.
Granny Krendoll makes Star into a small doll
once Star is alive the two have a ball.
Star writes Granny Krendoll once in awhile
she likes writing her letters that make her smile.
Then Granny Krendoll does get sick
she is sent to Krendoll hospital to recover quick.
Star had to make sure Granny Krendoll was alright
in fact Granny Krendoll told the nurse, where is Star tonight?
Right then Star with Melodie soon arrived
to sit by friend Granny Krendoll's dear old side.
Now Granny Krendoll gets healthy and recovers real soon
she enjoys sewing new dolls and her new life too.
Thank you Granny Krendoll for raising the bar
if it wasn't for you, the world would not have Star.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on February 14,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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My mother was kept very busy with her sewing; sometimes she would have another woman helping her.
quote by James Weldon Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She's for knitting and sewing and scraping potatoes, and you should be glad to catch the like.