I don’t contemplate trees
or the latticework of a banana peel
like a tulip lined fence
under the bark of a dogwood
preparing to burst its flowering
buds in the wake of a blue bird’s

I don’t like structure or formalism
or heavy expostulations or connect-the-dots
1-2-3 like academics and paper hangers
do abab and pundits and other well-read
people who are all big
draggy brains (like Ginsberg says)
and no music

I like people who can hear
the sound who move to the beat
who think in rhyme and dance down
sidewalks in scuffed up kicks and
who know that souls have their own shoes
and tap their own chorus and cut up
their own verse and who listen to the rhythm
with their long hair and see the words with
their ears like paper birds
dangling from the yellow pleats of their eyelids

I like people who make worlds out of lettuce
whose fingernails are filled with sand and clay
whose lips are made of wine
who weep like stars at the foot
of the bed of a dying world
and who still believe in magic

45 responses to “Patchwork”

    • Thank you so much! I’ve been trying my hand at more poetry lately, although I had no intention of writing today…This was a rather spontaneous event. It makes me happy to know you enjoyed it 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  1. It is written beautifully. Some of my best experiences writing have happened when I had no intention of writing even a single sentence.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Love this! I particularly love the lines “I like people who make worlds out of lettuce / whose fingernails are filled with sand and clay.” To me, it suggests that maybe those who risk getting their hands dirty better understand the wisdom of life, the importance of practicing creativity, and the beauty of companionship that those who are well-read but can’t hear the soundtrack of the turning seasons. Truly beautiful, as always! ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  3. You have a rare gift of using imagery instead of commentary, and yet your imagery does better than most of making comment. The more I read of your work the better it sits in my psyche. The better it sits, the more I love it. Thank you for posting it here. May I share one of mine that uses patchwork?

    2016 Barbara Grace Lake

    What is a life
    Not life unanswered on this side of death
    But all things rife
    That lend to dreams solidity and breath

    Just one full life
    My own if gentler nature be not spared
    What is this life
    My own or compromise of meanings shared

    Am I the sum
    In part a composite of fragments torn
    Relinquished from
    All others’ woven fabric patched and worn

    Is my life then
    A quilt from other lives, a composite
    Completed when
    The quilt can hold no more, or seams will split

    But if I take
    From them, would they not take some part from me
    And thus remake
    Their own bright patching to infinity

    And to those parts
    In measure to my own, what do I owe
    By counterparts
    Is life, all life, my life, one merged tableau?

    Liked by 1 person

    • Wow, Barbara, that’s a beautiful poem. Thank you so much for sharing it with me. The imagery is powerful, and I enjoy the deeply philosophical undertones. Your message is striking. I also thank you for the kind words. I guess I never gave much thought to my ability to communicate in imagery. I am flattered that you call it a gift. Perhaps, it is. My grandmother was an extremely talented poet, though my style is nothing like hers. Thank you again for the thoughtful feedback!

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: