My Stitched Darlings

“Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough… Make good art.” ~ Neil Gaiman

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Most things are born screaming,
fighting a world too new
to be wanted by any.

Not you, my stitched darlings.

You crawled out of me
serene (dark ink kissing paper
tasting of coffee or tea),
imagination and patience
making new out of old.

I love watching you grow,

my stitched darlings, watching you
being wanted by (m)any hearts…
and being loved (so loved) by me.

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the (not so) wee notes…
– I started stitching poetry in an effort to fight a combination of injury and disease that was stiffening my hands—handwriting and stitching requires specific movements that exercise tiny muscles that would not get a daily workout otherwise. I really liked the stitched results, loved them even. So, I started collecting them. Then, my friend Emma suggested they were so cool that I should consider making them available for purchase.

I giggled at her loving silliness. Who would want to buy this stuff, really? I thought. I love them because I love everything that is mine. Emma loves them because she loves me (she’s insane like that). Then, strangers who saw my stitched words on Instagram started asking if I sold them. When I said, “Of course”, they began to buy them. Yes, I’m still a tad surprised, but also proud… of my stitched darlings.

–  Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ A Glance at Narrative. K, asks us to “think of some story in writing [a] poem.” I’m handfasting K’s prompt to Paul’s Scribble It, which invites us to birth poetry “that speaks in some way of a ‘First Time’”. Also adding to Poets United ~ Poetry Pantry 364.

Another Note (for those who’ve emailed me about my shop’s opening date): my online store will open in September. I apologize for the delays… It’s just that life insists on throwing wrenches my way. And I can only dance so fast… But September seems all right (for now… we don’t want to tempt Fate, do we? And yes, by “we” I mean “me”).

Sharing Is Magic that Grows…

A poem is a gift of wonder, one that never stops giving itself, that never stops growing, that never stops evolving with the love that feeds it…

Those were my thoughts after reading Victoria Patella’s latest post, which includes one of my stitched poetry bits—“I am made of wild”—and a delicious poem by her.

see how Victoria made the poetry grow for her

Victoria’s words, her way of digesting the piece, the way in which she relates what she sees… helped me answer a question I hadn’t known I was asking: Why is it that the word “ink”, in a page I’m blacking out, is so difficult for me to resist?

My last three blackout poem bits (after I crafted the first one, a friend challenged me to create two more using the worlds “love” and “ink” *like that’s a real challenge*):

“I art my love in ink.”

and

“I live for bold ink
‘n’ cheeky love.”

and

In the sun,
love her eyes,
her cheek…
in ink.

*to see the first two on Instagram, click here and here*

Photos evolve, too… as you share them and re-experience them with others. When I first saw the picture below, I thought, I really love my t-shirt, and, I so love seeing a bit of urban wild in the middle of New York City, and Goodness, I could cut worlds with that jaw. Hey, I think a lot. Anyway, then someone described what they saw in the picture, and added at least 13 more thoughts to my list.

Sharing is magic that grows.