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Button lies heavy.
It’s hard, black surface
Standing still and
Finding small comfort
Among the shiny, wrinkled ribbons
Of deep red.

Button reaches –
Touching the sister ribbon
Of faded yellow-green
Wanting what the ribbons have.

Ribbons so entangled.
Enmeshed in the softness
That cloud-like yarn offers
In gratitude.

They hardly notice
Button’s earnest effort;
Feeling only the weight.
Glass button, a sharp contrast.

Button, oh ill shaped button
Not a square, nor a circle
Who made you?

How is it you have landed here?

Loretta Warner, I Love Knitting
Poet and writer who uses all things textile – as a distraction.

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How big does one play this game?
How badly does one have to want it?

When does the old get thrown out with nothing to replace?
When is emptiness the better choice?

When does the space become more important
Than all of the accumulated stuff?

 

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Old, beautiful things,
Collected over time,
We call them the
Tools-of-the-trade.
Not found easily
In the marketplace.
Searched, scrubbed,
Rubbed dry,
And oiled.
Purchased with pennies
Spilled from tattered
Pockets.

 

Materials and the embellishments, aptly called findings,
Collected over time, for use in an unknown future
When working with a particular piece, incomplete,
A need is seen by the eyes and soul
Of the one pair of hands.

The maker’s dreams, give forth a knowing, that in time
Things find very specific places, fulfilling the certain need.
A touch of magic then passes through the maker,
Creating a whole and complete picture.
Signature placed with smile.

Yet, life seems shouting for exploration, for more than this!
New territories appear to call out with undecipherable words,
Words nonetheless, speaking to the heart, yearning.
The eyes and soul not yet finished; one pair of hands
Begging to hold things never imagined.

When do I get to pick up my mat and walk?
How long must I wait here?

Loretta Warner, I Love Knitting

Sweet, juicy, sun warmed;
Fresh from her garden.
Carried with gloved hands
Into the house,
The kitchen,
The bowl.
Delicious!

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Touch, texture, possibility;
Searched from among many…
Hands must work it
Into the form
The expression.
The life – of the
Dream.

Her purpose, and knowing
Who it is she meets
With eyes opened
In anticipation,
Wonder,
Hope.
Served!

Her dishes, her dreams…delicious!

Loretta Warner, I Love Knitting

Here is a little ship
I built it out of love.
Thinking that I was doing
The right thing.

A place of work,
If one could call it that.
A project begins and becomes
With the effort.

The act of making
An art of moving thread, yarn, a piece of cloth
Into its seemingly rightful place.

Transforming one material, and another
In hopes of making something new.
A bright and shining star of a thing!

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Here now is the imagined world
Beyond my wildest dreams
Of how it would turn out.

Filled with the makings of,
And with the first samples
And the last samples.

Tools, trims, findings, fabrics, papers, patterns, books, bundles, ribbons, yarns.
Machines for sewing, machines for knitting, and machines for living.
Art on the walls, and flowers in the small garden – always giving.

 

I wake from my dream,
Asking the question:
Where can I land my ship?

I want the world to see,
For others to come inside,
To learn to use the tools and share the things made.

I want to swim away…
Leaving my little ship
In the good hands of others.
To dream a new dream…

Loretta Warner, I Love Knitting

We compare life
To a journey.
“The road of life!”
We are the people,
On the road.

Going somewhere?
Planning something?
Have you a drawing or map?
Goals?
Intentions?
Dreams?

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A decision made
Is thought to be
A twist or turn
A left, perhaps a hard right
A direction
On the road.

That is your life.
Our life.

 

I sometimes like
To let the colors
Come together.
As if I’m not looking.
All in the same color family,
Yet, opposites can work.

Rarely a perfect match.
Always the perfect relationship.
A patchwork!
A reunion!
Chance!

I just happened to be in the right place,
At the right time!

Loretta Warner, I Love Knitting