Luci's Shawl

Prayers of thanks as I wrap

the wholly crocheted words

around me. 

It’s cool in this writer’s

cave under the stairs.

Your tight and lose knots

rest easy on my cold shoulders.

It was back on May twentieth,

early in the morning that I

was invited into moving

words with needle swords.

You wield the points together,

changing the colors as needed

until floats cascade down

in mischief on the underside.

Then flashing would rise like an

Easter morning as you knot and

untie the fibers of vocabulary.

Any time I can pull out a poem

of yours like a loose thread and

it unravels me. 

In Honor of one of my favorites

Luci Shaw 

 

Clive

He logically talked me

into a corner.

Then he staples me

with truth bound logic.

One would think a

word on charity

would be gentle

and freeing.

Simply set your self

aside and charity

will transform

any need-love.

He would lieu us

by grace in the

quatrain of loves.

But first we must

think it through

with a great Noch

of our heads.

I had forgotten how challenging his writing is at times.  I read some of The Four Loves this morning.