Jimmie Radliff
Afghans
More than one hundred times
she gifted, with miles of stitches
in pleasing varied hues,
those she wanted to bless
with crocheted warmth
of her caring.
As long as she could see,
busy hands and nimble fingers
controlled threads through
familiar patterns, which
seemed to take shape
magically.
Now she is gone, yet the
soft touch of her talent, and
generosity of her gifts
still envelop and inspire, with
intricate afghan embrace
of her great love.
© Jimmie Radliff
For permission to publish or otherwise share this poem, please contact Jimmie.
she gifted, with miles of stitches
in pleasing varied hues,
those she wanted to bless
with crocheted warmth
of her caring.
As long as she could see,
busy hands and nimble fingers
controlled threads through
familiar patterns, which
seemed to take shape
magically.
Now she is gone, yet the
soft touch of her talent, and
generosity of her gifts
still envelop and inspire, with
intricate afghan embrace
of her great love.
© Jimmie Radliff
For permission to publish or otherwise share this poem, please contact Jimmie.
Tradition
Tradition tugs
at frayed edges
of modern changes,
hoping to bind
treasured valuables
intensely close
with strong, silken ties
of memory,
braided with love.
© Jimmie Radliff
For permission to publish or otherwise share this poem, please contact Jimmie.
at frayed edges
of modern changes,
hoping to bind
treasured valuables
intensely close
with strong, silken ties
of memory,
braided with love.
© Jimmie Radliff
For permission to publish or otherwise share this poem, please contact Jimmie.
Post-poned
Desire to write continues
with attempts to learn the craft,
improve the use of forms,
and strive for just the right words
to communicate impressions
with some degree of skill.
Why, then, do I procrastinate,
perplexed at such impasse
which halts my good intentions,
with thwarting, silent struggle
as I approach the challenge
of answering my mail?
© Jimmie Radliff
For permission to publish or otherwise share this poem, please contact Jimmie.
with attempts to learn the craft,
improve the use of forms,
and strive for just the right words
to communicate impressions
with some degree of skill.
Why, then, do I procrastinate,
perplexed at such impasse
which halts my good intentions,
with thwarting, silent struggle
as I approach the challenge
of answering my mail?
© Jimmie Radliff
For permission to publish or otherwise share this poem, please contact Jimmie.
Blank Page
Standing on the edge of time, I falter.
Stumbling over stories still stored in my mind.
Riches of the past are sadly missing
in rhythms of the songs I do not find.
Tarrying on time's threshold, I listen,
hoping for the muse's words to help record
experiences swirling in my brain
before it is too late.
Lingering on fringe of yesterdays, I focus
on songs of life I hope are yet to be,
hymns of faith I heard without recording,
lyrics of love languishing unexpressed.
Balancing now, I am reaching for
wealth of words to retrieve these poems
I did not write.
© Jimmie Radliff
For permission to publish or otherwise share this poem, please contact Jimmie.
Stumbling over stories still stored in my mind.
Riches of the past are sadly missing
in rhythms of the songs I do not find.
Tarrying on time's threshold, I listen,
hoping for the muse's words to help record
experiences swirling in my brain
before it is too late.
Lingering on fringe of yesterdays, I focus
on songs of life I hope are yet to be,
hymns of faith I heard without recording,
lyrics of love languishing unexpressed.
Balancing now, I am reaching for
wealth of words to retrieve these poems
I did not write.
© Jimmie Radliff
For permission to publish or otherwise share this poem, please contact Jimmie.
