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Saturday, February 18, 2017

The Rose


Some say love, it is a river, that drowns the tender reed
 Some say love, it is a razor, that leaves your soul to bleed
Some say love, it is a hunger, an endless aching need
I say love, it is a flower, and you, its only seed


Its the heart afraid of breaking, that never learns to dance
Its the dream afraid of waking, that never takes the chance
Its the one who won't be taking, who cannot seem to give
And the soul afraid of dying, that never learns to live


 When the night has been too lonely,
and the road has been too long,
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snow
lies the seed
that with the sun's love
in the spring
becomes the rose

Saturday, February 11, 2017

Matters of the heart




You can take a pill or potion
For most anything that ails
There's an ointment or a lotion
When the pill or potion fails




But there's a fortune waiting
For the one who can impart
A cure to heal the aching
In the matters of the heart


 




Friday, February 10, 2017

Red Cats


 
Cats all around 
Playing with yarn
So cute 




 
Cats scratching meowing
cats sleeping 
lazy cats
 
 
 

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Lost and Found


Nothing is ever lost
But rather misplaced

If you are looking
Keep looking
If you are searching
Keep searching
If you are lost
Do not give up hope
For you will be found

If one looks
One can find
If one is lost
One can be found
Again and again

Saturday, January 28, 2017

Flowers

It is always  a little party
when the flowers are on the table


the water is better then elsewhere
it is the best



Sunday, January 22, 2017

Hello World

On a Sunday morning
It is dark and cold outside


I could not sleep anymore
so I sit here in a warm room
my Friends by my site


little Hearts and some baskets
stitching and thinking





 Feeling fine




have a lovely Sunday 



Friday, January 20, 2017

100 Hartjes

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;




If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,


Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

poem by Emily Dickinson

Friday, December 23, 2016

Silently stitching

 Yes it is still silent in the house
preparing for Christmas
 
 And some stitching on the quilt 
Foep designed by
Ingrid  

 you can find al about this lovely quilt
on her blog here
But be careful it is an  addiction


 But than again quilting does
that to you
I wish you all a lovely Christmas

Sunday, December 18, 2016

Yesterday a Foep day

some days have a silver lining
Yesterday was that kind of day 
It was Foep day 




A Day full of surprises
very nice people and good food


And most of all Inspiration
When I came home my had was full of ideas
I just hade to go upstairs to go and find al the goodies



little boxes and baskets
all the lovely lace my mother made
very old bed linen I discovered on a market in Italia 


of course with a little help from my friend
birds and eggs in a had with lace 


New ideas and old ideas
 the old ideas pup up in my had again
I cant stop have to go and make more




Sunday, December 11, 2016

lovely Sunday



Rain on the green grass,
And rain on the tree,

And rain on the house top,
But not on me!

Sunday, October 23, 2016

An Angel Story

My poetry I have sewn, reflecting times in my life,
pricking my thumb, when I can't get it right,
afternoon delight.

 I ponder my thoughts,
embroidering my poetic quilt.

 Collecting memories,
some good some bad,

 some even sad.
Giving  intense thought,
to feather this quilt.

Sunday, October 09, 2016

For Christmas

Can you put your hand upon your heart?
And say you finish all you start
That in your cupboard there is not
A project started and forgot
Of half done things your shelves are bare
There is no skeleton lurking there?
Either my friend you tell a lie
Or have more ruthlessness than I

 What of the set of place mats there?
A Christmas gift for yesteryear
Designs I like technique is good
I’ll finish them I know I should
About that cushion at the back
Why choose white instead of black?
There’s the pile of blocks I won last year
I almost forgot that they were there

 Our quilting things are a part of us
Is it fair to them to leave them thus?
They helped us make each forward stride
Why should they just be pushed aside?
Turn them into things we can all admire
By using the skills they helped you acquire
With a conscience clear, and a space you gain
And you could start the rigmarole again!

Saturday, October 01, 2016

Saturday, September 24, 2016

So Many





There's so many things to say,
but you already know.



 There's so much I want to tell,
'cause you get it all somehow.


 There's a lot of memories,
and they will never end.

 There's nothing that I wouldn't tell,
I know you know it's true.

 There's so many things to say,



Tuesday, September 20, 2016

angel


it's like angel wings                    
opening, by morning dawn 
sunshine on my lawn 

Saturday, September 03, 2016

Things


“We love the things we love
 for what they are.”




 “The most important thing is to enjoy your life
to be happy
it's all that matters.”
  

Sunday, August 21, 2016

The Rowdy Flat Library quilt


When the sun rises over the horizon,
the butterfly emerges to dance in its brilliant light.
It flickers its colorful wings with euphoria,
To celebrate all the beauty found
in the majestic garden of life.

When the moon arrives in the darkness,
The moth appears at the disappearance of sunlight.
It flickers its pale wings as it shakes from its deep slumber,
To go search for food
To carry it through the night.

The moth prefers the moon and detests the sun,
while the butterfly loves the sun and hides from the moon.
Every living creature responds to light,
But depending on the amount of light you have inside,
Determines which lamp in the sky
Your heart will swoon.

the chapman quilt

Day after day the pattern grew;
Each block was deftly set in place,
And rows of tiny stitches tell
A tale that time cannot efface.
Of patience, skill, housewifely pride,
Of women's love for pretty thing,
Of fingers trained such work to do
By those who know the joy it btings,
Of time within the home weel spent,
The heart with homely tasks content.