Poems on Quilting
My Needle
by Marybeth E. Cieplinski
With abject apologies to Robert Louis Stevenson
I have a little needle that goes everywhere with me,
And what can be the use of it is more than two or three.
I can quilt a pretty pillow, or a comforter, or vest.
I can piece a lovely quilt top, which is what I like the best.
Some mornings, very early, before the sun is up,
My needle calls; I only pause to grab my coffee cup.
Then as the sunrise lights the sky and smart folks stay in bed,
I and my needle quilt until I'm dizzy in the head.
I take my needle every place; we're quite a common pair.
Whenever we appear I notice people tend to stare.
I don't know if they stare when they see patterns that impress,
Or if they stare because they see the rest of me's a mess.
For quilters don't sew buttons and they don't patch children's pants,
And they never make new clothes as you will notice at a glance.
And quilters never cut things with their favorite fabric shears,
Unless it should be muslin; otherwise they fall to tears.
The one who has the most fabric most likely will be me,
So I can't use a scrap of it or I won't win, you see.
I'll have to buy more fabric for this quilt I'm working on.
It really matters not that what I'm storing isn't gone.
I have a little needle that I'm chained to like a rock.
I know my husband full expects to stab it through his sock.
I hope you will excuse me if I quit right here and run;
I've found another pattern and my needle wants it done.
Little bits of fabric
Little bits of fabric
Sewn into a quilt
Form a warm and loving blanket
From which memories are built.
And when you seek peace and comfort
In the quiet of the night
It will keep you warm and snug
Until the morning's light.
It's Your Quilt
Submitted by Robyn: "This is the sweetest quilt poem I've ever seen. It is by Nancy Riddell and was in the QNM issue # 279/ Jan-Feb 1996. It is on page 44, along with a Baby Pinwheels pattern. I love it so much, I include it with every baby quilt I make."
It's OK if you sit on your quilt.
It's OK if your bottle gets spilt.
If you swallow some air
and you burp, don't despair;
It's OK if you spit on your quilt.
There are scraps old and new on your quilt.
Put together for you on your quilt.
If your gums feel numb
'Cause your teeth haven't come,
it's OK if you chew on your quilt.
We expect you to lie on your quilt.
If you hurt, you may cry on your quilt.
On a cold rainy night,
Don't you fret; you're all right.
You'll be snug, warm and dry on your quilt.
This Quilt is Made...
This quilt is made of cloth and thread
To place upon your little bed.
It's not an heirloom-just to keep,
But to lay upon as you count sheep.
Or perhaps the floor's the perfect place
For a doll and teddy picnic space.
This quilt can be anything you can dream-
From superman's cape to the robe of a queen.
Pretend it's a raft adrift at sea,
Or just cuddle up when you watch TV.
So use it up and wear it out-
I promise I won't yell or pout.
Just tell me when its days are through,
And I'll make another, just for you.
Footnote
This foot was made for walking But not on my machine! It turns out the weirdest quilting That I have ever seen! It sews along quite nicely, I stop holding my breath, Then it does a little dance step And scares me half to death! I see a section of stitches Too small for ripping out, Then a leap and then a skip -- What is this all about? A seam on top? The batting? Am I doing something wrong? I didn't dream that machine quilting Would ever take this long. The answer's out there somewhere, I'll seek 'til I understand, But until I get it sorted out I just must quilt by hand!
Ode to my Wife the Quilter
She learned to quilt on Monday, Her stitches were very fine, She forgot to thaw out dinner, So we went out to dine. She quilted miniatures on Tuesday, She says they are a must, They really were quite lovely, But she forgot to dust. On Wednesday it was a sampler, She says the stipling's fun, What hi-lites! What shadows!- But the laundry wasn't done. Her patches were on Thursday, Green, yellow, blue and red, I guess she really was engrossed, She never made the bed. It was wall hangings on Friday, In colors she adores, It never bothered her at all, The crumbs on all the floors. I found a maid on Saturday, My week is now complete, My wife can quilt the hours away, The house will still be neat. Well, it's already Sunday, I think I'm about to wilt, I cursed, I raved, I ranted, The MAID has learned to QUILT!- - Unknown
Quilter's Poem
Love is a quilt--a quilt is love . . . Both love and a quilt should be: Soft enough to comfort you, Bright enough to cheer you, Generous enough to enfold you, Light enough to let you move freely, Strong enough to withstand adversity, Durable enough to last a lifetime, And given gladly, from the heart.
