Patchwork

Patchwork

A Poem by Phill Oz O'fee

Patchwork



Scrap fabrics

of living essences

Primary pattern

self permanence

 

My tapestry

of patchwork events

Seamed together

as one display

 

Some square

grey scale depictions

Lay next to

the vibrant chromatic

 

Showcasing both

times of elation

And lugubrious periods

of darkness

 

Experience threads

are the stitches

Binding this

one off crafted form

 

The cut pieces

from life’s cloth

Pressed

and squared throughout

 

Mantled in

this chequered covering

It’s clear to see

who dwells inside

 

Copyright @ Phillozofee 2018

© 2018 Phill Oz O'fee


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Featured Review

Very imaginative. Like how you approached this piece very much. Your image is perfect for your lines. You must have selected that first, composed second. Now tell me I am wrong:) My Nan did patchwork, so you also managed to bring back some fond memories Phill. Thank you.

Chris

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

I just love your theme here! Makes me visualise a myriad of patchworks, each unique, exquisite, worn, threaded in a different way. The image used just enhanced the feel of the poem! Appreciated very much!

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Very imaginative. Like how you approached this piece very much. Your image is perfect for your lines. You must have selected that first, composed second. Now tell me I am wrong:) My Nan did patchwork, so you also managed to bring back some fond memories Phill. Thank you.

Chris

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Wonderful imagination. Life definitely is a patchwork of different events, good and bad, happy and sad :)

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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232 Views
3 Reviews
Rating
Added on September 24, 2018
Last Updated on September 25, 2018

Author

Phill Oz O'fee
Phill Oz O'fee

Winchester, Hampshire, England, United Kingdom



About
I am caught in a time spiral of confusion; that period we all experience between birth and death. Somewhere inside hides a poet, writer, lyricist and/or whatever, laying dormant and suppressed by s.. more..

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