We are trading in poetry. From Terry's poem I write this. The memories of spinning felt in my fingertips. I love the rhythm and cadence of spinning. It's hard work and my uneven threads made bulky jumpers for our cold winters. I spent some of the shearing season at a friends farm...gathering wool samples and playing at the back of the wool store.



The spinner 

Tugs a lock 

Checking breaks 

Measuring length and crimp 

Before carding 

One bag ready. 

 Adjusting drive band 

Testing treadle 

Bobbin ready 

Feeding through 

Finding rhythm 

 Twisting gently 

 Breathing lanolin 

Dreaming patterns 

Bag empty. 

#poemresponse #smallpoems


  1. I love when poems become the thing that we share in response

  2. Observe. Spin. Sing. This makes the finest kind of poetry (and wool). That is a damned fine staple.


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