I fisnied the whole order for Eden Yarns(the website will be up soon-sih, I got a peak at her front page rough draft and it’s lvoely!) so I was able to do a little updating in the shop, yay!

There has been Bamboo Haiku, Free Verse Sock, Cashprose and Sonnet Sport added as well as a cute pair of earrings, don’t forget to check out the Sale section, a few skeins made their way into there.

Handpainted yarn is a beautiful thing. But some people don’t understand why there can be such subtle or obvious difference from skein to skein of the same colorway. I’d like to point out one way. The dyes themselves. For example check out 2 of my spruces:

I forgot to take a picture but I did a small sample and the browner spruce dye powder produced a slightly greener spruce while the bluer dye powder produces a bluer spruce. They were very similar but different. I’ve since mixed the powders together to get an even dye job on my next few bathes of yarn that call for spruce. We dyers run into this more than you think. One especially frustrating one is Olive, sometimes the dye powder produces a more coppery brown and sometimes it produces a more camo green.

Just thought y’all would find that interesting.

Featuring Dogen

yarn inspiration-
The unspoiled colors of a late summer night,
The wind howling through the lofty pines –
The feel of the autumn approaching;
The swaying bamboos keep resonating,
And shedding tears of dew at dawn;
Only those who exert themselves fully
Will attain the Way,
But even if you abandon all for the ancient path of meditation,
You can never forget the meaning of sadness.

And with that The Dead Poets Sock Club is closed for a while. I loved doing it and plan to open it up again in the near future!

Featuring Dogen

yarn inspiration-

In spring wind
peach blossoms
begin to come apart.
Doubts do not grow
branches and leaves.

This will be the last round of the Dead Poets Sock Club for a little while, the rest of the year at least.

This round features Zen Buddhist, Dogen, who is not like our typical poet, but his writing is beautiful.

This colorway, Dogen, was inspired by his writings from the Wondrous Nirvana-Mind,

Even plants and trees,
Which have no heart,
Wither with the passing days;
Beholding this,
Can anyone help but feel chagrin?

Third pkg for PDY’s Dead Poets Sock Club featuring poet John Keats.

This colorway, Mermaid Tavern, was inspired by Lines on the Mermaid Tavern by John Keats

SOULS of Poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
Have ye tippled drink more fine
Than mine host’s Canary wine?
Or are fruits of Paradise
Sweeter than those dainty pies
Of venison? O generous food!
Drest as though bold Robin Hood
Would, with his maid Marian,
Sup and bowse from horn and can.

I have heard that on a day
Mine host’s sign-board flew away,
Nobody knew whither, till
An astrologer’s old quill
To a sheepskin gave the story,
Said he saw you in your glory,
Underneath a new old-sign
Sipping beverage divine,
And pledging with contented smack
The Mermaid in the Zodiac.

Souls of Poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?

Second pkg for PDY’s Dead Poets Sock Club featuring poet John Keats.

Original inspiration, Hither, Hither, Love by John Keats

Hither hither, love—
‘Tis a shady mead—
Hither, hither, love!
Let us feed and feed!

Hither, hither, sweet—
‘Tis a cowslip bed—
Hither, hither, sweet!
‘Tis with dew bespread!

Hither, hither, dear
By the breath of life,
Hither, hither, dear!—
Be the summer’s wife!

Though one moment’s pleasure
In one moment flies—
Though the passion’s treasure
In one moment dies;—

Yet it has not passed—
Think how near, how near!—
And while it doth last,
Think how dear, how dear!

Hither, hither, hither
Love its boon has sent—
If I die and wither
I shall die content!

Just added to the shop- Sandy Claws, Poinsettia, Can’t Catch Me & Figgy on an Assortment of bases- Beat, Sport, Sea Sock, Cashprose, Free Verse Sock, Bamboo Haiku…

PDY turned 2 this month! To celebrate we are having a simple little contest! All you need to do is leave a comment to THIS post and on December 2nd at noon(EST) the random number generator will choose it’s winner!

What will you win?
Our last skein of Silver Freckle Sock (we have discontinued it to focus on our other yarns) in Sweetheart
patterns from last round and this round of the Dead Poets Sock Club
stitchmarkers
a pattern tamer
an Edna St. Vincent Millay keychain
and a sample of our Cashprose which should be enough for a mini sock

Good luck and thank you for stopping by!

This rounds featured poet was revealed to be John Keats. I was going to go with a washed out black, yellow, red and white combo in honor of his Grecian Urn poem, but in the spirit of Halloween I ditched the white and went dark with the other three colors

This is Keats’ Halloween Urn, photos taken by member Leslie (udontcallmeles) because I forgot to take spoiler photos. Included in this shipment were K bookmarks, Keats magnet and cedar wood balls.

Original inspiration, Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thou express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring’d legend haunt about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal – yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e’er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,” – that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.