Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
quote by Chief Seattle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weave In, Weave In, My Hardy Life
WEAVE in! weave in, my hardy life!
Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come;
Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight
weave in!
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant
weave! tire not!
(We know not what the use, O life! nor know the aim, the end--nor
really aught we know;
But know the work, the need goes on, and shall go on--the death-
envelop'd march of peace as well as war goes on;)
For great campaigns of peace the same, the wiry threads to weave;
We know not why or what, yet weave, forever weave.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Man does not weave this web of life. He is merely a strand of it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
quote by Chief Seattle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons and daughters of the earth. We did not weave the web of life We are merely a strand in it. What we do with the web, we do to ourselves...
quote by Chief Seattle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Indian Weavers
WEAVERS, weaving at break of day,
Why do you weave a garment so gay? . . .
Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild,
We weave the robes of a new-born child.
Weavers, weaving at fall of night,
Why do you weave a garment so bright? . . .
Like the plumes of a peacock, purple and green,
We weave the marriage-veils of a queen.
Weavers, weaving solemn and still,
What do you weave in the moonlight chill? . . .
White as a feather and white as a cloud,
We weave a dead man's funeral shroud.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Lingering Legends
The course of human history.
A complicated tapestry.
Composed of interwoven strands.
The work of three blind sisters hands.
Each strand recording some event.
Almost as if by accident.
I have no doubt that they will be.
Still recorded accurately.
The strands are closely intertwined.
Which makes it difficult to find.
A single strand you can purse.
You hope in time will lead you to.
Some one you can identify
Which other sources verify.
Some one well know to history
No longer wrapped in mystery/
But now exposed to public view.
So we can prove their legend true.
It seems to me won't succeed.
Until the day we learn to read.
The never ending tapestry.
.The sisters weave industriously.
Which they have done since time began.
With total disregard for man.
We try and try without success.
Our efforts doomed to be fruitless.
The three blind sister can ensure.
Their secrets will remain secure.
Perhaps that's how its meant to
We have to face reality.
If we had been supposed to know
We'd have succeeded long ago
The sisters weave their tapestry.
Recording human history
But they make sure we can't unwind.
The strands deliberately entwined.
Monday,18 June 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Do The Strand
there's a new sensation, a fabulous creation
a danceable solution to teenage revolution
do the strand, love, when you feel love
it's the new way, that's why we say
do the strand
do it on the tables, quaglino's place or mabel's
slow and gentle, sentimental
all styles served here, louis seize he prefers
laissez-faire le strand
tired of the tango, fed up with fandango
dance on moonbeams, slide on rainbows
in furs or blue jeans, you know what i mean
do the strand
.....
we're playing our tune by the pale moon
we're incognito down the lido
and we like the strand
had your fill of quadrilles, the madison and cheap thrills
bored with the beguine, the samba isn't your scene
if you feel blue look through who's who
see la goulue and nijinsky
do the strandsky
weary of the waltz, mashed potato schmaltz
the sphinx and mona lisa, lolita and guernica
rhododendron is a nice flower
evergreen it lasts forever but it can't beat the strand power
do the strand
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Throwing me away
As missing the world sent away
I begin beckoning
Missing the world
The boring world came closer one strand by one strand
That one strand and one strand pierce me
I just start to beckon, though
Since I can't hold my heart
I struggle toward that world with trembling heart
Until the whole world is mine
You have to be mine
poem by Chulsoo Kim
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That Is Why I Thank God For Today
Each day is a chance again to live
To wake up once more is in God's hand
Each day is a blessing, a day to believe
Another day to love in a fragile strand
Any time it may snap, all men will soon die
Life is finite, when we give a last sigh
When the strand is cut and we lose our sight
With a last breath, set for eternal flight.
That is why I thank God for today.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Do The Strand
(ferry)
Theres a new sensation
A fabulous creation
A danceable solution
To teenage revolution
Do the strand love
When you feel love
Its the new way
Thats why we say
Do the strand
Do it on the tables
Quaglinos place or mabels
Slow and gentle
Sentimental
All styles served here
Louis seize he prefer
Laissez-faire le strand
Tired of the tango
Fed up with fandango
Dance on moonbeams
Slide on rainbows
In furs or blue jeans
You know what I mean
Do the strand
Had your fill of quadrilles
The madison and cheap thrills
Bored with the beguine
The samba isnt your scene
Theyre playing our tune
By the pale moon
Were incognito
Down the lido
And we like the strand
Arabs at oasis
Eskimos and chinese
If you feel blue
Look through whos who
See la goulue
And nijinsky
Do the strandsky
Weary of the waltz
And mashed potato schmaltz
Rhododendron
Is a nice flower
Evergreen
It lasts forever
But it cant beat strand power
The sphynx and mona lisa
Lolita and guernica
Did the strand
song performed by by Roxy Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Quilting
DOLLY sits a-quilting by her mother, stitch by stich,
Gracious, how my pulses throb, how my fingers itch,
While I note her dainty waist and her slender hand,
As she matches this and that, she stitches strand by strand.
And I long to tell her Life's a quilt and I'm a patch;
Love will do the stitching if she'll only be my match.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Some people weave burlap into the fabric of our lives, and some weave gold thread. Both contribute to make the whole picture beautiful and unique.
Pieces Of Fragile Lace
A spider spins a micro fine thread, her gentle web to weave,
It is with awe, that we behold this art, one can't believe
This work, viewed on a frosty morn, portrays pieces of fragile lace,
How can a tiny creature create these patterns, with silent grace.
She works with great dedication, using skills beyond belief,
Securing her thread to one, and then another sturdy leaf,
Or twig, or gate, or fence, or flower, whatever is to hand,
A magical spun gossamer, her love sealed in every strand.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Experiences Spun Life Defining
no reply no reply I wonder why
decades passing slip slip slipping
time decisions have their way of taking
life demands multiple acts each days making
time decisions choices rivers flow in passing
flow takes away familiar scenes ghosts missing
remember youth friendship faces fate time altering
weave weave weave lives journeys past went spinning
tapestry woven cotton woolen patterns colours flowing
now time binds final cumulative stitches threads integrating
sum total scores of years divides roads fix flying flying flying
numerous countless various loads experiences spun life defining
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Learn to Fly
The entity stands
waitinig, watching
wonders if you know
what to do, how to fly
You learn to live your life
in humans relms of plight
You look upon the stage
and think yes thats the way
But then you begin to see
thats not all there is in life
you need to learn to fly
in the astrial realm up high
It helps you too see
the woven paths we weave
You start to fly, above the clouds
and duck and weave in flight
then with purpose and a smile
you touch those who need your light
Then you teach them how to fly
to follow you on wings
Once flying high you know no bounds
and suddenly your free
The entity just nods and smiles
as you reach out
to all with love
and learn to fly
For all eternity
poem by Kaila George
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Lineage
Oh the tangled web we weave,
we're born, we live and then we leave.
But the web reached out in all directions
and in so doing we made connections.
They each became a grand design
in the life we lived and left behind.
Those we came from never knew
how their genes would later affect you.
Grandfathers, grandmothers and all your kin
are hidden quietly within your skin.
Your family tree is rooted in you.
Its limbs and branches, though not in view
have helped to shape the life you live
and you in turn will silently give
the new ones born into your line
the pattern in the web, a place so fine.
It will grow and spread far and wide
and those who came before and died
will surface in so many different ways.
And their feeling of closeness will fill your days.
Oh the tangled web we weave
is so marvelous I do believe.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Shadowed Life
Winter nights & summer days
A frozen meadow with shallow graves
I sit and grieve on this leather weave
For the great love that once was
We rise and fall like the path of the sun
Six feet up to six feet down
We observe our demise with great surprise
Gone when the sun’s in the west
If we accept death as a better place
And pleasantly live our lives
If in death we move closer to the light
Then why is death a world of shadow
Whether were in a concrete jungle
Or a tree-top city
Life always has an end
And death has no pity
So as I sit and grieve on this leather weave
For all of those who have passed
In a blink I begin to think
That life goes by so fast.
poem by Logan Fulk
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Weave Your Spell
Last night when you spoke to me
Emotion in your voice
You said that you gave to me
A very simple choice
I could leave you ...
And go wandering on my own
Or believe in you ...
Never leave you all alone
Weave your spell for one more day
You enchanted me to stay
When you met me I was wild
"The Spider and the Fly"
Your affections made me smile
I didn't have to try
But then you tamed me...
never blamed me for my pride
And you aimed to ...
Find the real me deep inside
Weave your spell for one more day
You enchanted me to stay
Now I'm feeling like a change
You say that I don't care
But when I look across the way
It's always greener there
If I leave you ...
I may never have the choice
To come back to ...
All the loving that you gave unceasingly
Weave your spell for one more day
You enchanted me to stay
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A life is not sufficiently elevated for poetry, unless, of course, the life has been made into an art.
quote by Mark Strand
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grand-stranding
With little success at hair retention
I've one strand left of small dimension
Scalped this way, I'm not enthralled
One-stranded now, I'm follicle-y bald
It's hair raising to feel alone and bereft
Deserted by all it's brothers who left
This ordeal has the hair standing there pining
Atop my bald scalp, so hairless-ly shining
The lonesome strand just keeps on grieving
Missing its mates, since their mass leaving
So soulful and sad, it can't seem to find
On the scalp of this lad, a hair-piece of mind
My dome once covered with hair-filled density
Has no foreseeable future-tense-ity
For so loyally standing hair-ly at hand
I'll always be grateful to that one last grand strand
poem by Stanley Cooper
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I Rebel
The Norns who weave the tapestry
which rules the fate of mortal men.
Can make mistakes apparently
and some time have to think again.
Though each one blames the other two
and none will admit to their mistake
They have to weave the threads anew.
A lengthy process which can take
almost the life span of a man.
But even Norns are governed by.
The need to heed the master plan,
they have no choice the rules apply
A single thread that’s out of place
can alter mankind’s history.
So they comply with little grace.
What is to be must come to be.
Has man no choice but play the part?
They’ve woven in their tapestry
His path through life right from the start
is fore ordained: no man is free.
The three weird sisters can foresee
future events and bind them fast,
As pictures in their tapestry.
No mortal man can overcast.
The lasting spell the sisters weave.
Although he thinks his will is free.
It matters not what we believe
and therein lies the mystery.
If we believe that this is true.
We are but puppets on a string
and there is little we can do.
To change the slightest little thing.
But I rebel I don’t believe
and make my way as best I can
Accomplish what I can achieve
I am no puppet I’m a man.
22-Sep-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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