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An uneven lot
My hands are uneven;
The one that seeks is long
And the other that lends is short.
My eyes are uneven;
The one for women is wide
And the other for the poor is weak..
My ears are uneven;
The one for applause is sharp
And the other for critics is weak.
My heart too is uneven;
The left half is fat for lust
And the right is thin for concern
.
Everyone has turned like me;
The fabric is loosening
And selfishness brings ruins.
21.06.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Engrossed Grandmother In Her Cross Stitching
it is this absurdity of choosing words
for a nice handiwork
knitting some fairies in some mathematical colors of threads
some butterflies and flowers in bright colors
a painting in cloth and threads
takes time
when she is finally hypnotized
falling into a deep sleep
inside a room
where she is alone on dim light
i open the door
i see the best handiwork of God
a woman so indulged so engrossed
in her art
sleeping.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Engrossed In The Making Of Art
it is this absurdity of choosing words
for a nice handiwork
knitting some fairies in some mathematical colors of threads
some butterflies and flowers in bright colors
a painting in cloth and threads
takes time
when she is finally hypnotized
falling into a deep sleep
inside a room
where she is alone on dim light
i open the door
i see the best handiwork of God
a woman so indulged so engrossed
in her art sleeping.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I don't think I make much of a distinction between the 'real' and the 'fantastic.' They both seem to be threads in the same cloth as far as I'm concerned.
quote by Alice Hoffman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh Those Threads
Oh those threads
beautiful threads
coming together
gold and silver
tears and laughter.
creating a pattern
U and I, fashioning
us.
knotted so closely
refusing to fray
a lovely tapestry
inter-woven over
the years
Oh those threads
beautiful threads
together at last.
poem by Heather Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So Weary And So Dedicated Sleeping
it is this painstaking
choice of words
for a nice handiwork
knitting some fairies
in some
mathematical colors of threads
some butterflies
and flowers in bright colors
using strictly the mandate
of numbers
a painting in cloth and threads
taking her
time
when she is finally
hypnotized
falling into a deep sleep
inside a room
where she is alone
on a dim light
of her loneliness
i open the door
to check on her
i see the handiwork of God
a woman so indulged
so engrossed
in her art
so weary
and dedicated
sleeping.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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the handiwork of God
it is this painstaking
choice of words
for a nice handiwork
knitting some fairies
in some
mathematical colors of threads
some butterflies
and flowers in bright colors
using strictly the mandate
of numbers
a painting in cloth and threads
taking her
time
when she is finally
hypnotized
falling into a deep sleep
inside a room
where she is alone
on a dim light
of her loneliness
i open the door
to check on her
inside the cramped room
i see the handiwork of God
a woman so indulged
so engrossed
in her art
so weary
and dedicated
in passion sleeping.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cloth of Time
The concept of time is
Like a cloth
Waving in the wind.
The wind collides
And bounces,
Causing the cloth to sway.
We are the specks
Of dust
Nestled within
The fibers of time.
This cloth is where
We sleep and wake.
This wind is the result
Of our existence.
When the wind is still
The cloth of time
Hangs
Like a man
Whose time has run out.
poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Floating Feeling
this world is
not a boat at sea
where we
wait for the ports
of our
known destinations
i try sleeping
one day
on the 20th floor
of the hotel
in the city
i feel the floating
distance
above the earth and
the roads
have become simply
threads
of the needle
the world has
become
a cloth where i
embroider
all my longings
for the sky
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Tried To Make Uneven Pieces Fit
Why can't I say I love you?
Without the previews,
That begin with tests to emphasize...
Your specialty is drama.
Why can't you just accept,
How I feel?
Without the need to see,
How deep you perceive...
A reality you can believe,
That you seek from me to reveal?
Both of us have survived,
Other relationships.
Both of us have said we tried,
To make uneven pieces fit.
And cried our eyes,
Until we squinted to see through slits.
Just to prove our cloudless eyes...
Can and did swell up a bit.
Why can't I say I love you?
Without the previews,
That begin with tests to emphasize...
Your specialty is drama.
With your re-enactments staged...
To portray the wounding done,
And suffered...
By a recovering ingénue?
Accompanied by sobbing...
To express,
'No one really knows what I've gone through? '
I do!
But I am not commited,
To revisit those scenes with you.
With those props to stop a heart,
In mid beat!
Poetically,
I can understand this.
A psychologist,
I am not.
I love you,
Not your past agonies.
I want to establish a future with you!
But I will not sit and applaud,
Every detail of your healing process.
With an ovation that would please.
I have reason,
If I wanted to...
To express my own sorrows.
But why should I invest our happiness,
Together we can get...
With the borrowing of that kind of time?
The past ideals are pushed out of mind.
We tried...
To make uneven pieces fit.
We tried it,
To make uneven pieces fit.
We tried...
To make uneven pieces fit.
We tried it,
To make uneven pieces fit.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The conclusion you can draw from these characteristics is that you have an uneven development of class activity and an uneven development of class consciousness in the working class.
quote by Ernest Mandel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Widow McFarlane
I was the Widow McFarlane,
Weaver of carpets for all the village.
And I pity you still at the loom of life,
You who are singing to the shuttle
And lovingly watching the work of your hands,
If you reach the day of hate, of terrible truth.
For the cloth of life is woven, you know,
To a pattern hidden under the loom i
A pattern you never see!
And you weave high-hearted, singing, singing,
You guard the threads of love and friendship
For noble figures in gold and purple.
And long after other eyes can see
You have woven a moon-white strip of cloth,
You laugh in your strength, for Hope o'erlays it
With shapes of love and beauty.
The loom stops short! The pattern's out!
You're alone in the room! You have woven a shroud!
And hate of it lays you in it!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Unmoved
i wish i am an object
unmoved by uneven
unequal forces,
i wish i stay as cold
as ice
i wish the night keeps
the darkness
the moon still full
i wish that we be
together
a little longer
that when we part
i shall be unmoved by
sorrow
and that loneliness
this uneven force
within
unequal to my
state
my heart now cold as
ice
i wish there is no sun
no light
no warmth to melt these
feelings away
i wish time to freeze
when you are
inside my arms
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mellowing Down
mellowing down
with age
you are ripe
for this surprise
you prefer
now a boat
docked on
the shore
you like the
hammock
made of
soft threads
whiter
cloth
you do not
like a boat
sailing on
a stormy sea
too unlikely
of you
as a man
known for
his restlessness
you dream
of this purple lotus
growing
right there in your
lap
you dream of
a man putting
all his books
in one sack
how can i ask
what all these
signs mean?
with due respect
i shall take too
my last dip
in the sea of life
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Parents are like shuttles on a loom. They join the threads of the past with threads of the future and leave their own bright patterns as they go.
quote by Fred Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Burattino senza fili
Puppet without strings
Behind scene's linen cloth, wake of lonely mind,
your eye lids - a clothe plain, a drag by threads,
you hang, awkward dance at a buffoon's command,
Mondays of a life unsolved, to Sunday's dim end.
(Shut eye lids and time still, you live together,
you saw her in a chapel of wood, you on her side,
church bells rung and lemon blooms, on combed hair,
an oath taken to live with it, and dance in mind..)
Like in a shadow theater, forgot your role soon,
a clumpy figure under lids, you loved too much,
a figure surd is jumping up, upon a weave of loom,
to awake in aura lost, of puppet smiles and touch.
And jump-u-up, hop-hop, your-legs spasmodically,
the two of you behind lids, a cardboard foolish fair,
a shadow live theater, to jump hop-dance of tally,
unfurled cartoon hero you are, where her eyes stare..
Hero of shadows on foolish cloth, way high to jump,
and wooden laugh! If you could be for her, a kite..
your eye-lids and stage-cloth, a shadow loss to hunt,
outside of it, your flying cry, on corny yellow light..
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Art of Cloth
From fiber, to spinning wheel
From thread, to weaving mill
From textile, to sewing machine
Cloth is continuous ceremony
Whether knitting, whether embroider
Whether patchwork, whether bead work
The beautiful batik, the intricate songket
Cloth is concentration lesson
The strata symbol, the politeness norm
The body art, the cover part
Wedding dress, black tie suit
Cloth is human civilization
From skin, to fabric
From corset, to mini skirt
From blue jeans, to legging
Cloth is history record
Classic style, replied fashion
Color play, motif trend
Mismatch mode, big bang accessories
Cloth is social adaptation
Conservative nerd, ethnic vintage
Religion veil, punk rebel
Costume play, Gothic Lolita
Cloth is identity crisis
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Spinning Threads
Spin the threads of
life
creating a golden
tapestry.
Weave together love
and memories,
how it was yesterday.
Being woven together
on the loom of life.
Spin threads of gold
and silver,
to make a tapestry
of delight.
Spin the threads of
gold,
spin the events of
life.
poem by Heather Burns
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Ball Bearing (Two)
Beauty and wonder
In opposites
And uneven things lie
The warmonger
Applies force and fight
To make things even and flat
In monotony
The diversity cries
The thorns and the counter force
When you oppose
They will give you
More pains and sorrows
High or low
Odd or uneven
I start a smooth ride
Journey is a joy and fun
Tensions and troubles
I release
When I apply oil and grease
Free from all the sufferings
Now I am a beautiful box of ball and bearing
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Racism man wearing white
No stop pushing me becos
of the colour of my cloth
if nothing is done my cloth
will torn
i cann't put on white to please
you
my cloth is n't white
so leave me with my
own colour
if you do n't leave me alone
i will be force to shout
for help and if nobody help
i will be force to fight
and if i fight i will fight
to the last
so stop this racism of white
and black cloth.
poem by Senator alufalism
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