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The Spinner
As I calmly sat and span,
Toiling with all zeal,
Lo! a young and handsome man
Pass'd my spinning-wheel.
And he praised,--what harm was there?--
Sweet the things he said--
Praised my flax-resembling hair,
And the even thread.
He with this was not content,
But must needs do more;
And in twain the thread was rent,
Though 'twas safe before.
And the flax's stonelike weight
Needed to be told;
But no longer was its state
Valued as of old.
When I took it to the weaver,
Something felt I start,
And more quickly, as with fever,
Throbb'd my trembling heart.
Then I bear the thread at length
Through the heat, to bleach;
But, alas, I scarce have strength
To the pool to reach.
What I in my little room
Span so fine and slight,--
As was likely. I presume--
Came at last to light.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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God take you, pound (of flax), drunk out and not yet spun.
Don't spare expense on the wheat and the flax.
The girl as she is taught, the flax as it is wrought.
Get thy spindle and thy distaff ready, and God will send flax.
True love burns within the heart, better than flax and straw.
A woman is flax, man is fire, the devil comes and blows the bellows.
Sow fava bean and flax with confidence while you still have a full silo.
Here we grow the flax and grain; here we raise the meat they eat, and the wool to keep them warm; we cut trees to build their houses and firewood to heat their stoves.
quote by Ernest Poole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soweto
Soweto,
'So-we-too'! !
And there came massacre before the end of Apartheid;
But a bruised reed i will not break and,
The smoking flax i will not quench!
And like a mighty man of war,
But peace is needed everywhere on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Invitation
If you are a dreamer, come in
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...
If you're a pretender, come sit by the fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Mindfulness
Somewhere, a Blue Flax cluster blooms.
Their beauty lasts but for a day
Then die in the sun unobserved.
Someplace, an old man lies dying
Alone in the dark with no one
To comfort and pray at his side.
Oftentimes I amble in fields
Searching for this blue wildflower;
And like Meriwether Lewis
I on occasion find the plant;
When I do, I quickly bundle
A large bouquet and head for home.
This time they are for my neighbor:
A man of eighty in poor health.
“Morning neighbor, have you a vase? ”
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Lines on Beachville
Of Beachville, village of the plain,
We now will sing a short refrain,
For here the Thames doth pleasant flow
And charms to landscape doth bestow ;
Though river here it is not deep,
Yet banks slope graceful up the steep
And from the summit of the hills
You look down on the famed lime kilns,
And 'tis full worthy poets rhyme
The whiteness of thy pure fine lime.
Your glory never shall be gone
While you have quarries of this stone ;
In influence you yet will wax
With mills for flour and also flax.
poem by James McIntyre
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The Prayse Of The Needle
To all dispersed sorts of arts and trades
I write the needles prayse (that never fades).
So long as children shall be got or borne,
So long as garments shall be made or worne,
So long as hemp or flax, or sheep shall bear
Their linen woolen fleeces yeare by yeare,
So long as silk-wormes, with exhausted spoile,
Of their own entrails for man's gaine shall toyle,
Yea till the world be quite dissolv'd and past,
So long at least, the needles' use shall last.
poem by John Taylor
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Manuka Waka Migration Journey
flax fibre
twist plait
knot
ropes pull waka
rata season scarlet
letter tui bellbird chant
forest call
dawn chorus
awake spirits
melody songs
kauri earth rooted
sky stand poet
chant flies
spindle poet taxes
starvation soul
screaming write
visions boil in own blood cells
eyes boil flay flesh in vision quests
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Lines on Thamesford
Delivered at Masonic concert, Thamesford-Grand Master
Col. Moffat in the chair.
The middle branch of Thames doth flow
O'er pebble bed, and it doth glow
And sparkle like silver in the sun,
As it through pasture lands doth run.
In dam is ample water stored,
To drive flour mills in Thamesford ;
Besides the power of the stream,
Saw mills and flax are drove by steam.
Our mind it doth with pleasure fill,
To see fine brick church on each hill.
And that substantial one of stone
Owned by congregation of St. John.
poem by James McIntyre
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