He for himself weaves woe who weaves for others woe, and evil counsel on the counselor recoils.
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Bu$hleaguer
How does he do it? How do they do it? Uncanny and immutable.
This is such a happening tailpipe of a party.
Like sugar, the guests are so refined.
A confidence man but why so beleagued?
He's not a leader he's a Texas leaguer.
Swinging for the fence. Got lucky with a strike.
Drilling for fear makes the job simple.
Born on third. Thinks he got a triple.
Blackout weaves its way through the cities.
Blackout weaves its way through the cities.
Blackout weaves its way.
I remember when you sang that song about today.
Now it's tomorrow and everything has changed.
A think tank of aloof multiplication.
A nicotine wish and a columbus decanter.
Retrenchment and hoggishness.
The aristocrat choir sings, "What's the ruckus?"
The haves have not a clue.
The immenseness of suffering.
And the odd negotiation. A rarity.
With onionskin plausibility of life.
And a keyboard reaffirmation.
Blackout weaves its way through the cities.
Blackout weaves its way through the cities.
Blackout weaves its way.
I remember when you sang that song about today.
Now it's tomorrow and everything has changed.
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Motto
From your 'sotto voco',
From your lotto,
From your motto! !
And with four bedrooms to crown the day;
But your lover is in 'Hotel St. James'.
The different shades of blue,
From the heat weaves and the beat-weaves!
And like the movie industry around you;
But, it will take a longer time for you to be like me.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Bat
IN broad daylight
He should not be:
Yet toward and froward,
Froward and toward
He weaves a flight.
Who will guide him back to his cave,
A little Bat astray,
Where he'll rest on the breast of night,
Away from day's bright miscreation?
The linnet throbs through the air,
The magpie coquettes with day,
The rook caws 'Time to be gone,'
And travels on;
While toward and froward,
Froward and toward,
The Bat ... a fathom
Of flight . . . weaves.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Zorah
An Arab beats upon a kettle drum,
And tuneless is the wailing of the flutes
As on the sands a slavegirl executes
Her dance of wantonwild delirium;
Her body swaying like a pendulum
Backwards and forwards, while in evolutes
She weaves and weaves before fierce pagan brutes
Who gaze at her in wonder that is dumb.
I look upon her limbs bronzed by the sun,
And see within her eyes strange caravans,
Marching all day across blank desert lands,
Until they come at night to where in rings
The Nomad fires glimmer, one by one,
around the tombs of longforgotten kings.
poem by Harry Crosby
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Love The Lie
He weaves tales
Of love and romance
But his own heart
Is broken
And lost
No luminescent
In his black
Lifeless eyes
Could love no more
Then the love
Reaper took from him
So he told himself this
I will be alone
Till death take me
To presence
Of my parted truth
But his heart has healed
And he refuses to believe
That once again
His heart chose
His path
So he weaves his tales
Of love and romance
To hide from his
Bleeding heart
And realize
He has begun to love the lie
poem by Eric Andrew James
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21st September 1870
Speak low, speak little; who may sing
While yonder cannon-thunders boom?
Watch, shuddering, what each day may bring:
Nor 'pipe amid the crack of doom.'
And yet-the pines sing overhead,
The robins by the alder-pool,
The bees about the garden-bed,
The children dancing home from school.
And ever at the loom of Birth
The mighty Mother weaves and sings:
She weaves-fresh robes for mangled earth;
She sings-fresh hopes for desperate things.
And thou, too: if through Nature's calm
Some strain of music touch thine ears,
Accept and share that soothing balm,
And sing, though choked with pitying tears.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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The fabric of existence weaves itself whole.
quote by Charles Ives
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Posterity weaves no garlands for imitators.
quote by Friedrich Schiller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mighty Must
Come mighty Must!
Inevitable Shall!
In thee I trust.
Time weaves my coronal!
Go mocking Is!
Go disappointing Was!
That I am this
Ye are the cursed cause!
Yet humble Second shall be First,
I ween;
And dead and buried be the curst
Has Been!
Oh weak Might Be!
Oh May, Might, Could, Would, Should!
How powerless ye
For evil or for good!
In every sense
Your moods I cheerless call,
Whate'er your tense
Ye are Imperfect, all!
Ye have deceived the trust I've shown
In ye!
Away! The Mighty Must alone
Shall be!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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The Loom of Years
In the light of the silent stars that shine on the struggling sea,
In the weary cry of the wind and the whisper of flower and tree,
Under the breath of laughter, deep in the tide of tears,
I hear the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
The leaves of the winter wither and sink in the forest mould
To colour the flowers of April with purple and white and gold:
Light and scent and music die and are born again
In the heart of a grey-haired woman who wakes in a world of pain.
The hound, the fawn, and the hawk, and the doves that croon and coo,
We are all one woof of the weaving and the one warp threads us through,
One flying cloud on the shuttle that carries our hopes and fears
As it goes thro’ the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
The green uncrumpling fern and the rustling dewdrenched rose
Pass with our hearts to the Silence where the wings of music close,
Pass and pass to the Timeless that never a moment mars,
Pass and pass to the Darkness that made the suns and stars.
Has the soul gone out in the Darkness? Is the dust sealed from sight?
Ah, hush, for the woof of the ages returns thro’ the warp of the night!
Never that shuttle loses one thread of our hopes and fears,
As it comes thro’ the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
O, woven in one wide Loom thro’ the throbbing weft of the whole,
One in spirit and flesh, one in body and soul,
Tho’ the leaf were alone in its falling, the bird in its hour to die,
The heart in its muffled anguish, the sea in its mournful cry,
One with the flower of a day, one with the withered moon
One with the granite mountains that melt into the noon
One with the dream that triumphs beyond the light of the spheres,
We come from the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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A Loom of Years
In the light of the silent stars that shine on the struggling sea,
In the weary cry of the wind and the whisper of flower and tree,
Under the breath of laughter, deep in the tide of tears,
I hear the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
The leaves of the winter wither and sink in the forest mould
To colour the flowers of April with purple and white and gold:
Light and scent and music die and are born again
In the heart of a grey-haired woman who wakes in a world of pain.
The hound, the fawn, and the hawk, and the doves that croon and coo,
We are all one woof of the weaving and the one warp threads us through,
One flying cloud on the shuttle that carries our hopes and fears
As it goes thro’ the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
The green uncrumpling fern and the rustling dewdrenched rose
Pass with our hearts to the Silence where the wings of music close,
Pass and pass to the Timeless that never a moment mars,
Pass and pass to the Darkness that made the suns and stars.
Has the soul gone out in the Darkness? Is the dust sealed from sight?
Ah, hush, for the woof of the ages returns thro’ the warp of the night!
Never that shuttle loses one thread of our hopes and fears,
As it comes thro’ the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
O, woven in one wide Loom thro’ the throbbing weft of the whole,
One in spirit and flesh, one in body and soul,
Tho’ the leaf were alone in its falling, the bird in its hour to die,
The heart in its muffled anguish, the sea in its mournful cry,
One with the flower of a day, one with the withered moon
One with the granite mountains that melt into the noon
One with the dream that triumphs beyond the light of the spheres,
We come from the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Vietnamese Hat...
from dried buri palms
she weaves the Vietnamese hat
all for aesthetics
her soft hands make it
despite the hot day
the hat is only for the pompous display...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A flimsy cobweb
I see a spider weaves its tiny network in between the twigs in the garden.
And I thought If I am an insect,
Then I could have rush into your mesh
And swing until a twilight sleep.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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When One Weaves A Web
When one weaves a web,
It is recommended...
There is a planned exit to take.
Because the weaving of them,
Is difficult to defend...
If one is caught,
And observed in the middle.
To then deny any involvement in its making.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Silkworm
The beams of April, ere it goes,
A worm, scarce visible, disclose;
All winter long content to dwell
The tenant of his native shell.
The same prolific season gives
The sustenance by which he lives,
The mulberry leaf, a simple store,
That serves him—till he needs no more!
For, his dimensions once complete,
Thenceforth none ever sees him eat;
Though till his growing time be past
Scarce ever is he seen to fast.
That hour arrived, his work begins.
He spins and weaves, and weaves and spins;
Till circle upon circle, wound
Careless around him and around,
Conceals him with a veil, though slight,
Impervious to the keenest sight.
Thus self-enclosed, as in a cask,
At length he finishes his task;
And, though a worm when he was lost,
Or caterpillar at the most,
When next we see him, wings he wears,
And in papilio pomp appears;
Becomes oviparous; supplies
With future worms and future flies
The next ensuing year—and dies!
Well were it for the world, if all
Who creep about this earthly ball,
Though shorter-lived than most he be,
Were useful in their kind as he.
poem by William Cowper
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The man who does evil to another does evil to himself, and the evil counsel is most evil for him who counsels it.
A dewy tear on a Cobweb
A lonely spider thinks early in the morning
This could be a teardropp from the waning Moon
Who hides with the fear from the sparkle Sun.
He weaves the old web stronger than earlier
As a suspicion of her gatecrash.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Keep Some Space
Work but worry less
Keep in your heart some space
For things like a different day
To see the pranks clouds play
Film of haze the mist weaves
Trail of light the dusk leaves!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Myriad Shades Of Green
The forest weaves
myriad green shades
from lime and olive
to kelly green and jade
as it keeps on knitting
its cooling shade
poem by Saiom Shriver
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