He who is false to the present duty breaks a thread in the loom, and you will see the effect when the weaving of a life-time is unraveled.
quote by William Ellery Channing
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Loom of Dreams
I broider the world upon a loom,
I broider with dreams my tapestry;
Here in a little lonely room
I am master of earth and sea,
And the planets come to me.
I broider my life into the frame,
I broider my love, thread upon thread;
The world goes by with its glory and shame,
Crowns are bartered and blood is shed;
I sit and broider my dreams instead.
And the only world is the world of my dreams,
And my weaving the only happiness;
For what is the world but what it seems?
And who knows but that God, beyond our guess,
Sits weaving worlds out of loneliness?
poem by Arthur Symons
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We sleep, but the loom of life never stops, and the pattern which was weaving when the sun went down is weaving when it comes up in the morning.
quote by Henry Ward Beecher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Courage, Honor, Duty.
Courage is a big word, but not many have that,
Falling apart, full of fear for everything, never became a true diplomat.
Courage is when you face your daily life happily
Enthusiasm, never blame, in calm & peace all the time, not just for temporarily.
Honor is when you learn to have a good manner
Never become a rude gabbler
Honor yourself & others no matter what,
From the heart, never a false performer with a short cut.
Duty is when whatever you do you do it well,
Everything is for your own satisfaction, not for show up, I can tell.
Duty gives you purpose in your life,
With long, healthy & happy feelings, without any strife.
Courage, Honor and Duty what the military is teaching,
Which is a perfect idea for everybody who are living.
If you can adopt these for all the time
Your life will turn into a lovely rhyme.
poem by LaSoaphia QuXazs
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Intangible Tigers
There's a moral in this: tho' I own that the preaching
Of moral and maxim in season and out
Grows stale; yet these days of depressions far-reaching
Demand any means to put worry to rout.
So in that menagerie now populated
By home-coming chickens and wolves upon mats
Consider, when finally doubt's dissipated
How often our tigers turn out to be cats.
Three-fourths of our troubles some Frenchman has told us,
But seldom occur. Tho' the ills of the mind
Loom forth as fierce tigers while doubts yet unfold us,
They turn into cats once we've put them behind.
How often the dread of some darkened tomorrow
Has ruined today; till, at Time's urgent call,
Tomorrow's false fears become yester's small sorrow
Innocuous cats, and not tigers at all.
So, here is the moral - just take it or leave it.
It doesn't much matter, you'll scorn it, no doubt.
Yet here is a truth and, if men don't receive it
I've still done my duty in pointing it out.
False troubles, false tigers engender false fearing;
So use the grey matter close under your hat
And, as you fare forth thro' life's dark forests peering,
Go armed against tigers - but still expect cats.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Old Army Blanket
Coarse and ruff quite often thread bare
The soldier did not seem to care
Let the enemy try to take if he dare;
Coarse and ruff quite often thread bare
Driving rain or snow wearing his blanket
Coarse and ruff quite often thread bare.
Being a soldier he could expect no better fare,
Coarse and ruff, quite often thread bare
His fight done, read over with a prayer
Wrapped in the old grey Army blanket
Coarse and ruff quite often thread bare.
He did his duty few could compare,
Coarse and ruff, quite often thread bare
poem by Derrick Fernie
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Unraveled
(instrumental intro)
Yes she will be beautiful
And you will be vain
When the honeymoon is over
She will suck out your brain
Give me back my life
Give me back my call
Simply set me free
Stop banging my head on the wall
Put a black hat on me
Take out a voodoo bone
And the scars across my ceiling
They paint a picture to the great unknown
Im coming unraveled
Spinning out of control
Becoming unstable
Its taking its toll
And the lamps keeps sliding
Across the kitchen floor
And theres something to remember
Is this the life of a cross-cut saw
And Im coming unraveled
Spinning out of control
Im becoming unstable
Im still paying the toll
Great expectations will have a glitch
Searching for power, may kill the bitch
Theater of pain
Love or lust in vain
Unraveled again!
Give me back my life,
Give me back my call
Simply set me free,
Stop banging my head on the wall
She will be beautiful,
And you will be vain
When the honeymoon is over,
She will suck out your brain
Im coming unraveled,
Spinning out of control
Im becoming unstable,
And I cant, I cant let go
(instrumental)
Coming unraveled,
Spinning out of control
Becoming unstable
Nobody, nobody knows
Im coming unraveled,
Spinning out of control
Becoming unstable,
I cant, I cant let go
(instrumental and vocals fade out)
song performed by by Ufo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Road Less Traveled
(Buddy Brock/Dean Dillion)
There's a road a winding road that never ends
Full of curves lessons learned at every bend
Goin's rough unlike the straight and narrow
It's for those who go against the grain
Have no fear dare to dream of a change live to march to the beat of a
different drummer
And it all might come together
And it all might unraveled
On the road less traveled
For the road less traveled ain't for the faint of heart
For those who choose to play it safe and never stray too far
Me I want to live my life and one day leave my mark
And it all might come together
And it all come unraveled
On the road less traveled
I've chosen a pathway I may not endure
One thing's for certain nothing for sure
And it all might come together
And it all might come unraveled
On the road less traveled
For the road less traveled ain't for the faint of heart
For those who choose to play it safe and never stray too far
Me I want to live my life and one day leave my mark
And it all might come together
And it all come unraveled
On the road less traveled
There's a road winding road that never ends
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Life
I would really like to know you better
But sometimes Im afraid that its not meant to be
I would like to believe in something higher
But I cant get a grip on all the little things
When the night comes I cannot sit still you see
And the years they have not been so kind to me
Got a gallery of figures standing all in a row
And every single figure has a soul of its own
But I never look back
Never look back
Dont turn your back on me
(chorus)
(hey yeah) my life has come unraveled again
Like so many threads
(hey yeah) my life has begun unfolding
In so many pieces
(hey yeah) my life has come unraveled again like
So many threads in the wind - drift away - drift away
Theres a time and a place
For understanding
And a time when action speaks louder than words
And I dont seem to get no indications
And I dont know how to get through to you
And when time like the pyramids
Has worn away
All the mountains and the valleys
Of the words that we say
We have got to make sure that something remains
If we lose each other weve got no one to blame
So never look back
Never look back
Dont turn your back on me
(chorus)
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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America is false to the past, false to the present, and solemnly binds herself to be false to the future.
quote by Frederick Douglass
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cold Effect
Snow falling
Sounds sounding
Moments travelling
Back from the past
Now your present
Or so you wish.
Secrets whispering
In your ear
Luring you in
Luring you back
Making you wish
Your present is past
Your past is present.
Snow falling
An effect of the cold
The cold effect
Affecting you
And your world.
It traps you
To stay warm
To find comfort
From the cups of tea
Mugs of hot chocolate
To guard you
To keep you.
poem by Thamer Mager
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At Ithaca
Over and back,
the long waves crawl
and track the sand with foam;
night darkens, and the sea
takes on that desperate tone
of dark that wives put on
when all their love is done.
Over and back,
the tangled thread falls slack,
over and up and on;
over and all is sewn;
now while I bind the end,
I wish some fiery friend
would sweep impetuously
these fingers from the loom.
My weary thoughts
play traitor to my soul,
just as the toil is over;
swift while the woof is whole,
turn now, my spirit, swift,
and tear the pattern there,
the flowers so deftly wrought,
the borders of sea blue,
the sea-blue coast of home.
The web was over-fair,
that web of pictures there,
enchantments that I thought
he had, that I had lost;
weaving his happiness
within the stitching frame,
weaving his fire and frame,
I thought my work was done,
I prayed that only one
of those that I had spurned
might stoop and conquer this
long waiting with a kiss.
But each time that I see
my work so beautifully
inwoven and would keep
the picture and the whole,
Athene steels my soul.
Slanting across my brain,
I see as shafts of rain
his chariot and his shafts,
I see the arrows fall,
I see the lord who moves
like Hector lord of love,
I see him matched with fair
bright rivals, and I see
those lesser rivals flee.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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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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Lady On The Loom!
In the old folk lore, at her loom the old lady in the sky,
Spins dreams and wisps of clouds in the blink of an eye,
One of them could have been mine,
Not to believe in anything is no longer a comfort but a whine.
The warp- the foundation thread stretches, languidly lengthwise on the loom,
While the weft thread entwines in the arms of the warp,
for different types of cloths allowing room,
The trees chastised by the wind gather strength, so is the warp beaten.
To analyze the relation of line to line, that stretches from skyline to horizon
Without considering the texture, is an artistic affection,
Now place line on line braid the textures of the fecund threatening clouds,
Where necessary interlace with the Seraphic cross-sectional symbols,
Brilliant Sun, honeyed Moon, the burst of stars, under it let the flowers assemble,
Kill that moment there & postpone the problem of the next,
Let’s run from tree to tree, till the last hard veer from each other, so dressed.
That step, the binding thread from sensualism to irrevocable cynicism binds us together,
A piece of disjunctivity—where form, matter &texture hadn’t coincided.
Like two trucks entering one lane junction at the same time,
Stakes are high, but never has one collided.
The butterfly shuttle hovers, with it’s colors weft thread rescues, with a purpose
Finally under the blue skies, the cloth is spun; let’s together lie down in it once again,
Thus the old lady shall dispose.
Seema. Joglekar
26September-2009
poem by Seema joglekar
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Circe's Grief
In the end, I made myself
Known to your wife as
A god would, in her own house, in
Ithaca, a voice
Without a body: she
Paused in her weaving, her head turning
First to the right, then left
Though it was hopeless of course
To trace that sound to any
Objective source: I doubt
She will return to her loom
With what she knows now. When
You see her again, tell her
This is how a god says goodbye:
If I am in her head forever
I am in your life forever.
poem by Louise Gluck
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False Bay (Collins sestet)
(after Matthew Arnold)
Tonight over the sea there are small lights,
Cape Town against Table Mountain lying bright
where it is flat against the evening sky
and in the distance a liner passes by
while the surging spray breaks over False Bay,
forevermore on Africa waves toss and play.
The stream of life did into the sea go
with joy, grace and hope in its ebb and flow
but debris, broken pieces are washed ashore
with pollution caught in the breaking roar
while the surging spray breaks over False Bay,
forevermore on Africa waves toss and play.
Stars sparkle and the light wind furls through your hair
while on the beach we are the only pair
and you swear to be true eternally,
a bright beacon in the darkness we see
while the surging spray breaks over False Bay,
forevermore on Africa waves toss and play.
[Reference: “Dover Beach” by Matthew Arnold.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Special Act
Zoo and zoom,
With a special act to put at stake;
And like th elight of th emoon on the loom!
But the flower of the fairies abounds in your muse.
Hope, life, love and depression;
Wake up from your loneliness and jkeep upfront,
And like a line to the loom but never to the moon!
Loom, room, boom, zoom, doom;
Get a professional act in the form of your act,
And like the simplicity of the essence of a micro-lightening.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The long time to come when I shall not exist has more effect on me than this short present time, which nevertheless seems endless.
quote by Marcus Tullius Cicero
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weaver's loom
There is no any special magic.
The weaver used the same thread and the shuttle.
Perhaps the loom is different?
but the usual fading cloth he made.
Life is a jigsaw puzzle
you have to take part
until he prescribes the bitter (sugar-coated) pill.
Dedication to the poetess Adrienne. Alicia. Aversa
theme extracted from your biography..............................
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Single Thread
Life is but a single thread
that stretches into infinity.
If the thread is ever broken
life then drifts away,
lost to the eons of eternal night.
There is no mending the thread
that is once severed,
no going back to recover.
Gone forever the control
it drifts endlessly away
into a greater light
than the one we know.
26 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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