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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Related quotes
Unique Tapestries
A beautiful jersey with a cable pattern illustrating Many
Worlds Theory by weaving infinite threads of parallel
alternative events into cables spiralling rhythmically
in colour, sound and form
Evoking feeling and emotion, influencing choices which
change the future and past, creating unique tapestries on
the loom of the gods, threads made up of consciousness
shimmering in and out of existence
History is not an unfolding of preset events, but it is shaped
by every thought, plan, desire, wish, vision and dream; every
pattern is formed by free innovation, the alternative universes
of possible choices
Create the time-loop cables in reality’s tapestry, threads fork
innumerable times before converging again to continue the
enchanting patterns that keep gods and men staring
at the infinite possibility of probabilities…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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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
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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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To Be Home Again
Oh!
To return to those precious
moments,
Where little people dance
inside the ring.
we stroll in the meadow,
stop and refresh ourselves
Lauralee is weaving a lovely
tapestry,
threads of gold and silver,
woven so closely together,
Papa is gathering threads
for her loom.
In the distance a beautiful
flower appears,
I hear a faint song, yet so
familiar,
sitting on his favorite petal,
my fairy man,
It's so good to be home again.
poem by Heather Burns
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The future is a hundred thousand threads, but the past is a fabric that can never be rewoven.
Orson Scott Card in Xenocide
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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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
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Nature uses only the longest threads to weave her patterns, so that each small piece of her fabric reveals the organization of the entire tapestry.
quote by Richard P. Feynman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetics
Some from within some from without
without a doubt flow true
as soul-song spins tale which begins
to glow, then grows anew.
Through weaving in and weeding out -
touch intuitions cue -
from phases past fair phrases spin
through threads which more threads brew.
Thus in and out and round about
rhyme climbs as curlicue
expands ideas, wins interest in
both content, form, will woo
the readers who fresh insights scout
both options chosen, those fates glue,
into life's sins, its losses, wins,
would revelation view.
© Jonathan Robin – robi3_0778 written 30 March 2005 revised 20070619 and 20081112 for previous version see below
Poetics
Some from within some from without
without a doubt flow true
as soul-song spins tale which begins
to grow, and then glows too
through weaving in and weeding out -
touch intuitions know
from phases past so phrases last
through threads which more threads sow...
© Jonathan Robin – written 30 March 2005
poem by Jonathan Robin
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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
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Spinning
Like a blind spinner in the sun,
I tread my days;
I know that all the threads will run
Appointed ways;
I know each day will bring its task,
And, being blind, no more I ask.
I do not know the use or name
Of that I spin:
I only know that some one came,
And laid within
My hand the thread, and said, 'Since you
Are blind, but one thing you can do.'
Sometimes the threads so rough and fast
And tangled fly,
I know wild storms are sweeping past,
And fear that I
Shall fall; but dare not try to find
A safer place, since I am blind.
I know not why, but I am sure
That tint and place,
In some great fabric to endure
Past time and race,
My threads will have; so from the first,
Though blind, I never felt accurst.
I think, perhaps. this trust has sprung
From one short word
Said over me when I was young,--
So young, I heard
It, knowing not that God's name signed
My brow, and sealed me His, though blind.
But whether this be seal or sign
Within, without,
It matters not. The bond divine
I never doubt.
I know He set me here, and still,
And glad, and blind, I wait His will;
But listen, listen, day by day,
To hear their tread
Who bear the finished web away,
And cut the thread,
And bring God's message in the sun,
'Thou poor blind spinner, work is done.'
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Ars Poetica
Some from within, some from without,
without a doubt set to,
as soul-song spins tale which begins
to flow, grow, glow. Thereto
through weaving in and weeding out
touch base with Nature, cue
time, place, as twins defeat and wins
ignored are through and through.
No need to shout, run roundabout,
use artificial glue,
scribe’s violin tunes, underpins,
technique as heart rings true.
Sensations scout, don’t beat about
the bush, tout false virtue,
The poet’s string must second skin
become, ne’er dumb, askew.
Words work their way by night and day
from phases past, to light
through threads at play that more threads lay,
reeled phrases feed fresh flight.
(30 March 2005 revised 9 June 2007 and 1 February 2012)
robi03_1128_robi03_0000 XXX_IXX
see below for previous version entitled Poetics
Poetics
Some from within some from without
without a doubt flow true
as soul-song spins tale which begins
to grow, and then glows too
through weaving in and weeding out -
touch intuitions know
from phases past so phrases last
through threads which more threads sow...
(30 March 2005)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Golden Threads
Golden threads inter-woven,
Comforter in disguise,
From a thread, emerges a
pattern,
Friendship to materialize,
Ever exploring, then deciding.
Disappointed, then surprised.
Golden threads refuse to sever,
Ore the years with patience
tied.
poem by Heather Burns
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Threads Of Truth
Threads what are gossamer threads of truth?
Where do they lead among all those entangled byways?
Who can separate all the knots all the strings
to find that one straight path to an elusive absolute truth?
Is there ever only one ultimate truth that outshines
all others amist the crowds of unending misconceptions?
Does God ever leave a thread of truth that might
speak for him as a guiding symbol of absolute fact?
A thread that represents his divine absolute authority?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Threads
The threads are collected, my art is this,
For the beating of our brain.
I hastily chase the boxes of string
To finally attach these threads,
They are harming my head,
But the problems are getting solved.
The hassle is enormous and banned by most,
But my stringing is the one solution.
They are normally quiet, sounds are collected,
But the threading is managed by me.
poem by Naveed Akram
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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
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I Write About
Fairy tales
golden rings
silver threads
magic things
life and such
all the hush
smiles and tears
o'er the years
spinning dreams
weaving threads
gold and silver
in my head
life's tapestry
sweet and true
threading a
needle with you
poem by Heather Burns
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Ay, ay, ay, the lilies of the garden
Ay, ay, ay, the lilies of the garden
With red threads binding them and stars about,
These shall be her symbols, for she is high and holy,
Holy in her maidenhood and very full of doubt.
Ay, ay, ay, for she is very girlish
Fearful her heart's lilies should be stained by sin.
Yet will I bind them with rosy threads of passion.
Surely human passion has a right to enter in.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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A Haberdasher's whereabouts
The lonesome bachelor stuck in his small boutique
among the needles, threads, thimbles and etc.
The nearby widowed seamstress who comes there frequently for different yarns and materials.
It's a rainy day and she has forgotten to bring her umbrella and borrowed his one.
He said ' Please do not bother Madam I'll collect it when I pass your place one day.'
'Certainly, then I could give you the embroidery which I finished last night' she replied.
*Needles and threads are always friends. Isn't it?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Patterns
Patterns all around you
Patterns everywhere
Patterns of behavior
Sometimes seem unfair
Can you recognize the patterns that you find?
Patterns unfamiliar
Patterns lead you through (to)
Patterns of discovery
Tracing out the clues
Can you recognize the patterns that you find?
Stuck in your mind
In this land where stability is hard to find
You can rearrange the patterns so unkind
Dont bother asking why a pattern never cries
Old patterns never die they just go on and on
Patterns multiplying
Re-direct our view
Endless variations
Make it all seem new
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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