America is not a blanket woven from one thread, one color, one cloth.
quote by Jesse Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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America is not like a blanket -- one piece of unbroken cloth, the same color, the same texture, the same size. America is more like a quilt -- many patches, many pieces, many colors, many sizes, all woven and held together by a common thread.
quote by Henry M. Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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America is not like a blanket-one piece of unbroken cloth, the same color, the same texture, the same size. America is more like a quilt-many patches, many pieces, many colors, many sizes, all woven and held together by a common thread.
quote by Jesse Louis Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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Do not leave me
Do not leave me in this world without you.
You are woven through the fabric of my life.
If you abandon me I will unravel
slowly,
thread
by thread,
until I am nothing but holes.
How then will I continue when so much of me is missing?
poem by Diana Rosser
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America
(Francis Scott Key)
Oh, say, can you see
By the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed
At the twilight's last gleaming
Whose broad stripes and bright stars
Through the perilous fight
O'er the ramparts we watched were so
Gallantly streaming?
America, America, America
America, America, America
And the rocket's red glare
The bombs bursting in air
Gave proof through the night
That our flag was still there
Oh, say, does that star
Spangled banner yet wave
Over the land of the free
And the home of the brave!
America, America, America
America, America, America
America, America, America
America, America, America
America, America, America
America, America
ooohhh
song performed by by Lou Reed
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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Red Is The Color I See
Red Is the Color I See
Red is the only color she can see
Dripping from the sky sliding from the trees
Red is the only color she sees
From the blink of an eye to a dropp of a penny
Red is the only color she sees
From the pain exploding within
To the drink being mixed with vodka or Gin
Red Is the Color Hanging On the Walls
Crawling on the floor and sliding down the halls
Red it the blanket that covers her a night
The color that hugs her skin so tight
Red is the Color that whispers death
That suck up the air and your last breathe
Red is the color tell her it will be ok
Just lay down close your eyes and pray
Red is the color that didn't make it through the night
Eyes closed no more memories in sight
Red it the color that hung on the knife
Gone was a life
No a breathe or a blink
The knife now lies in the sink.
poem by Jamelia Lane
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Daydream
A glimmer of sunlight on a silken cloth.
A snowflake that blankets a rose,
the call of the wild in echoing ears,
and the velvet of a soft woven robe.
Time before pity when nature drew course.
A stream of consciousness
that young lovers only know.
Back to the innocence of a small babe,
whose home was a blanket of straw.
Back to a world without complications,
where life was gentle and serene.
poem by David Harris
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Every Man (And Woman)
if every man in America
could reach his own member
with his own mouth,
we wouldnt have a problem
with gay rights!
if every man and woman
in America knew they were
as responsible for their thoughts
as for their actions...
we'd all be on death row!
if every man and woman
in America spent as much time
trying to help their neighbors
as they spend trying to get ahead...
we'd all be taken care of!
if every man and woman
in America were color blind,
we'd have equality!
if every man and woman
in America were honest with
themselves, we'd have justice.
if every man and woman
in America got off their but
and on their feet
we could do something
about this mess!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Color Me
I wish that they would color me
The color of the rose
The color of the spring
Or the color of the snow.
If again they’d color me
The color that I would be
Would be the color I could see
As long as I am free.
As I wish that they would color me
The color of the trees
Or the color of the leaves
And then that color I would be.
I wish that I was a rainbow
With the many colors of the sky
Or the single color of a star
Shimmering in the night.
And if again they would color me
The color that I would be
Would be the color that is me
Is the color that I could see.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Atomic Insanity Bomb
America, we're drained of enthusiasm for you
America, why this meaningless war?
America, you are no longer beautiful
America, when will you see the light?
When will you call peace and dance and sing
When will you look in the mirror
and see the menace you have become?
When will you read the philosophies of God
that say Thou Shalt Not Kill?
America, when will you open your eyes?
America, why do you dye the shores red?
Why are the guns loaded with skulls?
Why do you leave your brothers behind
To charge bull-like at a cloth too large for you?
America, why are you putting a gun to your head?
America, stop killing me I'm not
Innocent, not Guilty
AMERICA STOP PUSHING!
America don't liberate me I'm already independent.
America I refuse to give up my rights
I refuse to give up others' rights
America don't reject your own
America the HATE is growing
They're rising up growing
America, let the prisoners go
The scholars of war in peace in hate in freedom
The Ginsbergs and Kerouacs and Dickesons and Whitmans
Of generations past
Free the ones whose philosophies peace it together
America your war is at home
America what is your motto?
Mission is not accomplished
It has just started.
America you have life to give,
not take away.
America, you deserve this war
America, my love for you is gone
America, monster, stop your screaming slashing rage
Look into your past
America LEARN from your mistakes
America, make it continue
AMERICA MAKE IT STOP
poem by Lex Newman
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I know that most men, including those at ease with problems of the greatest complexity, can seldom accept even the simplest and most obvious truth if it be such as would oblige them to admit the falsity of conclusions which they have delighted in explaining to colleagues, which they have proudly taught to others, and which they have woven, thread by thread, into the fabric of their lives.
quote by Leo Tolstoy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Carry With Me
seems i walk alone
so much of the time....
but i carry with me
tiny slivers of hearts,
many colored splotches
of cloth woven into a blanket
that warms me against the cold.
my feet are worn... my eyes near blind...
but i see with the eyes
of small children
too alive to deny
the magic in each moment....
i breathe with the breath
of human hungering....
for what cannot be contained....
my heart beats with the spirit
of light... the hope of the hopeless,
the determination of the beaten....
the prayers of those who will not quit...
whose feet tired like mine,
keep walking!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Greatest of the Great
Great, America Great
The god of all nations
Lord of all states
Voice of the voiceless
Strength of the weak
Eyes of the blind
You are the lion claws of the earth
The un-slumbering eagle eyes ever awake
Your fang, a devastating missile to injustice
Great America, great
Lead America, lead on
Abolisher of slave trade
Installer of rights
Enforcer of justice
Light to the dark world
Terror to the terrorist
Spine of the human rights
Pursuer of justice for humanity
Slaver freer
The land of freedom for all
Blanket of naked
Hope of the hopeless
With you, opportunity is not a waste
In you talent is celestially optimized
Great America, great
Long live great fathers that begot great leaders
With you, color is fashion
Content is valued
With you gender is style
Age is number
Religion is choice
Freedom is full
My eyes hope to see you someday
My foot itches for you
Though terrors many are in the world
But with you all hope is not lost
Great America
Keeper of peace
Great America
My gentle giant
Great America, o my greatest hero
The fairer morale of the earth
Great America, hope of the unborn generation
Live on and lead on
Great America, the greatest of the great.
poem by Ezekiel Igbodo
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What Color? (Hope)
what color
was the dust
from which the stars
were made?
what color is the hunger
written on the child's face?
what color is justice,
forgiveness, desire, truth?
what color is the wind....
the rain, gravity,
and knowledge?
what color is equality?
what color is freedom?
what color is eternity?
what color is redemption?
what color is God?
what color were the nails
that hung Jesus on the cross?
what color was enlightenment
falling on the Buddha as he sat
'neath that tree?
what color is prejudice, hatred,
fear, greed, apathy.....
what color your skin?
nay, what color is your blood?
and what color are the eyes
of humanity staring through the darkness?
and what color is hope?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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From A Buick 6
I got this graveyard woman, you know she keeps my kids
But my soulful mama you know she keeps me hid
Shes a junkyard angel and she always gives me bread
Well if I go down diein you know shes bound to put a blanket on my bed
Well when the pipeline gets broken and Im lost on the river bridge
Im all cracked up on the highway and in the waters edge
And then she comes down the thruway ready to sew me up with a thread
Well if I go down diein you know shes bound to put a blanket on my bed
Well she dont make me nervous, she dont talk too much
She walks like bo diddley and she dont need no crutch
She keeps this four-ten all loaded with lead
Well if I go down dyin you know shes bound to put a blanket on my bed
Well you know I need a steam-shovel mama to keep away the dead
I need a dump truck baby to unload my head
She brings me everything and more and just like I said
Well if I go down dyin you know shes bound to put a blanket on my bed
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One has woven the thread, another has drawn it forth.
What Seemingly Is Vis-a-vis What Really Is
at the shop all the while what you may see is that
the two are merely haggling on a piece of cloth
a woman customer quite long asking for the right color
always asking the man that she does not like this and that
she feels the cloth silky on her hands above the man's hands
between the sheet as their mouths keep talking about the price
their eyes are speaking about something else hidden beneath
what she is really after all, she at her 40's widowed for 2 years
he at his 20's looking for a a sugar-coated mama.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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