The Web
Two old spinsters
Sitting in the barn,
One used candlewick
The other used yarn,
One wore a bonnet
With a white lace trim,
The other bobbed her hair
With a dragonfly pin.
They spun and they spun
‘Til the bobbins were full,
They'd squeeze out the knots
Put a twist in the wool,
They spun through the day
And on through the night
And glared at each other
If it didn't look right.
While up in the beams
Of the barn overhead
Two spinsters were spinning out
A gossamer thread,
They stared on down
With their little black eyes
And they spun round the bonnet
And the red dragonfly.
The webs floated down
Were glued to each face
With the spinsters spinning
At a frantic pace.
The wheels stopped spinning
With a sudden click-clack
As the spinsters stared
At those eyes, so black.
As the next day dawned
They came to the barn,
The men and the children
Of that little old farm,
The spinsters were spun
In a giant cobweb,
As they sat, eyes staring -
They were stone cold dead!
13 October 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Related quotes
Farm
Cold windy, snow day on the farm. The black weather vane, spun like a merry go round on the main red barn roof, where the livestock was housed. A family of white winged doves roosted under the white pine over hang of the hay barn.A large equipment building with a slopped roof to store tractors blades, harrows, hole diggers, mowers and tillers during harsh weather.windbreakers, Giant cypress trees snow covered, upright white friars, three rows deep, who never need to sleep. standing guard against mother nature's fury.
poem by Michael Andrew
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Farm@
Cold windy, snow day on the farm. The black weather vane, spun like a merry go round on the main red barn roof, where the livestock was housed. A family of white winged doves roosted under the white pine over hang of the hay barn.A large equipment building with a slopped roof to store tractors blades, harrows, hole diggers, mowers and tillers during harsh weather.windbreakers, Giant cypress trees snow covered, upright white friars, three rows deep, who never need to sleep. standing guard against mother nature's fury.
poem by Michael Andrew
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Spinning top of evil
That spinning top of evil
Was a present once for me
I spun that evil demon
And he never came back for me
Took it rather personal
And shut that demon out
And now that spinners back for me
And he wont mess about
The spinning top of evil
Is spinning round and round
He's faster than the last time
I'm gagged and tied and bound
The top is moving through the night
Invisble to the eye
He's spinning closer every day
His evil presence is nigh
I go to bed at night time
With matchstick in my eyes
When I go out in public
I wear this black disguise
He wont stop til he's got my soul
There's not much hope for me
So I twist and shake and hope and pray
That he will just let me be
The evil top is spinning
Like a catherine wheel alight
The fires of his head are burning
Like the heat on bonfire night
I cant just take the easy way
And let my spirit free
Coz if I kill myself I'll never rest
And he will never set me free
So I'll throw a stone in for myself
And throw one in for him
The evil demons spinning top
Is slowely startin to dim
His time is almost over
And im free to walk away
But lerking round the corner
Is this explosive violant rage
Suprise suprise my limbs have died
I know this is the end
He's spinning round in circles
I'm dragged around the bend
He twists me off so gracefully
I'm tore by limb to limb
I slowely start to fade to black
My soul belongs to him
The Barn and the Down
t stood in the sunset sky
Like the straight-backed down,
Many a time - the barn
At the edge of town,
So huge and dark that it seemed
It was the hill
Till the gable's precipice proved
It impossible.
Then the great down in the west
Grew into sight,
A barn stored full to the ridge
With black of night;
And the barn fell to a barn
Or even less
Before critical eyes and its own
Late mightiness.
But far down and near barn and I
Since then have smiled,
Having seen my new cautiousness
By itself beguiled
To disdain what seemed the barn
Till a few steps changed
It past all doubt to the down;
So the barn was avenged.
poem by Edward Thomas
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A Year's Spinning
1
He listened at the porch that day,
To hear the wheel go on, and on;
And then it stopped, ran back away,
While through the door he brought the sun:
But now my spinning is all done.
2
He sat beside me, with an oath
That love ne'er ended, once begun;
I smiled--believing for us both,
What was the truth for only one:
And now my spinning is all done.
3
My mother cursed me that I heard
A young man's wooing as I spun:
Thanks, cruel mother, for that word--
For I have, since, a harder known!
And now my spinning is all done.
4
I thought--O God!--my first-born's cry
Both voices to mine ear would drown:
I listened in mine agony--
It was the silence made me groan!
And now my spinning is all done.
5
Bury me 'twixt my mother's grave,
(Who cursed me on her death-bed lone)
And my dead baby's (God it save!)
Who, not to bless me, would not moan.
And now my spinning is all done.
6
A stone upon my heart and head,
But no name written on the stone!
Sweet neighbours, whisper low instead,
"This sinner was a loving one--
And now her spinning is all done."
7
And let the door ajar remain,
In case he should pass by anon;
And leave the wheel out very plain,--
That HE, when passing in the sun,
May see the spinning is all done.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Mother’s Mirror
There stood a full length mirror
in the bedroom of my mother.
It could be turned left or right
to see one side, or the other.
Either as you are, or magnified,
whichever I cared to see,
but when I spun the mirror fast,
the image wasn’t of me.
Other people were looking at me,
and not just one or two, or three.
They had gathered there together
for some reason that puzzled me.
I noticed their mouths moving,
as if they had something to say,
so I spun the mirror fast again,
but this time in the opposite way.
I could now see and hear them,
as clear as they could be.
“Stop spinning the mirror, ” they shouted,
“you’re making us dizzy.”
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Waster's Presentiment
I shall be spun. There is a voice within
Which tells me plainly I am all undone;
For though I toil not, neither do I spin,
I shall be spun.
April approaches. I have not begun
Schwegler or Mackintosh, nor will begin
Those lucid works till April 21.
So my degree I do not hope to win,
For not by ways like mine degrees are won;
And though, to please my uncle, I go in,
I shall be spun.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Vehicles
This is a place on the way after the distances
can no longer be kept straight here in this dark corner
of the barn a mound of wheels has convened along
raveling courses to stop in a single moment
and lie down as still as the chariots of the Pharaohs
some in pairs that rolled as one over the same roads
to the end and never touched each other until they
arrived here some that broke by themselves and were left
until they could be repaired some that went only
to occasions before my time and some that have spun
across other countries through uncounted summers
now they go all the way back together the tall
cobweb-hung models of galaxies in their rings
of rust leaning against the stone hail from Rene's
manure cart the year he wanted to store them here
because there was nobody left who could make them like that
in case he should need them and there are the carriage wheels
that Merot said would be worth a lot some day
and the rim of the spare from bald Bleret's green Samson
that rose like Borobudur out of the high grass
behind the old house by the river where he stuffed
mattresses in the morning sunlight and the hens
scavenged around his shoes in the days when the black
top-hat sedan still towered outside Sandeau's cow barn
with velvet upholstery and sconces for flowers and room
for two calves instead of the back seat when their time came
poem by William Stanley Merwin
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What Is A Barn?
A barn is many things-
A barn is a fun place
To run, romp, and play.
It is also a place of refuge,
On hot or stormy days.
A barn is a storage place
For all your tools, grain, and hay.
It is also a place to unwind,
When you have had a tough day.
A barn becomes God's sanctuary,
When you begin to pray
It is also a place of work,
When work is needing done.
A barn is a place
Where freindships can be made
It is also a place
Where new life is born.
A barn is a place
To try with all your might
And finally when its doors are closed,
'Tis safety from the night.
A barn is a place for horses,
And it is a place for cows
A barn is also a hayloft,
Full of little meows
A barn is the Inn
Where our Savior was born
God, our Savior,
Christ, our Lord.
A barn is a work place,
A barn is a play place
A barn is a great place
A barn is a training ring...
A barn is..
Well, when it comes right
Down to it,
A barn is everything!
poem by Macy Dvirnak
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One Hot Minute
I was riding
Riding on my bike
Me with my friend
We're so alike
Am I all alone
She said all we
Have is this
We just had to stop
And share a kiss
Am I all alone
One hot minute
And I'm in it come and get it (3 times)
If I chase it
I might waste it
Come and get it
Am I all alone
Sitting in the fire
Get along and have some fun
Floating to be higher
Maybe I'm your special one
Silent testifier
Breathe the moon
And eat the sun
Sitting in the fire
A tiny wink is all
All we have
No it's not much more
But don't get mad
Am I all alone
Close your eyes
And click your heels
Can you believe
How good it feels
Am I all alone
One hot minute
And I'm in it come and get it (3 times)
If I chase it I might waste it
Come and get it
Am I all alone
Three lbs. of love
Inside my skull
A million more lives
It's never dull
Just a few times spun
Spun around the sun
A couple more or less
And then we're done
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers from One Hot Minute
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tangled Up In Love
You know the cards are stacked against this
As we surrender our defenses
And I've torn down all my fences just for you
And you feel it too
What do we do
Do we run or see it through
The longer we're together
It just keeps gettin' better
And you hide your little love letters
Around the house for me
And it's plain to see
That you'll always be all I'll ever need
The webs we spun
Wove into one
And left us tangled up in love
You squeeze my hand I understand
About a woman and a man
I love the way you make me feel
You got me tangled up in love
The webs we spun
Wove into one
Left us tangled up in love
(Repeat Chorus)
song performed by by Keith Urban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Envoy
Prince, show me the quickest way and best
To gain the subject of my moan;
We've neither spinsters nor relics out West--
These do I love, and these alone.
poem by Eugene Field
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Spinning Songs
A MOUNTAIN SPINNING SONG
(A Young Girl sings it)
THE Lannan Shee
Watched the young man Brian
Cross over the stile towards his father's door,
And she said, 'No help,
For now he'll see
His byre, his bawn, and his threshing-floor!
And, oh, the swallows
Forget all wonders
When walls with the nests rise up once more!'
My strand is knit.
'Out of the dream
Of me, into
The round of his labour he will grow;
To spread his fields
In the winds of spring,
And tramp the heavy glebe and sow;
And cut and clamp
And rear the turf
Until the season when they mow.'
My wheel runs smooth.
'And while he toils
In field and bog
He will be anxious in his mind
About the thatch
Of barn and rick
Against the reiving autumn wind,
And how to make
His gap and gate
Secure against the thieving kind.'
My wool is fine.
'He has gone back;
No more I'll see
Mine image in his deepening eyes;
Then I'll lean above
The Well of the Bride,
And with my beauty, peace will rise!
O autumn star
In a lake well hid,
Fill up my heart and make me wise!'
My quick brown wheel!
'The women bring
Their pitchers here
At the time when the stir of the house is o'er;
They'll see my face
In the well-water,
And they'll never lift their pitchers more.
For each will say
'How beautiful
Why should I labour any more!
Indeed I come
Of a race so fine
'Twere waste to labour any more!''
My thread is spun.
AN ISLAND SPINNING SONG
(An Older Girl sings if)
One came before her and said, beseeching,
'I have fortune and I have lands,
And if you'll share in the goods of my household
All my treasure's at your commands.'
But she said to him, 'The goods you proffer
Are far from my mind as the silk of the sea!
The arms of him, my young love, round me,
Is all the treasure that's true for me!'
'Proud you are, then, proud of your beauty,
But beauty's a flower will soon decay;
The fairest flowers they bloom in the summer,
They bloom one summer, and they fade away.'
'My heart is sad, then, for the little flower
That must so wither where fair it grew
He who has my heart in keeping,
I would he had my body too.'
A MIDLAND SPINNING SONG
(An Old Woman sings if)
There was an oul' trooper went riding by
On the road to Carricknabauna,
And sorrow is better to sing than cry
On the way to Carricknabauna!
And as this oul' trooper went riding on
He heard this sung by a crone, a crone
On the road to Carricknabauna!
'I'd spread my cloak for you, young lad,
Were it only the breadth of a farthen,
And if your mind was as good as your word.
In troth, it's you I'd rather!
In dread of ere forgetting this,
And before we go any farther,
Hoist me up to the top of the hill,
And show me Carricknabauna!'
'Carricknabauna, Carricknabauna,
Would you show me Carricknabauna?
I lost a horse at Cruckmaelinn,
At the Cross of Bunratty I dropped a limb,
But I left my youth on the crown of the hill
Over by Carricknabauna!'
Girls, young girls, the rush-light is done.
What will I do till my thread is spun?
poem by Padraic Colum
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The Shadow-Child
Why do the wheels go whirring round,
Mother, mother?
Oh, mother, are they giants bound,
And will they growl forever?
Yes, fiery giants underground,
Daughter, little daughter,
Forever turn the wheels around,
And rumble-grumble ever.
Why do I pick the threads all day,
Mother, mother,
While sunshine children are at play?
And must I work forever?
Yes, shadow-child; the live-long day,
Daughter, little daughter,
Your hands must pick the threads away,
And feel the sunshine never.
Why do the birds sing in the sun,
Mother, mother,
If all day long I run and run,
Run with the wheels forever?
The birds may sing till day is done,
Daughter, little daughter,
But with the- wheels your feet must run—
Run with the wheels forever.
Why do I feel so tired each night,
Mother, mother?
The wheels are always buzzing bright;
Do they grow sleepy never?
Oh, baby thing, so soft and white,
Daughter, little daughter,
The big wheels grind us in their might,
And they will grind forever.
And is the white thread never spun,
Mother, mother?
And is the white cloth never done,
For you and me done never?
Oh yes, our thread will all be spun,
Daughter, little daughter,
When we lie down out in the sun,
And work no more forever.
And when will come that happy day,
Mother, mother?
Oh, shall we laugh and sing and play
Out in the sun forever?
Nay, shadow-child, we'll rest all day,
Daughter, little daughter,
Where green grass grows and roses gay,
There in the sun forever.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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Tiny Angel
.Tiny Angel,
Fragile and weak,
Spun from silken chalk.
Tiny Angel,
Fierce and strong,
Spun from silken chalk.
My fallen Tiny Angel
Fragile and weak,
Gave me strength and hope.
Spun from silken chalk.
My fallen Tiny Angel,
Strong and brave,
Spun from silken chalk.
My sleeping Tiny Angel,
Spun from silken chalk,
No longer fragile and weak,
Flies.......
poem by Christina Jayne
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It tossed—and tossed
723
It tossed—and tossed—
A little Brig I knew—o'ertook by Blast—
It spun—and spun—
And groped delirious, for Morn—
It slipped—and slipped—
As One that drunken—stept—
Its white foot tripped—
Then dropped from sight—
Ah, Brig—Good Night
To Crew and You—
The Ocean's Heart too smooth—too Blue—
To break for You—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Sanary
Her little hot room looked over the bay
Through a stiff palisade of glinting palms,
And there she would lie in the heat of the day,
Her dark head resting upon her arms,
So quiet, so still, she did not seem
To think, to feel, or even to dream.
The shimmering, blinding web of sea
Hung from the sky, and the spider sun
With busy frightening cruelty
Crawled over the sky and spun and spun.
She could see it still when she shut her eyes,
And the little boats caught in the web like flies.
Down below at this idle hour
Nobody walked in the dust street;
A scent of a dying mimosa flower
Lay on the air, but sweet--too sweet.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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My Ancestors
A barefoot boy I went to school
To save a cobbler's fee,
For though the porridge pot was full
A frugal folk were we;
We baked our bannocks, spun our wool,
And counted each bawbee.
We reft our living from the soil,
And I was shieling bred;
My father's hands were warped with toil,
And crooked with grace he said.
My mother made the kettle boil
As spinning wheel she fed.
My granny smoked a pipe of clay,
And yammered of her youth;
The hairs upon her chin were grey,
She had a single tooth;
Her mutch was grimed, I grieve to say,
For I would speak the truth.
You of your ancestry may boast,--
Well, here I brag of mine;
For if there is a heaven host
I hope they'll be in line:
My dad with collie at his heel
In plaid of tartan stripe;
My mammie with her spinning wheel,
My granny with her pipe.
poem by Robert William Service
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Night Spiders Crawling
night spiders
crawling
crawling through
mind
encased
in black
satin
webs
deep
sleep
tra pped
drained
tread encased
in raw exhaustion
stung spun webs
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Coming Up Roses
Im a junkyard full of false starts
And I dont need yr permission
To bury my love under this bare light bulb
The moon is a sickle cell
Itll kill you in time
You cold white brother riding yr blood
Like spun glass in sore eyes
While the moon does its division youre buried below
And youre coming up roses everywhere you go
Red roses follow
The things that you tell yourself
Theyll kill you in time
You cold white brother alive in yr blood
Spinning in the night sky
While the moon does its division youre buried below
And youre coming up roses everywhere you go
Red roses
So you got in a kind of trouble that nobody knows
And youre coming up roses everywhere you go
Red roses
song performed by by Elliott Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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