Words Woven - Parody Mary BEULEY - Words Woven
Words woven into speech
soon reach
intact thread spirit of each act,
knit warp and weft of wit wish fact,
dreams' tapestry may teach.
Words express essentials,
transmit, unwind
from mind to mind,
address ideas which, blind,
would grope for means to equate
sensations refined,
coarse, sophisticate.
Thus they incarnate
emotion's multi coloured coat, pattern twist
around ideas which form,
unform,
inform or disinform,
or take by storm
precisely or by gist
the geist soul kissed.
Words woven into speech
pen hand,
when scanned
from thoughts’ life blood leach
emotions, sense, dressed to suit
points phallic and points mute,
ideo-grand!
© Jonathan Robin Parody Mary BEULEY 1837_1916 written 12 December 1995 – Words Woven revised 31 July 2008 notably first verse below
Words woven into speech
soon reach
to knit the spirit of each act,
the warp and weft of every fact,
through dreams to teach.
______________
Words Woven
Words woven into rhyme
In time
Become a tapestry of thought
A canvas of experience in which
Our dreams are wrought.
Words are the evidence of what goes on
communicate
Within the mind.
They clothe the invisible
With robes of speech,
Sophisticated as silk,
Homespun as hessian,
And in between
The many-patterned, many-textured range,
Familiar and strange,
Of words -
Woven and dyed and spun
For Fun
Or seriously aware
Of what is there.
Words woven into rhyme
Or prose
Transpose
Giving the tiny embryo of thought
A dress to wear, most delicately wrought,
And caught for ever in a form know
And understand.
Mary BEULEY 1837_1916
© Jonathan Robin Parody Mary BEULEY written 12 December 1995
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
How The Web Was Woven
(words & music by westlake - most)
How the web was woven
In my soul, dont you know
How the web was woven
Cant get loose, cant let go
Like the weave of a spider
Wound around my heart
Im no longer free
At last Im where you want me
Dont you know, thats where I want to be?
Spinning round like a blue fly
Thoughts of you fill my head
And no matter, oh how I try
I cant sleep in my bed
Ive been round for the last time
Oh, girl, what can I do?
Oh the time the web was woven,
How I fell in love, fell in love with you
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Your Instrument Lord
(9/25/12)
I am but an instrument in thy hands
How I am to be used - I may not understand.
You are my doctor and the surgeon in my life
You will cut out the bad, and make things right.
You are the blood that gives me life
And thru you - I'll see paradise.
I became like a wanderer lost in the desert
With nothing in sight.
But you became my guiding light.
You became my water and my food
And strengthened me every step of the way
And showed me how to pray.
I was like an empty pitcher of wine
Till you filled me up with your light divine.
Now I pour out like the wine on that wedding day
Where you turned water into wine
And your words pour out of me in verse and rhyme.
These words can not be mine for I have not
the knowledge - nor the skill, but I am
Your instrument, my words your will.
Lead me LORD on this road that you have chosen
Let this be '' MY TAPESTRY" that you have woven.
© L. RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Will The Words Come Back?
Words slip off our pen
like warm butter off a knife.
They fall in unison across the page
with everything we write.
Then one day the words don’t flow
in unison like they used to before.
They have no rhythm within them
and just become no more than words.
We look at what we’ve written
and there is no bounce in them.
The words become no more than words
once written by a creative hand.
There is no meaning in what they say
they have no heart anymore.
They are just words written on a page
with no rhyme or reason for them being there.
Some call it a writer’s block;
others call it stagnation of the mind.
The creative juices fall away to nothing,
no spark to be kindled,
no emotions to be released,
no protests to be made,
no stories to be assembled
like a jigsaw in your mind.
Just an empty pen with words
that don’t make sense anymore.
Struggles without feeling,
ideas leading nowhere
on a spiralling downward turn.
You are no longer a writer,
your creativity is gone
and the only question you have,
will the words come came back?
13 July 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words
Words on this paper
Words in my head
Words while I'm texting
Computing
Unsaid
Words between people
Words on the phone
Words upon words
Even when I'm alone
Words from the Bible
I question
Don't mesh
Words from pornography
Making them flesh
Words with flat letters
Written in black
Good words and bad words
You cannot take back
Words that are shallow
Words that are deep
When they're too many
They put me to sleep
Words that I'm writing
And rhyming you read
Whatever I'm saying
There's prolly no need
Words from the alphabet
Words that can't be
When you are blind
And it's Braile that you see
Words that are worthless
And said on the fly
My words or your words
Are most likely lies
Words in a sentence
Wise words or fair
The only words earnest
Are those said in prayer
Written by Sara Fielder © 2011
poem by Sara Fielder
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh That Tapestry
Oh that tapestry
How I have yearned
to weave it with
you.
A combination of
threads
gold and silver
strong and secure
closely knotted
in the end.
tears and laughter
woven together
creating us.
our lives inter-
woven
a coming together
began so long ago
oh that tapestry.
poem by Heather Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost for Words
LOST FOR WORDS
The art of writing's such a sport
with styles of every kind and sort
that not to try would be a tort.
Synaptic leaps can keep, support,
ideas which interlink, report
mind melodies naught need contort
as eyes observant insight court:
imagination is my forte - right!
As interlocking lines of thought
are threaded neatly, tautly brought
to heel, reined in, discreetly taught
to underscore ideas, here’s sought
communication vectors caught
in lightning thought wave flashes short,
coherent, to the point! ... Now ought
I not recall the subject about which I meant to write?
1st verse written 29 July 2008 second? July 1 2007
robi03_1397_robi03_0000 WXX_IXX
Lost for Words poem © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Words To Be Written
Words can be said, they can be written
they can be funny or sad or informed
words are sought after by everyone
papers, scripts, books, letters or texts
they can gossip, tattle or lie
honest, trust worthy, confusing
written to story or rhyme to rhythm
they can be found in our minds
written or printed they are strong
brought together the bring magic
imaginations, fantasy, real life
many stories and songs by words
have touched the soul with in
my words are to enlighten and entertain your mind
to put you in places we never dreamed
and to think I could of done that
my words to you is my soul to share
written with love, hate and sorrow
take the time to enjoy the words
words make ours dreams come true
poem by Michael Peterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Through the artists eyes
The world reflected
In the authors eyes
Shall be as beautiful or tragic
As the emotions interpreted
In the verse of the inspired
Flowing almost timeless
A world beyond what’s real
A fantasy often shared
The dream interpreted
By the words which flow
A tale may be woven
Or a thought put into place
By the words when spoken
Through the artists eyes
How the world is seen
Can be more beautiful
Or more heartbreaking
When written
Through the artists eyes
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chapter and Verse 1023 - Current Version
Chapter and verse in sonnet setting here
have sought to recognize beyond all speech
effects and causes, time-lines over-reach,
encapsulating thoughts as they appear.
Words inked together in attempt sincere
to link youth to maturity may breach
distances so all evolve to teach
themselves to learn from others, spirit clear,
crystalline, to thought-waves tuned, to steer
ideas along chord patterns chorded - each
enabled [not empowered, not to preach].
Understanding overcomes false fear.
Emotions, once interpreted, translate
into emancipation, share, create.
(21 March 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pattern Patter Down Pat
Patterns form from harmony as verse
Attempts translation of emotions' span
To teach, to reach, to leach words' worlds, to fan
The essence of poetics and rehearse
Essential feelings crafted in lines terse.
Rare care, share sense, spare no expense to ban
Needless screed as witless also-ran
Empty ego's petty prose, immerse
Depth giving strange change range, fop's sops disperse.
Vantage point: holistic perspective scan,
Empower imagination's dripping pan.
Revise, re-draw, re-edit, intersperse
Strong rhythm, alliteration, stay on track
Expressing ideas ideally, pattern pack.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words Again
Thoughts can be words, can be flowers that burgeon like words,
Thunders that are right in the middle of happiness,
Ones that make talk with books and with all speaking sense.
The sounds are not anywhere near us,
Yet the word can believe in living free,
Where actions cannot, and nor can thoughts necessarily.
We work on the words of leaders like listening is,
When speech is hazardous and non-wrong,
And liars can speak offensively, like a long long wrong.
Speech is therefore recommended in the form of words,
Of dementia I give word not or word obvious,
But of sound advice for any goodness to come and seize.
Deceased are the word-lovers as much as fences are put up,
As if the sea is given a status that delves too deep
Of words, and it is funny how many words that there are.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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More Words
Sometimes words reach out
to help heal wounds.
Sometimes words reach out
just to claw at a feeble soul.
Sometimes words reach out
to seek help.
Sometimes words reach out
to bring life to idleness.
Sometimes words reach out
to expose a lie.
Sometimes words reach out
to undress from its truth.
Sometimes words reach out
for it needs to be spoken.
poem by Janine Alyssa Navarro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Key Change
When rhyme scheme frames dimensions few suspect
then climb dream flames, intentions true, respect.
No boundaries, no limit locks the mind.
so sound are these, throw spirit blocks behind.
Reach out, think, skein, words hidden blind reject,
speech doubt, ink vain, chords bidden bind, select.
Avoid inconstant compromise unkind,
a void-spin instant, dumb surmise. Unwind
extrapolations lazy, circumspect,
examinations mazy. Reconnect.
Free frequencies from spectrum fee assigned,
see sequence, seize connections realigned.
Sell static short, key change, unbattern hatch,
elastic thought, free range, fun pattern match.
11 December 2005 revised 3 October 2009 robi3_1354_robi3_0000 SQX_EKX for previous version see below
Key Change
When rhyme scheme frames dimensions few suspect
then climb dream flames, intentions true, respect.
No boundaries, no limit locks the mind.
so sound are these, throw spirit blocks behind.
Reach out, think, skein, - words hidden blind reject –
speech doubt, ink vain, chords bidden bind, select.
Avoid inconstant compromise unkind,
a void-spin instant, dumb surmise. Unwind
extrapolations lazy, circumspect,
examinations mazy. Reconnect.
Free frequencies from spectrum unassigned,
see sequencies, connexions, realigned.
Sell static short, key change, unbattern hatch,
elastic thought, free range, fun pattern match.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Burgeoning Love
To this I was unprepared
Yet I accept it as a truth
My heart has been inspired
And caught by your beauty
To this end I have fallen
You are my muse my desire
How fair and gentle you stand
Growing in my thoughts daily
Is this love or infatuation
When words of romance speak
To tell me of how we would kiss
How we would lay together
Held in each others arms
And those words we would speak
How meaningful they sound
You are beautiful and more besides
You have been woven to my life
I’d gift you my heart and soul
If you gift me your hand to hold
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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238
i teach my child by G. Abad
I.
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
They are hardest to learn.
Words like home,
Or friend, or to forgive.
These words are relations.
They are difficult to bear;
Their fruits are unseen.
Or words that promise
Or dream.
Words like honor, or certainty,
Or cheer.
Rarest of sound,
Their roots run deep;
These are words that aspire,
They cast no shade.
These are not words
To speak.
These are the words
Of which we consist,
Indefinite,
Without other ground.
II.
My child
Is without syllables
To utter him,
Captive yet to his origin
In silence.
By every word
To rule his space,
He is released;
He is shaped by his speech.
Every act, too,
Is first without words.
There's no rehearsal
To adjust your deed
From direction of its words.
The words are given,
But there's no script.
Their play is hidden,
We are their stage.
These are the words
That offer to our care
Both sky and earth,
These same words
That may elude our acts.
If we speak them
But cannot meet their sound,
They strand us still
In our void,
Blank like the child
With the uphill silence
Of his words' climb.
And so,
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Discovering Shakespeare
‘From you have I been absent in the spring.’
The words of Shakespeare have a truly lovely ring,
But, when I was younger, by his words, I was bored,
And his words, written on a page, by me, were ignored.
Now I’m older, I can see that his famous words,
Are actually among the loveliest I’ve ever heard.
Until recently, I couldn’t recite a Shakespeare speech,
But, slowly, line by line, myself, I did teach.
Of his work, I love the rhythm and rhyme,
As it makes it much easier to learn each line.
Being able to recite a short speech, I felt proud,
As I had never performed any of his work aloud.
I was really amazed at what I’d been able to achieve,
And now, from my mind, his words will never leave.
When I feel low, in my mind, his words I recall -
They lift my mood, just as I am about to fall.
I didn’t understand any of his stories before,
But with each day that passes, I’m learning more.
I now understand about the characters and the plots.
Over the last few months, I really have learnt a lot.
Helena from ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream, ’
Is very like me in character, or so it seems:
She’s sensitive and cautious and likes to think things through,
And that description can pretty much be applied to me to!
Prior to my Shakespeare Bronze exam, I was full of fear,
But it proved to be one of the highlights of my entire year.
It’s been one of the best experiences of my life to date,
And to take my Shakespeare Silver exam, I just can’t wait.
If only Shakespeare was alive today, he would see
Just how much sheer joy he has managed to bring me.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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i teach my child by G. Abad
I.
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
They are hardest to learn.
Words like home,
Or friend, or to forgive.
These words are relations.
They are difficult to bear;
Their fruits are unseen.
Or words that promise
Or dream.
Words like honor, or certainty,
Or cheer.
Rarest of sound,
Their roots run deep;
These are words that aspire,
They cast no shade.
These are not words
To speak.
These are the words
Of which we consist,
Indefinite,
Without other ground.
II.
My child
Is without syllables
To utter him,
Captive yet to his origin
In silence.
By every word
To rule his space,
He is released;
He is shaped by his speech.
Every act, too,
Is first without words.
There's no rehearsal
To adjust your deed
From direction of its words.
The words are given,
But there's no script.
Their play is hidden,
We are their stage.
These are the words
That offer to our care
Both sky and earth,
These same words
That may elude our acts.
If we speak them
But cannot meet their sound,
They strand us still
In our void,
Blank like the child
With the uphill silence
Of his words' climb.
And so,
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Silence Between
the silence between
words being written and read
seduces the mind to think
thoughts of creation anticipate
the blank canvas of the mind
which mirrors the open soul
calling out to listen
to the sound of pen upon paper
a mind at work
is a beautiful thing
and in writing seductive
words flow into sentence
a verse crafts itself
to be seen, felt
all in the aftermath
of the silence between
words being written
words being read
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet 16
when words will not you move
nor my heart persuade to unfortify,
but as stone your image proves
against words image must qualify,
when music, the speech of soul,
and poetry, the soul of speech,
by you will not my mind school
nor my soul new poetry teach,
when love, the cultivation of heart,
struck by your love to heart strings,
will not from you new poetry impart
what surety of trust does love bring?
departed, these words to you ascend:
so departed, will you new words send?
poem by Doug Bentley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today... 'God my Maker
I was intricately woven upon His heavenly loom
As He carefully knit me together in my mothers womb
In that most secret of places when my conception took place
Ready at the time of my birth to enter the human race
Before the first moment of my earthly existence began
God had written in His book my inmost being and life plan
Each syllable penned and words in calligraphy composed
There sentences were handwritten and the paragraphs disclosed,
From the first chapter of my birth to the last one of my death
Each had been thoughtfully written before I'd taken a breath
I praise God that I am fearfully and wonderfully made
The handiwork of My Great Creator is in me displayed
Living letters turned into syllables and then became words.
These words began to form phrases and the sentences emerged.
Chapters made out of many paragraphs were arranged with care
each carefully written by the in the book of my life there.
For my life is now that book to be read by everyone
because it speaks of His Grace and the wonders Jesus has done.
For in His mercy before the world was made and time began
He had included Roy Allen in His great Salvation plan.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)