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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Related quotes
The Cloth of Time
The concept of time is
Like a cloth
Waving in the wind.
The wind collides
And bounces,
Causing the cloth to sway.
We are the specks
Of dust
Nestled within
The fibers of time.
This cloth is where
We sleep and wake.
This wind is the result
Of our existence.
When the wind is still
The cloth of time
Hangs
Like a man
Whose time has run out.
poem by by unknown author
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Racism man wearing white
No stop pushing me becos
of the colour of my cloth
if nothing is done my cloth
will torn
i cann't put on white to please
you
my cloth is n't white
so leave me with my
own colour
if you do n't leave me alone
i will be force to shout
for help and if nobody help
i will be force to fight
and if i fight i will fight
to the last
so stop this racism of white
and black cloth.
poem by Senator alufalism
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Serene
A sea of cloth on an early morning
A wooden boat afloat
The cloth of blue and gray clouds
Still touching
Hands and Lips
A man wearing a straw hat
A woman on green skirt watching
Him sail back,
A child cradled on her arms
Serene in sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Lover - II
I know she's tired,
Yet conceal it from me she's tried.
Kneeling down my side,
She brings a cloth to water,
Taking my battered feet onto her thigh,
Starts to remove the foul.
Patiently washing away my pain,
Makes disappear all the strain.
Cleansing, whilst healing my skin,
She soaks a cloth in water,
Releasing my body from aching.
I forget my exhaustion,
When touched with such caution.
Oblivious of my physical boundary,
She holds a cloth with water,
Allowing calmness to permeate me.
This water refreshing my feet,
Nurturing me, emotionally.
Aware she'd be my water, heed,
If thirst ever threatened me.
Just when I think my strength has ceased,
My lover comes, and fortifies me.
poem by Gina Borrebach
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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
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Budget
It is alway not right to say cut
Your cloth according to your coat.
It is right to say cloth be collected
keeping in view the size of the coat.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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For A Poet
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold;
Where long will cling the lips of the moth,
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth;
I hide no hate; I am not even wroth
Who found the earth's breath so keen and cold;
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold.
poem by Countee Cullen
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Sizzling
Sizzle the cloth of its fibres,
To cut a razor you are unable to,
But it burns your fibres and the cloth,
As an open weapon of warfare
Like the fighting and the bands of people
Who die in war,
Who liven the place with guts and glory.
poem by Naveed Akram
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It is all mixed up
A blue minifan
Turned on
Blowing miniwinds
To a
Red tulip
Made of
Chinese cloth
Let me turn it off
It is not good
To see
Life putting
Breath to
Something
Dead
Life to
Something
Fake, artificial
A tulip flower cloth
A plastic tulip
Too dusty, inanimate.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Girl In A Miniskirt Reading The Bible Outside My Window
Sunday, I am eating a
grapefruit, church is over at the Russian
Orthadox to the
west.
she is dark
of Eastern descent,
large brown eyes look up from the Bible
then down. a small red and black
Bible, and as she reads
her legs keep moving, moving,
she is doing a slow rythmic dance
reading the Bible. . .
long gold earrings;
2 gold bracelets on each arm,
and it's a mini-suit, I suppose,
the cloth hugs her body,
the lightest of tans is that cloth,
she twists this way and that,
long yellow legs warm in the sun. . .
there is no escaping her being
there is no desire to. . .
my radio is playing symphonic music
that she cannot hear
but her movements coincide exactly
to the rythms of the
symphony. . .
she is dark, she is dark
she is reading about God.
I am God.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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The Discontented Manicure Scissors
Said the manicure scissors one day,
'The shears always have their own way,
And I think it absurd
That I am deterred
From entering into life's fray.
My task might be jolly for snails,
But I must confess that it fails
To give pleasure to me;
I am sick as can be
Of snipping the ends of pink nails.
I want to do work like the shears!'
So the scissors set out it appears,
And very much wroth
They tried to cut cloth,
And so split themselves open, my dears.
And the cloth, well you should have seen that;
It looked as if gnawed by a rat.
Now little folks, you
Must not think you can do
Whatever your elders are at.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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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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Peter's Report
Running all the way,
bent double in breathless pain
we peer and see
the gaping grave
open to the rising sun.
Slowly we enter, our eyes sun-blind,
when we see the empty bench,
the bloody cloth cast within.
I try to imagine
how light must have pierced the cloth,
the sudden shudder
of His broken body,
His sharp breath exploding
like a swimmer breaking the surface,
and I notice John’s eyes
outshining the sun,
and my own face
lighting even death's
darkest place!
poem by Steven Federle
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Dress Rehersal
sandpaper opening, blink
wash away last nights insomnia
no recolection, memory clean
flesh hooks pull me from my slumber
about face small soldier
time for normalicy
lets meet fixed faces together
blade and cloth complete me
distant memory of suicidal love
but yet lingers
i danced in your memory
until the black obyss took over
arm carve blood black ink!
into daylight i go
may i cross path
salute, salute
just another maggot in cloth
poem by Joshua cole
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The Clothing of Faith
She took her Heart and placed it in a bottle
because it was reserved for only him.
She took her Soul and placed upon it a sign
that said 'occupado.'
All her going-out clothes she didn't need
she placed in moth balls,
gave some to her sister.
Her mother said
'What are you doing? '
She would always smile and say 'I won't be using these
until he returns.'
Her ring she placed in the sugar bowl
covering it with sweet sugar grains
putting it high
on a shelf that no one used.
She honey-dipped all her kisses
lining them up
in her Honey-Dew Kisses Pot.
Her friends said 'what are you doing-
he may never return.'
She said, 'oh yes he will and I will need these.'
She took everything,
wrapping them in her Faith Cloth
taking them out only at night
when no one was around.
Each glowed in that dark;
each drew Faith from the Faith Cloth
which covered her Hope Chest
which contained the photos, the ring
they hummed
all through her night.
He would come or he would not
but these gifts he'd already given
filled her heart
renewing it
underneath
the Faith Cloth
which warmed
her and her memories.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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To appear and not to be is like weaving and not making cloth.
Latter day South Africa
The face of the old black woman
is plastered with mud,
a red cloth is wrapped around her head
and her feet treads burdensome
where she walks bare foot
on rocky roads
and every now and then
steps into a thorn
and almost fall over
while she removes it clumsily.
The child that she carries piggy-back
isn’t black,
nor white,
or yellow,
or eastern coloured,
he’s something of everyone
and is belted to her back
with a ragged cloth
and it’s difficult
since he’s restless
and the child is thirsty
and the hunger
burns from his stomach
to his throat.
In the distance
she hears people
gathering around a bon fire
drinking beer and dancing,
but she’s locked out
and the road is long
and she hobbles on
while the twilight is falling.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I believe our flag is more than just cloth and ink. It is a universally recognized symbol that stands for liberty, and freedom. It is the history of our nation, and it's marked by the blood of those who died defending it.
quote by John Thune
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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