Best Tapestry Poems
When you are
an agonizing
echo from a
benevolent voice,
life exhales in
mahogany haze,
spreading across the
lachrymose meadows as
scarred rivulets of
sandalwood scents,
where ceramic
rhymes slumber in
watercolor coffins
with opaque metaphors,
weaving hoaxed
hymns of the nascent
heavens within these
mortal hues.
I'm a bronze brushstroke
of origami colours,
pinned to the weary
wall as the state
of forsaken art,
splattered in acrylic-
resembling sombre
diamonds that
knit ebony pixels
of my onyx heart,
scattered across the
blistered brims,
framed from
fate crossed palms;
doused in poisoned
henna depicted
in dismay, to portray
the painting of despair
within my splitting mind.
Isn't the monochromatic
shade of an aesthetic
mural a clementine
symmetry, where ruby psalms
stained with black peonies,
bleed thistle-ribboned
tales from an orchid's silence?
Not every artist
can mold
peace from a
pastel palette
filled with poignant
petals engrossed
in purple pain,
but poetic fingers
can sculpt an evergreen
masterpiece through
crisp flakes of
tumbling torment,
carried through
arctic mists.
But is there a
teal-azure texture
to create a
timeless tapestry
interlaced with
lavender musings?
As melancholy soars
beyond roseate realms
like a moon-winged butterfly,
fluttering across
cantaloupe sunsets,
etching heartbeats of
hope in harp's periwinkle pigments,
when twinkling jewels
lose their shine,
leaving tales untold
to waltz with
forlorn silhouettes-
dwelling in a gallery of grief.
For, in the calligraphic
corners of chaos,
I’ve found healing,
between ethereal pages
within a cathartic labyrinth.
.........TAPESTRY
Out of time that's long forgotten,
in a light that's yet unknown,
you could see me in the morning,
I would be there, but alone,
weaving tapestries from fibers
of someone who'd never guess,
she is part of dreams and vision,
and somebody's happiness.
But she would know someone was there.
I'd touch her now if I would dare.
And she would know I'm always there.
There's a story and it's Celtic,
"We must love all things, to see
how a raindrop loves the flower,
but the flower loves a bee."
In the tapestry I'm weaving,
I have told this story well,
and the dream she is a part of,
is the other tale I tell.
She knows someone has touched her mind.
I'm always there for her to find.
And she is always on my mind.
It's a love beyond a question,
but a love that's out of place,
out of time and out of reason,
but unable to erase.
In the tapestry I'm weaving ,
there's no differences to see,
she is rising from the ocean
to a love God's meant to be.
...And she has known a love that's good.
.....Though it is never understood.
........But she'll remember love is good.
© ron wilson
Tapestry of Life
In the still graveyard overlooking San Francisco Bay.
Her husband's young body doth rot and in profound
silence lay.
Overlooking that city, where he married his young wife.
Who now recalls the beauty of his all too short, vibrant life.
The many walks on those heavenly hills, the poetry they read.
The coffee shops of North Beach, alas, their aromatic memories
So dreamy in her bowed, widowed head.
She stills dons her inexpensive, gold wedding ring to this very
minute.
And when she touches it, all the magical love they shared~
still sings in it!
December 28, 2019
"Golden Tapestry"
One day, that San Francisco way
My, oh my, like a rushing waterfall
This hopeless heart did fall.
Tinkling chimes, clinking glasses, music from the East,
Like rushing romantic stanzas swept me off my dreamtime feet.
Some are impressed by great authors or thinkers.
Me...one minute glimpse of your eyes, mesmerizing, godlike winkers!
Will I ever be able to go just one day without thee?
You, the creator of our lives golden tapestry!
Nay, we live in a fragrant field of fairy dreams.
You, forever, my king divine, in our eternal, castle of rainbow schemes.
Play on, instruments of limitless love and light.
An honor to be so bound by love's delight.
Forever your~ Panagiota
April 18. 2020
2pm PST
As I walk along the narrow path
Far away from the din of the city crowd
I feel the pain of sadness envelop me,
A symphony of stubborn sadness
That resides in the inner depths of my soul.
At the forest rim, a vast valley stretches.
Unknown farmers toiled on their trucks.
She will not find me at the forest’s edge.
Do I want to encounter her anew?
She is a symphony of steady, unruly moods.
I approach a farm, yet despite the summer breeze,
I find no joy nor pity, no undying love or hatred.
Sorrow lingers as indecision wrecks my peace.
I yearn for simple silence, yet in that calm around
Thoughts thunder, thriving on troubles and worry.
Can I find a warm and bright surrender to my turmoil?
My heart is like a see-saw, now up, now down.
I feel her soft lips turn into anger that knows no bounds.
What is love really like? I want delight and happiness.
I find animosity and antipathy. No, no. There is also
Strong feelings of adulation, allegiance, and amity.
As fear creeps in, I knock on the farm door.
Beauty opens for my embrace. The kiss is long.
Hope shines as we enter the warm hearth.
“Breakfast is ready, my love.” We eat in ecstasy.
I reminisce of childhood prowls, the mild
Unfolding through lustrous summer sways
That in my past, musings replay when twigs
Are sprinkled with blossoms rare like
pearls. I find myself wandering downstream
On banks wading softly, entranced along
fresh shrubs…a vignette of burlap and silk,
Rustling like bright confetti that often
Fine dewdrops envy my near sunset’s trend.
And I could but possess the warm flavor
Of buds in heat, my face dipped in their chests
Hesitating to leave the lush of gold as
Nightfall breaks. Then, floral tapestry churns
Against a mural of summer’s rich pattern
Up high, where lacquered glint from hillside bursts.
Full moon rolls with amusement to cradle
Dawn’s garlands, auroral as this child’s eyes;
floating through next seasons when my tossed hair
sweeps a cluster of maiden time's fanfare.
...............
‘ Flora Abunda’ … www.stephaniedeshpande.com
Contemporary Figurative Artiste Stephanie Deshpande
in Contemporary Free Rhyme...Cyndi's Contest
by nette onclaud
on sunset evening
sun, sky and sea interplay
lovers become one
pom pom hollyhocks
seven feet tall and frilly~
a strong wind their end
____________________________
June 27, 2015
Poetry/Haiku/pastel summer tapestry
Copyright Protected, ID 15-6847-67-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Traditional Haiku,
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton
10th Place
Toward my golden years, I’m moving fast
As recollections cherished in my heart
Pass through my mind, those bright threads from my past,
Entwining with the present. It is art!
Such lovely images comprise this fine
Tapestry I’ve woven over time -
Reflecting past or present in each line;
Years coming will complete a life sublime.
from 8/1/2012
Used for Theme 2: Tapestry
Entered Nov. 7, 2021 in the '''T'' Contest, New or Old' Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Her senses melded with the tapestry,
coming alive,
as if the images woven
stripped her spirit bare.
Each image bearing the tale
of the ancients;
Forbearers of a forgotten world
stitched in new world colors.
Interwoven remembered glory
mingling with horrors, gory.
Interlaced, now, in a threaded story
merging the old,
with those of the new,
as if each needle threaded
pricked her living soul.
© Debra Squyres
02-01-15
Life's Tapestry
Life begins: a single thread
Inlayed throughout as one
Faceted; a tapestry
Entwining hopes and dread
'Sembling extracts not quite done.
Torn brocades of woven silk
Aloft on dusty walls
Pull at strings of mother's milk
Ellipsing vacant halls.
Shadows press the looking glass
Towards the light then fall.
Running colours fading fast
Yaw past the muted call.
©deborah burch
2.07.2013
Dreams I've strung together,
Of the Robin on its wing--
Interwoven tenderly
With yarn, and thread, and string.
The redolence of summer
Mingled with the winter breeze--
The image of a starry night,
Of flowers, hills, and trees.
A picture on a naked wall
For everyone to see--
Visions of the hummingbird,
As well the honeybee.
A lively pattern on display
Of hope, as well regret--
Recollections in tranquility
Of the things I can't forget.
The things that I have noticed,
Although tend to overlook--
Like the autumn leaves first falling,
Or the babbling of a brook.
Designs of places unexplored;
Of dawn's triumphant beams--
T is a woven bit of majesty:
A tapestry of dreams.
O the harmonious hues of summer,
June blossoms make this garden lovely;
A bewildering wild assortment all growing,
Poppies pop, irises ripple, daises and pansies sway.
I so love to wander,
With all the murmuring;
Rows of bright delightful colors,
Hovering pink peonies and red roses.
Lilac's like a soft mist of mauve,
And what an excellent retreat;
Purrs her majesty, the grey cat.
___________________
June 1, 2015
Poetry/Verse/June Tapestry
Copyright Protected, ID 15-678-861-0
ALL rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted into the contest, Late July 2018 Standard,
Sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
~TAPESTRY~
To be born was quite a struggle my mum was on a motorbike
All the pains had started - but things were going alright.
Poverty we suffered, but our mum did the best she could
Everything was hard, but we managed and in a way it did us good…
Strength is in numbers and we had each other for support
To survive the ills of being poor, folly we did not court
Real hard times are behind us all, thank goodness most of us survived
Yes life is good because we made it so, and the good times have arrived..
© ~GG~ 4/08/2012
A spider carefully plans and schemes
the pattern for its life and quest.
It spends its hours weaving dreams
until it creates its sticky best.
Its web is tatted small and refined
or brocaded in heavy tapestry.
Soon prey finds itself entwined,
entombed within this basketry.
The spider calmly enswathes it,
a gesture quick yet fatal.
To paralyze this tasty tidbit,
its single bite is detrimental.
To live, to spin, to weave, to eat,
is spider’s deadly task’s cycle.
Web mastery, a cunning feat,
ensures the spider’s survival.