Best Weaving Poems
When mourning dove sings,
weave moonlit woes from silver,
syllables of stars.
Categories:
weaving, dark, emotions, Lullaby, nature,
Form:
Haiku
She ventured far beyond Earth's realm
past cordoned confines of heart and soul
Tumbled, as did Alice, down the rabbit hole
Drifted, like an Autumn leaf blown from an elm
She soared past distant planets,
on paths lighted by effulgent moons
Weaved her tears among Saturn's rings
and all the while she was gathering stardust
before they mingled with sand on Mars' dunes.
From mountain peaks of Jupiter,
she bottled mist, to which she clings
And all these amazing interstellar things
were collected as caressive tokens for him;
the one she had vowed to love more than life.
From far reaches of dark galaxies
she held treasures from her jaunt;
Mystical items she hoped he'd want
brilliant beacons of silvered moonbeams,
fading light, captured as the sun dimmed.
She carefully wrapped her gifts to offer
in layers of cosmic flecks from a comet's tail.
Trussed with silken threads of time, unraveled,
she tied celestial troves she would soon proffer
to the one for whom she holds in fervent affection.
From his heart, she hoped would spill
the love that somehow waned to a trickle.
Then in abundance, once more it would flow
like a wildly churning river, Yes, she loves him still
Categories:
weaving, adventure, love,
Form:
Verse
Look deep within these loosely-woven layers to find
primeval land with ocean, sky and wind entwined,
skilled hands and eyes of generations gone before
and peat smoke mingling with a sea mist on the shore.
In old and intricate design you may well sense
a solitary piper skirling a lament,
or view the purple heather blowing on the hill,
or hear soft-spoken memories echoing still.
Some bold and joyful as a vibrant summer’s day,
and others tinted as an autumn bride’s bouquet,
some speak of wilderness and yet untrodden ways,
some melancholic strangers to the sun’s sweet rays.
With insight woven and a clarity of mind,
the rhythmic textures of the land we see defined.
With colours of the seasons, each piece of cloth unique,
of planet Earth and nature’s harmony does speak.
Revered now far beyond its island home,
a homespun cloth of gold it has become.
Ambassadors for Scotland, yes indeed,
that’s whisky, Robert Burns and Harris Tweed.
Categories:
weaving, god,
Form:
Rhyme
The BELLS * * *
Resonating
Along that weaving of our days
Past the encroaching darkness
And its wishes to spoil, to wilt
Whatever good it touches; and
How it recedes
With the ringing of the bells
Of Faith: music declaring
Our most Holy Lord’s power;
Calling out his children, loyal
In the fight for Good.
The bells call God’s warriors
To prayer, in the tapestries
Of our days; to raise devotions
To his omnipotent glory; and to
Praise the name of Jesus Christ,
Son and savior, creator of light.
Bells, to sound out his dominion,
In majestic ringing; to gather
His church, to hear our calling
In our gifted souls; to ever choose
Paths in obedience to his purpose,
Not our own desiring wants.
For we are created to edify and
Enhance. Each of us, according to
Our endowed talents, is —
By the weaving of our choices —
Here to color in some mark
Of beauty
Into the tapestry of our being
With God...God Alone...
———————————————————————
(c) sally young Eslinger 5/23/21
Thanks be to God
Categories:
weaving, christian, dedication, destiny, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
Weaving Forms
Abc, Abecedarian, acrostic, alliteration alexandrine
Salaam, sehraa senyru, sestina, sijo, shape, sonnet
The list of forms of writing poesy is hopelessly endless
O angels of all these poetic forms I worship thee blindly!
When didst thou all give an audience to man to school him
On these plethora of poetic forms to befuddle the muddlehead?
Never had I heard such scary terms before joining Poetry Soup
Life and poetry were much easier with no tensions no insomnia
Simply pouring out my uncontrollable thoughts and emotions
I cringe when I read of restrictions of limited lines in poetic forms
My ice-creams don't melt, autumn strolls have to to be cut short
Get mad as a hornet whether to write señorita a sonnet or sonetto
Nayda, I enjoy weaving my prosaic didactic and euphoric thoughts
Into my qasida with alliterations, imageries, allusions humorously
(FIRST
October 29, 2015
Contest: Which Is Your Favourite Form Of Poetry?
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron)
*This poem is a satiric amalgamation of many forms-sonnet, qasida, acrostic (in parts-eg, line 1&2, 3-5, 6&7-for the purpose of parody), humour....
*Qasida (weaving) is a satirical Persian form, opens with a short prelude, the nasib, which is elegiac in mood and is intended to gain the audience’s involvement
* in this parody I have used the alliteration in the first two lines as a 'nasib'
* In the last line the pun is used for weaving
*Have given 'Shape' or 'Creative Outlay' to the poem
*Have made use of many literary devices-alliteration, allusions, imageries, metaphors....
FIRST
Judged on April 5, 2016
For Casarah Nance's Favourite Poetry
June 19, 2016
For Laura Loo
First Place Only-2
Categories:
weaving, allusion, humor, hyperbole, imagery,
Form:
Light Verse
Poets take hold of one thread,
Ponder it , turn it over to question
its strength.
They brush it against the
azure face of the sky, dip it in the
warmth of the sun,
teach it the language of water
and the whispers of wind…
They wrap it around the crystal
droplets of rain falling on a
ravenous narcissi.
Then wait with the faith of hermits
for the breath of the night to blow
about disoriented threads
out of the silver aura of the
moonlight and the intermingled
zephyr of the seasons.
Dangling them from the gold-dripping
edges of stars, they weave them
into a galaxy of feelings mixed
with the wildness of life
Categories:
weaving, imagination
Form:
Prose Poetry
Wreath ring of flowers holding hand-in-hand
Hands in circular unity symbolising eternity
Eternal is belief in Trinity, Christianity and Christ
Christ a Messiah rising from dead absolving sins
Sins mounting, hoping Christ to descend from Heaven
Heaven like atmosphere humans creating in Christmas
Christmas, festive season of family reunion and gift-giving
Gift-giving, symbolic love weaving harmony as flowers in wreath
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
© Hitendra Mehta
( Entry for Members Contest - Christmas Wreath sponsored by Dr Ram Mehta)
Categories:
weaving, religion
Form:
Free verse
She is a perfectly crafted portrait
The canvas nuisance of her skin
The collected sense of sensualness
In every lines convergence of her curving
And as the sun played with its fingers
Through the shadow dancing of the trees
Her feet upon their high heels
Staccato castanets upon the pavements
Waltzing with the loveliness
Of her flamenco with the breeze
So many eyes were lifted from the aged sighs of coffee cups
This passing reminder of admiration
Watching the floating calico
That hung within their vision
And so many men were left to wonder
On the naked sanctuary
Of this woman
The taste she could bequeath
With the succulent whisper of her lips
And the shuddering sigh she would utter
As they lay there
Between her legs
Like unrepentant diamond
With all the promise of a snow flake
This fantasy as she passed them
Gave no clue to the preparation
And of her made up person
She gave no hint
She was hidden behind the brushwork
The portraiture powder, gloss and tint
And the presence of her kisses
Were wiped away in the colour of her lipstick
No one saw the tiny woman
Wishing she knew how to be
More than this, the fashionable enhancements
Of her eyes, her legs, her hair and breasts
No one knew the pattern of the slave trade
Sown with iron into the lining
Of her dress
And no one heard the weeping woman
As her soul went slowly gliding by
And no one knew how she was asking them
For an answer to the question
Am I anyone
Am I nothing more
Than this
Still, she was held in the curse of beauty
Turning everything she is into property
To be nothing more than a trophy
Pinned to the wall of the wealthiest
No one could hear the silence
Or see the sadness in the mirror of her eyes
And no one paid attention to the stitches
Running through the weaving of her canvas
Categories:
weaving, confusion
Form:
Free verse
~Weaving Dreams~
( Free Verse)
Mind have countless dreams illusions
Flowing bubbles glowing in mid-air
Radiant sunrises sunsets pretty pictures
Sometimes growing burning in the sun
Pillars of great strength raising
High seemly all the way into the sky
Lovable and gentle sweet creatures
Spreading their love and true devotion
Black yellows greens blues and purple pinks
Passing glassy ships filled of inconceivable dreams
In a spinning wheel orbiting weaving on the time
Penning words overflowing thoughts with volumes of my mind.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
January,07,2015
Categories:
weaving, dream, imagery, sun,
Form:
Free verse
The late afternoon sun filters through spruce and hemlock
as I sit here with my juice and my jacket on.
I was ready to say goodbye to this so long so.
As beautiful as this leafy world is, it is not serving me.
I know I am a child. I know I am not my age.
I cannot reason the way that would help me function best
and make the appropriate decisions.
Knowing that doesn’t make it any easier. I live with this.
Choosing another city wasn’t easy.
It’s ripped me apart, exposed my harsh vulnerability
which just makes me want to run and hide.
What if? and that? I don’t have what I used to have
which was also the protection of a Family. A Place. People. A Life.
It is my task now to create a new one from a fabric so thin,
not sure I know how to weave anymore.
Serves me not to think about the past and all I did then.
All that exists is putting one painful foot in front of the other.
Will I have enough to eat? A clean pretty place to sleep?
Is my mind so confused that I cannot put up a lamp to read?
Can I wash a tub that isn’t yet mine? Will my mark stay on it?
Do I contain enough of an imprint any longer that it will stick?
Become mine?
As a woman, this is what I’ve done is leave my mark
on things, people, places.
My territory. My boys. My bathroom. My car.
I need to fashion some way out of air to make this mine now.
Trying to remember...........don’t rush.
How can a calligrapher create a beautiful character without time and a brush?
Breathe. Water. Sit. Affirmations.
Do some and then begin again.
I remember this from a past life.
Just do the task in front of you which will lead to the next one.
Small parts, that’s what I Can do, is small things.
Trust. Believe. Have faith.
I shall weave something glistening
out of nothing much to speak of.
Or better yet, get of the way and let it become what it shall.
This is a puzzlement, a new city, a new life.
But, I will be with it. I will be present as this new life shows me all there is to see.
Categories:
weaving, adventure, break up, celebration,
Form:
Ballad
"It is better to climb higher over the wings of time than stay idle and be ready for the taunts of inevitable uncertainty-inevitability and un-forseen dismay"
"It is better for us to build invisible castles on the foundation of hope for a better tomorrow than give in to sorrow that ought to be sent unemployed-and given its desired-ideal rest"
"It is better to embark on the unseen journey provided by hope, the distance given by the gift of life, rather than deepen, dampen and continually hollow, uncontrollably dancing to the beat of sorrow-dismay"
Categories:
weaving, on writing and words
Form:
The hair on her legs was weaving itself into braids
Adding beads and colored yarn
While she slept
She woke once, feeling a pinch
But had no idea
what it was
until the next day
when it was warm enough to wear shorts
And people began discussing it
Categories:
weaving, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Light Verse
Dreams oft bring me a smile
Prompting me to walk another mile
Satin silky spread,rosy misty air
Dreams make life,look all fair
Eyes laden with mystic love
Waiting for peace,that illusive dove
Making a cloth of golden thoughts,while kneeling
With warp and woof of desires and feeling
Making this life shining and appealing
So dreams,I keep weaving and weaving .
Categories:
weaving, imagination, life, me,
Form:
Rhyme
and out of traffic to come home.
easter weekend, hopping happenings.
easter egg hunt, safari.
spring and warmer weather.
summers not long gone.
warmer days.
Categories:
weaving, holiday,
Form:
Weaving Our Robes From An Old, Broken Loom
In this cold world, naked and helpless born
With coming sorrow expressed in first cries,
Soon fed false dreams and other useful lies,
Ever seeking more to oneself adorn.
In falling flight as a broken wing hawk,
Our sad dead bodies, not yet drawn in chalk
Are we mere pawns in this ancient world's game
Greedy hearts, seek others to chide and blame.
If manna from high Heaven fails to fall
Blind spirits joined together, cry and moan
Rejecting any true light ever shone
Living in darkness, its alluring call.
Not seeing our fated approaching doom
Weaving our robes from an old, broken loom.
Categories:
weaving, art, creation, deep, humanity,
Form:
Sonnet