Long Textile Poems
Long Textile Poems. Below are the most popular long Textile by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Textile poems by poem length and keyword.
Let me tell you a story....
of a little girl who didn't want to be a Princess!!!!
it happened a long time ago, in the life of an adorable girl of seven,
who lived in the busiest humming city, enormously crowded.
a gentle dreamy-eyed girl, who chose secret corners to read,
and play with her cherished dolls' house, which her father built.
as it happened..her father found a job..and it was an idyllic countryside,
excitedly she followed family, felt fortunate to be close to nature.
a fairyland of her dreams, a picturesque hamlet surrounded by lush fields,
lived in a cottage encircled by a gorgeous garden, bird-songs, and swings.
she went to the village-school, which was a mere walking distance,
carrying her backpack, water bottle, and books she needed.
her father was the powerful manager of the local textile mill,
where most of the villagers worked, and earned their living.
all the children glanced at her as if she were a Princess,
but this soft dainty lass craved to be purely one of them.
she noticed...those children were walking barefoot to school,
no backpack, no bottle of water, no shiny expensive clothes.
end of the day, she returned home, and declared to her caring parents,
"I don't need the backpack, bottle for water, or the stylish shoes...
starting from tomorrow, I am going to walk to school barefoot"
her parents were shocked, but didn't disagree with her at all.
from the following day, the warm friendly girl of seven,
felt totally comfortable and undoubtedly right, with her decision.
all children were frolicking with her, no more was she a distant Princess,
she was their delightful friend...sharing the same life they had in the village.
she still remembers those eyes which sparkled with wonder at the way they were accepted,
a lifelong memory was created, the gesture kindled a feeling of oneness.
April 16, 2022
For N - Form Narrative - New - Poetry Contest
Theme:Life
Sponsor: Constance La France
SECOND PLACE
FABRIC SILK
Me! Shiny silk fiber
wrapping with soft smooth touch
making dresses in glossy glare.
Nice! Ceremonial
Textile material.
Elegant, gracious, glorious.
11/11/17
People who are addicted to texting are textiles.
Ever have lunch with a textile?
You find yourself looking at the top of the textile's head...
More than their eyes...
Every so often they look your way, cross-eyed.
Head bobbing (like a baby bird searching for its mother's mouth),
Chirping vague words to catch up to the one-sided conversation.
But they never catch up.
Their food sits in front of them, half-eaten.
When it's time to leave, they stagger to their car while texting.
You say goodbye to the top of the textile's head.
They grunt something incoherent.
As you pull away, you see the textile slumped over.
Looking down at that idiot box.
Under your breath, you mutter, "I pray they make it home alive".
Just because I wear black glasses
Does it mean the universe is black?
Just because I find thorns and bushes
Does it mean all face the same too?
Just because I see one side of the globe
Does it mean there’s no other side at all?
When Red signals stop my movements
Don’t green signals allow others to move?
The universe is not a little textile piece
To measure, slice, sew and showcase.
It has gold, yet, it’s not gold;
It has diamonds, yet, it’s no diamond.
It’s a mixture; an amalgamation –
Of colors, forms, shapes, flavors,
Rhymes, rhythms, humans, beasts…
It’s a treasure of philosophies, theologies,
Truths, myths, anecdotes, fables, epics…
Only having removed our color-glasses of
Likes and dislikes; and made our minds
Clear, clean, white papers unsoiled
And perceive through the light of faith
Can we fully know its sacred secrets!
Isn’t true discernment of deserts and
Deserted paths the magic of wisdom…!
Yet, no tree can be fully fruitful
In the ever wide wild orchid of wisdom;
No seeker gains absolute enlightenment
In the endless school of experience
The universe, so far, has never opened
Its doors of secrets entirely to anyone…
02 June 2021
Wool keeps people living in cold places warm,
it is a textile sought in very extreme weather;
when a hoard of sheep is clustered closely together,
I see a field of cotton flowers lightly waving under
the chilliest wind that makes other cattle shiver
and flee the plains fearing an imminent storm.
A sheep is a gentle animal symbolizing peace,
even King David dressed in wool in his palace...
it felt nice on his skin, inducing deep sleep.
Think of the stunned shepherds tending sheep...
when the silent and twinkling skies of Bethlehem
were crossed by a luminous star never seen by them;
it glided towards a vacant manger where Jesus slept
on soft wool, giving Him the comfort that hay couldn't.
I like to wear wool shirts that trap air in rigid winters and cool
me off in sizzling summers and all this comes from a big spool;
give thanks to the kind sheep for their gift to Mankind,
admire these beautiful creatures with a look very mild.
Nests of weaver birds
hanging down from the palmyra palm
An example for community living ?
exclaimed my friend a realtor ;
his friend an architect said
it is all awesome my friend.....hm...
absolutely unbelievable, the
' handy' work of such tiny black-beaked
yellow-bellied ploceidae -the weaver birds !
I have no hesitation to call these sparrows
avian architects even human architects,
my clan may ever match in excellence !
and his friend who formed one among us
bird watchers.... a seasoned textile engineer
hath said this unhesitatingly, 'my God
what I am seeing on this palm ,,, these nests
of weaver birds.... can I call it the
'hanging textile work of avian genius!
absolutely beautiful and heavenly.....
I fail to describe any further....I am stunned 'he further said.
As we were thus watching these nests in awe
night's darkness came hanging... soon to be
driven by the rays of cool stunning silvery moonlight
the light focussed on these nests of weavers
transformed them at once into
heavenly nests of silver ....
with a hear unwilling to leave
we bid 'adieu.... to these birds of wonder
treading on the coastal silvery sands
like angels in a wonder land.
A Quote By: Alfred Lord Tennyson "Deep as first love, and wild as all regret "
The sidewalk crackled with heat but I walked on
towards a summer job of textile and lies
the morning sky was a shade of pennied copper
and the bus, an arrival place beneath the burning sun,
I consigned
and my heart ran
like a boomerang
curving me blind
I gave my heart to him alongside nineteen years of youth
then walked away from my yesterday without a single glance
we were two grown up kids making kids of our very own
but then we fell apart when the lies became uncouth
Deep as first love, and wild as all regret
we soon bled on the table of disconnect
when he cheated, I lost all respect
he traded me in with disparage, for a sassy brunette.
Feb. 29, 2020
He had little to eat and money had ran out/his luck had also ran out.
The morning's Shramik Special was sold out/his patience had definitely ran out.
Any chance of the regular train was out/he told himself to simply get out.
All textile workers, cooks, and cleaners were out/below the clouds Sun was out.
The virus was everywhere inside and out/although the lockdown was finally out.
His brother a diamond polisher was looking out/breathing heavily in and out.
They must return to the village before the day is out/chance of walking it was out.
Suddenly another train and the crowd's scream was out/by then he had foolishly ran out.
We must hurry back or we're out/they rushed past the light that was out.
Surging through the gate their fists were out/people were fighting inside and out.
An empty seat for both and their tickets were out/happy to be finally getting out.
Life's cruelty was however uncorked and out/its bottle of hope empty and out.
The brothers took time to find out/when they reached home the lights were out.
Their bundle of cheese and bread were out/their parents they thought were out.
But a neighbor saw them and reached out/and then the sac of sad news was out.
He then watched his brother collapse and out/his chest breathing only out.
God where is justice and only the devil out/have mercy on those left out.
Azteca
As a young girl growing up in Los Angeles City
My mother took me everywhere with her
Our favorite Mexican restaurant had great hospitality
Casa De Nina, I enjoyed the music and she, their famous platter;
Guajolotas o tortas de tamal
Desayuno, plato de huevos rancheros
Champurado and pan dulce de Pasqual
The owner made us feel special, served us our usual
There were, Chicano art hanging
Some of the most authentic were of Azteca
Roots in the primeval instincts enchanting
The details of nature surrounding, alla prima,
A painting of an epitomal Aztec noble prince
A beautiful princess in his arms, bien fe`rma
The traditional cuadro stayed on my mind ever since
There it was, in all places, the painting was everywhere
La Marketa, the textile district, La Golondrina
Pintura’s de Indios Mexicano’s all about the town square
Olvera Street, even in the Mission at the Marina
As soon as I got home, I cleared away the furniture,
from up against the wall
In one hand the print on the calendar
a charcoal pencil in the other I began to sketch it all
A mural has to be painted in close relationship
to the scale, style, and mood of the interior,
With regard to such siting, to eye levels, a very good tip
Considerations as light sources, make realism art superior
I hid the paint from my mother and dad
Unnoticeable as of yet, I drew very lightly
I worked fast with what mediums I had
Brush strokes here and there, ever slightly
Until a finished project, my very first mural
I took her scarf and covered her eyes,
lead her down the hall and pushed the door
I whispered into her ear, s-u-r-p-r-i-s-e
Happy Mother’s Day, I prepared her a little more
With her fingers splayed over eyes and lips
My mother processed, motionless, in awe
Focusing on the corner at the paint drips
she said, I always knew that you could draw
An inspiring experience for the most part
Exhaling—she saw that I was passionate of my Chicana art
Computers are around us everyday
Some help us, whilst others let us play
No matter our ages
They can put us in rages
As they carry on with their display
They have been here for many a year
Sumerian abacus, engineered
Even a textile loom
Made this business boom
Which brought us to the modern ones near
They come in all shapes and forms
In our lives, on our wrists their adorned
Even the time they can tell
From their chip like cell
When they work, it's great, they perform
So without them we'd be awfully lost
Although our tempers can become crossed
To them I'll never condemn
Terrific silicon gems
One day us humans will be bossed