Weaving Poems | Examples

Weaving a web

Jumping timelines, 
Creating this design, 
Weaving a web to combine, 
Multiples of beings that shine, 
While I intertwine with the Divine, 
Bringing them all on line, 
A sign of the end, 
To an old frame of mind, 
Weaving webs of their own kind, 
Leaving treasures to find, 
For those walking blind, 
Through the web of time,  
Primed with the wisdom, 
To carry them through, 
So they can create their own web too.

The Toy

A treasure untreasured, abandoned and forgot
In a darkened closet much like a burial plot
Misremembered kisses, hugs no longer felt
Twisting into bitterness, where lonesome dwelt

Memories wrapped in soft stuffing
Threadbare keepsake suffering
Cracked plastic smile full of secrets
A slow darkening uniqueness

Awakened within static button eyes
And malevolent intent began to arise
Replacing the love long since perished
Within the toy once so cherished

Now nursery rhymes are reworded wrong
Bent and broken but vile and strong
Weaving into the life and dreams
Of ‘the one who forgot’, causing screams

Growing tendrils mixed with memory and fright
Gaining strength with each passing night
Worming its presence into flesh and bone
Nevermore, nevermore to be alone

And now with one quick and final thrust
The Toy arises and shakes off its dust
Reaches out and takes control
Owning ‘the warm one’ body and soul

O, my country, devoured by the shadows of beasts weaving through the roots of time

O, my country, devoured by the shadows of beasts weaving through the roots of time,
On your white roads, leading to villages where sadness finds a home under roofs of silence,
With the beggar's sack hanging from the weary shoulders of clouds, carrying rains of memories,
Today, God wanders through you again, like a silent pilgrim seeking faith among ruins.
Under His steps, the earth sighs, like a heart singing its sorrows in unheard whispers,
The trees bow their branches, like old men recalling times when hope was not just an illusion,
And the rivers meander, carrying untold stories, like ribbons of longing that tie the past to the present,
In every corner of this land, an echo of prayer rises, a call to a sky promising salvation.
God wanders through you, o, my country, like an artist painting his masterpiece on a canvas of suffering,
And in every step, in every breath, a hope is born, like a flower finding its way through the cracks in stones,
A promise that beyond the beasts, beyond the shadows, there is a light that cannot be extinguished,
And that, one day, you will rise from the ashes, like a Phoenix rediscovering its lost sky.

Weaving Stars

She knew little of astrology
yet she could translate the stars
applying strange images
as if she saw what no one else did.

Together we would climb
to the crest of a rocky ridge,
there she would relate
visions of crypto-beasts and
numinous beings.

She weaved together a living poem
with her pinpoint insights,
each one was a gateway
to yet another starry night.

I could not love her though,
she belonged
to that Great Nothing,
and I needed something
lesser
to anchor my soul upon.

I wake up with you in my thoughts, but you are just a memory weaving its spell

I wake up with you in my thoughts, but you are just a memory weaving its spell,
why do you still seem so real, like a shadow that refuses to fade at dawn?
The sun kisses the sky a pure blue, spring birds sing their trills,
and the Palash flowers open their petals, like a living fire in the heart of morning.
The coffee tastes more bitter today, though I used the same measures,
perhaps it's just me who is more bitter, carrying the burden of a lost love,
for lost love lingers in silence more than love lived,
in a corner of the soul where the echo of longing sings its endless melody.
In the morning's silence, unspoken words lay like a veil over memories,
seeking meaning in the labyrinth of the heart, where time cannot heal everything,
and between us, only a dream continues to dance, like a ghost of the past,
in a universe of desires and regrets, where reality and dream intertwine.

Weaving lies and truths

In shadows cast by memories lost, I tread,
Willing to creep into a thousand masks, to pretend,
If only to grasp the echoes of heartbeats,
When your laughter danced through the hollow halls of my soul.
I’d weave a tapestry of lies, bright and vivid,
To cloak the truth, to drown the silence that remains,
For those fleeting moments, the warmth of your gaze,
Are whispers of solace I crave in the storm of my ache.

Weaving Worlds With Words

Words, like a gentle breeze, can whisper untold tales,
Carrying secrets through meadows and rustling in sails.

They can build winding sentences with clauses that flow,
Connecting ideas where knowledge can grow.

But words can also storm with righteous might,
Unleashing emotions that set wrongs to the right.

They can twist and turn with a poet's keen art,
Creating unseen worlds that capture the heart.

So choose your words wisely, with purpose and care,
For they have the power to build or tear.

Like the wind and the storm, they can soothe or sting,
But in a poet's hand, a beautiful song they can sing.

Weaving Woes

When mourning dove sings,
weave moonlit woes from silver, 
syllables of stars.

Weaving

“This way and that- and in and out-
     is what weaving is all about.”
                                       by_ Poet

Oh, how I love to weave!
To think about a pattern, then apply;
the length of it, conceive-
and with the rules of what I choose, comply.

Oh, how I love to weave!
My fingers nimbly moving to and fro;
then pausing to relieve
my mind when concentration becomes slow.

Oh, how I love to weave!
with ins and out of thought, my fingers move.
If not what I perceive-
adjust it, and some bits I then remove.

Oh, how I love to weave!
When nearly done, I get to join each part!
For sure, would you believe-
I wrote this poem with word-weaving art!

Weaving a Lie

telling myself the truth
until you ask me again
and my answer changes
without my heart questioning twice
all for to weave a smile on your face
to not break the hanging threads,
falling loosely onto my knees
not wanting to lose you

Weaving Wisdom's Cloak

Experience,

Is the maiden that assists knowledge 

In 

Weaving the cloak of Wisdom!







© Demetrios Trifiatis
    06 December 2022

Weaving Its Way

A leaf weaving its way
    down a flowing stream
  skitters windswept 'cross
    an autumnal lawn

  Once detached from a twig
    its life far too brief
  teasing undying belief
    ~ as green turns to grief

Weaving Flowers and Fruits

Weave  of  flowers and fruits
the fundamental renovation
of the nature of the seasons

Deliberately Flawed

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Deliberately Flawed


Makers of pottery, rug weavers too,
     from varied cultures- plan each design;
create flawed patches in work that they do-
     since only God is perfection, divine.

The Navaho weave rugs with broken lines-
     this facade showcases imperfect art;
as humans, they leave illusion- small signs-
     spirit lines where weaver souls can depart.

So, inside their art, they hide the mask
     of those defects well, not to detract
from beauty- and weave within every task
     a strand of yarn- torn, a tiny bead- cracked.

Blessings of their imperfection- embrace;
     seeking to match God's perfection- disgrace.


June 16, 2021

~1st Place~ 
Contest: Writing Prompt - Flawed
Sponsor: Constance La France
Judged: 06/24/2021

Required Words: 
flawed, broken, facade, imperfect,
illusion, mask, torn, cracked

The Bells

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

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