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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The Carpet Weaver's Fingersdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Kaddish
    Elite Ratio:    5.42 - 53/41/18
    Words: 172
    Class/Type: Poetry/Passion
    Total Views: 849
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1164



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsThe Carpet Weaver's Fingersdots
    -------------------------------------------


    The Carpet Weaver’s Fingers

    Cracked, calloused, perfectly tanned russet
    And yet taut, groaning in protest
    Coarsened by soft, wispy threads
    Stunted and creased like loosening seams.

    Weathered almost dead as skin shed by a snake
    They twist and drift in a rhythmic magic
    While moonlight splutters like dying flame
    In the caressing breath of a spectral wind.

    The shrill chirps of cicadas echo off
    The thick and heavily plastered walls
    As he spins the wild, unfettered yarn
    In unfolding length of haunting ache.
    Only in the end his unblinking eyes
    Show signs of life and squint a little
    As he surveys the smouldering holiness
    Now instilled in a piece of fabric.

    Finally, he dares to raise his gaze
    Iridescent with a neon glow
    A damp earthy scent clings
    To muted sobs and howls of wind
    Perhaps emanating from muffled whispers
    Of hyenas prowling in those grassy waves
    That slender fingers of the old weaver
    Embedded forever in carpet braids.






    Submitted on 2011-08-02 11:47:00     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      This is very beautiful indeed, it reminds me of a story called "The Tailor of Gloucester" its one of my favorite childhood story.

    I like how you described the hands. Here are some of my fav lines from this wonderful poem :)

    Coarsened by soft, wispy threads
    Stunted and creased like loosening seams.

    Weathered almost dead as skin shed by a snake
    They twist and drift in a rhythmic magic
    While moonlight splutters like dying flame
    In the caressing breath of a spectral wind.

    That slender fingers of the old weaver
    Embedded forever in carpet braids.

    A very enchanting piece!

    Althea~
    | Posted on 2011-08-02 00:00:00 | by AltheaLaochra | [ Reply to This ]
      and the old weaver sees himself in the carpet...and knows that he will be around many years after his death, because his life's work will cover the floors of many places...just like our poems show the many places figuratively and literally we have been in our lives...and hopefully our work will stand the test of time...and be laid out for all to see as they walk this life.

    beautiful piece here.

    jacob
    | Posted on 2011-08-02 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]
      i like the rythmn of this. i do. kinda wispy-like.

    funny enough, i just read an article last week or the week before about a master carpet weaver. maybe it was of interest because my mother used to weave. although she wove on a loom and did smaller projects, i remember helping her card wool before she spun it on her wheel.

    carpet weavers are artists. they put themselves into it as much as a poet might with their words.

    idk. i get a feeling of longing/contentment along with the understanding that sometimes we are made to do special things.

    anyhoo...

    just some thoughts.
    | Posted on 2011-08-02 00:00:00 | by isabella | [ Reply to This ]


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