Manual Stray Threads Poetry

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I would be something much unexpected and, hopefully, humble. You see, I would be a quilt maker. Not of fabric and thread, though.

Poetry in Thread: The Jamdani of Dhaka – World Citizen Trail

I would stitch the different cultures together, leaving each individual one unique, yet united by a common thread. I would sit with my diplomatic needle and peaceful stitching and lead those whom hold contempt for one another see the other's perspective. I would show them that, The world isn't in black and white, It's in full, high-definition color.

So let's celebrate unity, Equality, Individuality, And uniqueness. Because in the final chapter, We all already rule the world. It's up to us to thread ourselves to each other, Or pull ourselves apart by the seams. Julia May Thread and Feathers. New friends, new emotions Butterflies that haven't been around for a while Your hands on my skin feel like a breath of fresh air Gentle, caring, seeing all of me with just your fingertips A hug that feels like a lifetime A tight squeeze that doesn't drain me, but fills me with happiness An embrace that leaves my heart racing A little gift that means so much more than you could imagine Something as small as thread and feathers And you've got me hooked Blue eyes, those big blue eyes Like watching waves of the ocean crashing Captivating, pulling me in An appreciation for good music My music is me, my voice, my emotions, my thoughts You like my music, I like yours I like you.

Whittney May School is no longer a safe haven Testing, testing, hundred murdered students, teachers Hanging by a thread and losing the grip a little more every day Following the curriculum map to X marks the standardized test. The legitimacy and respect our careers deserve. The money, the time, the love, the support. Ashly Kocher Mar Black Thread, Heart. Sanjali Sep And so it is, that I have wandered back tugged furiously throughout days by this rugged tinkling thread back to this ancient maze. Nathalie Apr A ray of sunlight pierces through a cloudy sky I bathe in the warmth of light that twinkles on my face I love the gentle tug I feel in my heart Envisioning this golden thread of glitter that connects me to the infinite glow of the universe.


String Theory Sutra

Mae Mar The last thread. It's just me here Speaking to the void that appears as a blank page in front of me Any words I speak to others that contains any meaning only reflects negativity The glimmers of me I let shine through the holes of my shell are always quickly denied It seems no one wants to even look at me It's clear I don't fit anywhere in this world If actions speak louder than words then the world has preached novels to me Lecturing me to leave It's just me here A cast away holding onto the last thread Consciousness desparately dangling I wish something would grab me and tell me it's okay I'd be content with being pulled towards either direction I just need to be told I'm meant to be somewhere That I'm wanted.

Vicki Kralapp Aug Hanging on to each day, trying to sustain, as a spider on a web hanging by a thread. Weaving our way through time and pain left to hang by lovers, life and death. Making my way through life; strength and power of spirit take their leave. Each must travel this journey on our own terms.

No flack jackets to spare us from hearts shot through by pain, no maps to guide our way. We stand; alone, vulnerable and lost. Where is the one to guide me on the right path through showers of pain and cobwebs that bind? Let me see through this to a future of love and life.

On a picture elegance is enjoyed, A Polaroid, Presented in a silver-gallery, Who's gloomy ne'er. With gauzy threads from a silky cocoon, White as the moon, Lily-hands craft blooming embroidery, With flowers there. Like gossamers this elegance's tender, Lit and slender, Shining at the afternoon silvery, Which does not flare. A 'Mustezat', a modified version of the Gazel or Ghazal adding two shorter lines to the couplets. Deborahlee Jan I don't like spiders and snakes but Poetoftheway Aug Christine Mulvihill Jul I Will Not Die. King Panda Feb L B Aug Dream Dress.

Not by machine!

More by Brenda Hillman

Knew the labor was — intensive Every edge was finished, sewn by her caring hand! From my soul" I would have made this in another life — time of hope and longing And then I saw that seam! Does it come with an occasion??!! You get them when I get them.

Breath of Life (Danna Faulds)

This from a month ago. Matt Jursin Nov Physical physics. They say that there's a mathematical equation that explains everything in life. But I say that not even physics bears an explanation for Our primal reactions are multiplied by These laws of love that linger like a lanterns lost illumination Like the campfire light on a clear night, leaves coals of culmination. Sweat beads lead to bare threads and bare bodies. And oh my, how bare bodies lead to imaginations running wild. Cold winds inspire warm kisses and close skin. Sincere actions aren't sins.

Bodies wound in union, formed by light and tightly bound.

Together, harmonic souls produce passionate sounds. Yet, still somehow, love gets lost more than love gets found. This equation is unending Body language spoken Our physical bonds equal eternity and pi squared. And you know that every moment that we share is nothing short of Now held captive by gravity and magnetism See, the last full moon marked retrograde This gravity This pull It's pulling me apart Hold on tight, dont let these planets drift away into a dark rift of decay. Let your love lap upon this solid stone like a river riffles smooth sandbars into hills of higher ground.

Because baby, without your water on my beach I'm nothing but a desert, dry and deserted. Jesse stillwater Sep September Terry O'Leary Dec Gothic Nights. Firstly, it has distinctive and consistent use of geometric patterns that are inspired by Iranian motifs. Secondly, the opacity of the pattern woven into the transparent base mesh together during the weaving process in such a way as to make the Jamdani look supremely delicate, fine and beautiful.

The predominance of Iranian motifs in Jamdani is attributed to the later day Mughal influences on the evolution of the aesthetics of the weaving tradition. Muslin and Jamdani reached their pinnacle of excellence during the Mughal period 16th to 19th century. From the middle of the 19th century, there was a gradual decline in the Jamdani industry. A number of factors contributed to this decline. Use of machinery in the English textile industry, and the subsequent import of lower quality, but cheaper yarn from Europe, started the decline.

Most importantly, the fall of Mughal power in India, deprived the producers of Jamdani of their most influential patrons. Presently, the Jamdani industry is struggling to survive in approximately villages of Rupganj, Sonargaon and Siddhirganj, under Dhaka district. Barely an hour and half drive from Dhaka, situated on the bank of the river Shitalakhya is the village Ruposhi — popularly known as the Jamdani village.

As you enter the village, you come across weavers who are busy at the looms, creating — probably the most exquisite handloom weaves in the world.

Reward Yourself

Men, women and children of the village are all involved in some stage of the production process. Most adult weavers work as long as 18 hours a day with breaks for meals or prayers. The work itself is very laborious and requires extreme concentration. These expert weavers can create the design mentally during the weaving of the saris. There is no mechanical technique involved.

Jamdani weavers have remained largely illiterate or semi-literate. However, despite the lack of any primary education in its formal sense, the mental faculties of the weavers are as sharp as mathematicians. How so ever complex the pattern might be, it is imprinted in the minds of the master weaver and passed down from generation to generation through apprentices who eventually, through years of toil, become master weavers.