Poem: "Spinning"
Jan. 22nd, 2025 07:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drippedonpaperPoem: "Spinning"
For RJS, Master Spinner
There was a man.
He spun a thread
"Let's add in some gold," he said,
"Some gold, some love, some metaphor."
He spun and spun. He added more.
He wove with skill.
With joy, he'd create:
A story in a scarf,
A coat,
No one could wait
To don, to wear, to snuggle inside.
The skill of the weaver,
Not skill you could hide.
He spun with love,
A crowd would gather
"We want to learn,
There's no one we'd rather
Sit beside and learn to create.
You have the skill, we cannot wait."
He spun, they spun,
He held their hands
Directed with skill
Helped them plan.
He added gold, when none could be found.
He added love, when no one was around.
He had a hand, would redirect
Gave just the advice no one could reject.
His students spun, they spun away
To create, to dazzle others each day.
They added to the gold he gave.
More students to teach,
More lives to save.
He added love, he added gold
Placed metaphors for them to hold.
Together they spun a dress, a hat.
Soft as silk, laying bright and flat.
The fabric elaborate, beautiful and strong.
A master of craft,
He could do no wrong.
Another class, more students moved on.
Another class, he's moving on.
His gold runs low, but his spins it in
The many learn to create from him.
The students come, pillage and leave
They want his love and gold to weave.
He gives and gives, he spins again.
But now his clothes are wearing thin.
He started to make a pair of pants
But then a student learned to dance.
He pulled apart the pants, each thread
To make her a new dress instead.
The pants, a shirt, he needs a pair
But another kid and no one cares.
He makes some socks, give him a shirt
He'll stay up late, he'll make things work.
The teacher spins and spins again
With tired hands,
Thread wearing thin.
No gold left, will there be enough?
He tries and tries, man, this is tough.
He is all out of stories now.
His head is stooped, permanent bow.
His sight is cloudy, he cannot see
The stories, the coats that came to be
The ones that grew, at his spinning touch.
His students that have learned so much.
The stores that burst with their creations
They're selling them in every nation.
The world sparkles with gold
Spun from his hands.
He's tired now,
Tries to understand.
Why all he spun seems far away.
His clothes threadbare, he struggles to say,
"I cannot spin, or weave or sew.
Creativity, I do not know.
There's nothing left to say or spin."
Does anyone remember him?
Students should come,
Lend him some gold
They need to spin
He's feeling cold.
He covered them.
They should cover him.
Fill his bed up to the brim
With tapestries of metaphor
Gold and love,
He now needs more
Let him borrow, as they did from him.
So he can be warm and spin again.
For RJS, Master Spinner
There was a man.
He spun a thread
"Let's add in some gold," he said,
"Some gold, some love, some metaphor."
He spun and spun. He added more.
He wove with skill.
With joy, he'd create:
A story in a scarf,
A coat,
No one could wait
To don, to wear, to snuggle inside.
The skill of the weaver,
Not skill you could hide.
He spun with love,
A crowd would gather
"We want to learn,
There's no one we'd rather
Sit beside and learn to create.
You have the skill, we cannot wait."
He spun, they spun,
He held their hands
Directed with skill
Helped them plan.
He added gold, when none could be found.
He added love, when no one was around.
He had a hand, would redirect
Gave just the advice no one could reject.
His students spun, they spun away
To create, to dazzle others each day.
They added to the gold he gave.
More students to teach,
More lives to save.
He added love, he added gold
Placed metaphors for them to hold.
Together they spun a dress, a hat.
Soft as silk, laying bright and flat.
The fabric elaborate, beautiful and strong.
A master of craft,
He could do no wrong.
Another class, more students moved on.
Another class, he's moving on.
His gold runs low, but his spins it in
The many learn to create from him.
The students come, pillage and leave
They want his love and gold to weave.
He gives and gives, he spins again.
But now his clothes are wearing thin.
He started to make a pair of pants
But then a student learned to dance.
He pulled apart the pants, each thread
To make her a new dress instead.
The pants, a shirt, he needs a pair
But another kid and no one cares.
He makes some socks, give him a shirt
He'll stay up late, he'll make things work.
The teacher spins and spins again
With tired hands,
Thread wearing thin.
No gold left, will there be enough?
He tries and tries, man, this is tough.
He is all out of stories now.
His head is stooped, permanent bow.
His sight is cloudy, he cannot see
The stories, the coats that came to be
The ones that grew, at his spinning touch.
His students that have learned so much.
The stores that burst with their creations
They're selling them in every nation.
The world sparkles with gold
Spun from his hands.
He's tired now,
Tries to understand.
Why all he spun seems far away.
His clothes threadbare, he struggles to say,
"I cannot spin, or weave or sew.
Creativity, I do not know.
There's nothing left to say or spin."
Does anyone remember him?
Students should come,
Lend him some gold
They need to spin
He's feeling cold.
He covered them.
They should cover him.
Fill his bed up to the brim
With tapestries of metaphor
Gold and love,
He now needs more
Let him borrow, as they did from him.
So he can be warm and spin again.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-23 11:52 am (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)