A bit silly, written for a member of the live workshop, who also weaves with
a group called The Small Loom Ladies, the looms small of course. The live
workshop decided to do a loom poem for her, maybe a loomrick, pantaloom,
villaloom, or plain patterned weave as here.
Looms
At the cusp of night,
the moon's luminescence
competes with artificial luminaries
to light the weaver's way.
looming large
With the lightest touch,
the small loom ladies lumber
across the moors
to join the weaver's weft.
looming large
In the dark of night,
the moon looms large,
loons and lambs laugh
when the weavers go their way.
looming large
With great finesse,
the small loom ladies loosen
knots to braid bands
for coat and shawl.
looming large
At the end of night,
the moon looks thin,
loathe to leave
until the weavers go away.
looming large
The small looms are put away,
fabric warped and woofed,
until the moon is new
the ladies weave alone.
Feb guest is TE Ballard and Gar does garbage at:
http://gardawg.homestead.com/gardawg.html,
Poets for Peace. ˇPoemas sí, balas no!
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