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The Maker

by John G.Hall 

Posted: 10 July 2004
Word Count: 72
Summary: For dad..
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The Maker

the old weaver
unpicked by age
laid his grey weft
asleep beneath
the nights frame,

and god threw
starry shuttles across
the satin loom,

until the cloth unrolled
its darkness, his flesh
the colour of the moon,

and on the edge
of evenings threads
two small white birds
dabbed in the distance
flew their way seaward,

a makers motif
marked in the air
a weavers heart
a masters piece.


JGH(C)2004






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Comments by other Members



joanie at 13:13 on 10 July 2004  Report this post
John, I love this. I am going to comment further when I have a read it and digested it, but my first thoughts are that it's beatiful.
joanie
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roovacrag at 14:40 on 10 July 2004  Report this post
John a very good poem.
I read into it more than most coming from the North.
Lancashire was all weavers and cloth.old mills.
Weavers worked for a pittance,yet they took pride in what they produced. Great cloth.
Sad to see it all go for the rubish now produced.

Well done.
xx Alice
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joanie at 15:42 on 10 July 2004  Report this post
John, I'm back, having re-read. I, too, am from Lancashire and my parents both told many tales of the cotton and woollen industry. They both started work at an early age in the mills.

There are so many wonderful images here - I can't begin to pick them out; I would just have to quote the whole thing. The weaving metaphors woven throughout - wonderful.

'his flesh the colour of the moon' - oh, that's very poignant.

I just adore this.

joanie
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Ticonderoga at 14:40 on 14 July 2004  Report this post
Superb piece; complete mastery of image, emotion and form; should be anthologized - one of those startling little diamonds you happen upon when rummaging through all the dusty classical coal. I loved this.

Best,

Mike
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Sazmac at 18:11 on 14 July 2004  Report this post
I thought this was wonderful - you even created the right light for me with the weavers lights and looms in the deep valleys.

Thank you,

Saz
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