"unroll" poems
is Corrie ten Boom´s Favorite Quote.
The Master Weaver’s Plan
My life is but a weaving
Between the Lord and me;
I may not choose the colors–
He knows what they should be.
For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side
While I can see it only
On this, the underside.
Sometimes He weaves in sorrow,
Which seems so strange to me;
But I will trust His judgment
And work on faithfully.
‘Tis He who fills the shuttle,
And He knows what is best;
So I shall weave in earnest,
And leave to Him the rest.
Not ’til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern, He has planned.
by AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Based upon research, have discovered that more than one person has been credited with authorship of this poem. For now, have decided to list it as “author unknown” until there is further clarification. Corrie ten Boom.
These words said Corrie ten Boom, the author of many many books. I feel honored and humbled that I may show you this poem she constantly presented in her life as a token of love to God and let you know about her. As Corrie ten Boom said the true author of this poem is still unknown. I am only the one who gives through.
with love, Sylvia Frances Chan
Wednesday, 20 December 2017
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
Against better judgment, I forget
How the sun casts her shadow
On roads that unroll themselves
As minefields full of expectation
I find my pleasure in disaster that
Draws near when I laugh at it
Blowing caution to the wind
Of change behind me
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 11:32 AM UTC
“Unbind
Unclasp
Uncover
Uncurl
Unfurl
Undo
Unfasten
Unfold
Unhinge
Unhook
Unleash
Unlink
Unmask
Unroll
Unveil
Unclip
Unlace
Unzip
Untie
Unbutton
Unlock”
“Undress.”
“Understood.”
Unravel
Mar 1, 2021
Mar 1, 2021 at 5:39 AM UTC
Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.
No faint and hesitating trill,
Such tribute as to winter chill
The lonely redbreast pays!
Clear, loud, and lively is the din,
From social warblers gathering in
Their harvest of sweet lays.
Nor doth the example fail to cheer
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere,
And yellow on the bough:—
Fall, rosy garlands, from my head!
Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed
Around a younger brow!
Yet will I temperately rejoice;
Wide is the range, and free the choice
Of undiscordant themes;
Which, haply, kindred souls may prize
Not less than vernal ecstasies,
And passion’s feverish dreams.
For deathless powers to verse belong,
And they like Demi-gods are strong
On whom the Muses smile;
But some their function have disclaimed,
Best pleased with what is aptliest framed
To enervate and defile.
Not such the initiatory strains
Committed to the silent plains
In Britain’s earliest dawn:
Trembled the groves, the stars grew pale,
While all-too-daringly the veil
Of nature was withdrawn!
Nor such the spirit-stirring note
When the live chords Alcæus smote,
Inflamed by sense of wrong;
Woe! woe to Tyrants! from the lyre
Broke threateningly, in sparkles dire
Of fierce vindictive song.
And not unhallowed was the page
By wingèd Love inscribed, to assuage
The pangs of vain pursuit;
Love listening while the Lesbian Maid
With finest touch of passion swayed
Her own æolian lute.
O ye, who patiently explore
The wreck of Herculanean lore,
What rapture! could ye seize
Some Theban fragment, or unroll
One precious, tender-hearted scroll
Of pure Simonides.
That were, indeed, a genuine birth
Of poesy; a bursting forth
Of genius from the dust:
What Horace gloried to behold,
What Maro loved, shall we enfold?
Can haughty Time be just!
2.5k
As I sit on this assigned desk
ears drooling with institution gel
I swirl on the seat, the wind pause
Musing in evangelised dilemmas
Lobotomised to jerking veracities
Sagacity amateurs boost egos
Stooping and stooging in asylums
Barricading others progression
Regressed losing solid grounds
Jurisdictional custodial supervisions
An infused scent of propagandism
Scenes of robotic observational modelling
Unprincipled to insist on another destiny
Calculating targeted risked predictions
Regulated to invigilate and unroll a matrix grid
Who am I? To forge his,her or their trench
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC
Oh! mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos.
VIRGIL.
Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov’d recollection
Embitters the present, compar’d with the past;
Where science first dawn’d on the powers of reflection,
And friendships were form’d, too romantic to last;
Where fancy, yet, joys to retrace the resemblance
Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied;
How welcome to me your ne’er fading remembrance,
Which rests in the ***** though hope is deny’d!
Again I revisit the hills where we sported,
The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought;
The school where, loud warn’d by the bell, we resorted,
To pore o’er the precepts by Pedagogues taught.
Again I behold where for hours I have ponder’d,
As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay;
Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander’d,
To catch the last gleam of the sun’s setting ray.
I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded,
Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o’erthrown;
While, to swell my young pride, such applauses resounded,
I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone.
Or, as Lear, I pour’d forth the deep imprecation,
By my daughters, of kingdom and reason depriv’d;
Till, fir’d by loud plaudits and self-adulation,
I regarded myself as a Garrick reviv’d.
Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you!
Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast;
Though sad and deserted, I ne’er can forget you:
Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.
To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me,
While Fate shall the shades of the future unroll!
Since Darkness o’ershadows the prospect before me,
More dear is the beam of the past to my soul!
But if, through the course of the years which await me,
Some new scene of pleasure should open to view,
I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me,
“Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew.”
1.7k
I've had trouble wrapping Christmas gifts;
it has always been your job to do this ***** work.
I work to get the Christmas bonus,
we do the shopping,
you do the wrapping.
Plain as day.
But you left me, and I had to do all the work by myself. And so
I made a list of steps in the new skill I have mastered:
*1. Unroll the gift wrapper. Spread it. Cover all bases. Never adore the design and adornments; it will be ripped anyway.
2. Put the gift in the middle of the paper. Estimate how much paper are you willing to save or spend and waste.
3. Tape the ends. Put tape wherever. Don't try to hide the tapes. Secrets are meant to be revealed anyway. TIP: The more you put tape, the uglier your gift wrap will be. You think tapes will mend loose ends but it will simply destroy the aesthetic value of your gift.
4. Fold and tape. Tape and fold. Design it however you like. Origami the **** out of it. It will be destroyed anyway.
5. Put the gift card. Write with your best handwriting. With a smile swathed on your face. Add a dash of artificiality. No matter what you put here, this will not merit anything; It will not be read anyway.*
Four Christmases you have been wrapping those gifts. Now that I have
wrapped some this year, I'm pretty sure why you've left. Plain as day.
PS Wait for the gift I am sending you over. I wrapped it just for you.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
All strangeness consumes me
it clings to me way beyond all compass
am I somewhat unbalanced
i suspect I know the truth about
empty chairs facing a white sun
waves of my mind unroll the
white hemmed lace of their thoughts
upon the arid shores of my being
and cause the aquatic butterflies
of anecdotal memory to appear
of white sunlit streets
of meditations on pictorial images
of ideas that spark a rain-storm
of blinding brilliance
am i somewhat unbalanced
i see imaginations, colored imaginations
that turn and twist into
impossible extravaganzas of geometry
am i somewhat unbalanced
i take my shirt of it is bleeding
am i somewhat unbalanced
i hear delirious laughter
it comes from an open window
though my shirt still bleeds
am i somewhat unbalanced
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
343
My Reward for Being, was This.
My premium—My Bliss—
An Admiralty, less—
A Sceptre—penniless—
And Realms—just Dross—
When Thrones accost my Hands—
With “Me, Miss, Me”—
I’ll unroll Thee—
Dominions dowerless—beside this Grace—
Election—Vote—
The Ballots of Eternity, will show just that.
1.4k
Burning souls, shredded hearts, and eyes swollen of intense crying and midnight reading; cosmic threads evolving into greener beings.
Rub that old wound over and over again; know that it is friction that creates heat, and know that heat is a synonym for warmth.
Set yourself on fire; know that you’re a phoenix made for a constant rebirth, and know that fire is your friend.
Tear your heart apart over lost causes and pieces of art; know that the voids you make can turn into light wells if you let it.
Don't let wine, or poets, fool you; unroll beyond time and space.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
There will certainly be
A great many of them
Far readier than I’ll ever be
O blessed unborn one
Yet endowed with inexistence
To whom mercy shall slip from
And re-emerge in its awakening
Beings past or below my shrinking age
A great many among them
Whom I once did or shan’t collide
Beyond the captured scope of mutual days
To relate to you what high events
Unrolled before our common eyes
Folks granted with the privilege
Promoted to the status of witnesses
Historians, athletes and prophets
By themselves and their narratives
I let them unroll their good accounts
Forfeit their tales of what must be bound
To mould your unsuspecting
Circumspect mind and
Save you from sensing
Delicately sensing
Voices that once knew more
Than in haste speak
Than with haste carry
Daringly could the silence hear
Untangle the mumbling tango
Of the vociferous crystal parade
My darling unborn one
The tortuous path out of the forgings
Of reason almighty, the ventricular beast
Played and echoed in loops and on repeat
No, you shan’t feast on their hymns
Yours is meant for the engineering of belief
In something further, of glory,
Far more, furthermore,
Something extraordinary
Than the days of days
And the knowns of knowns
And to lodge firmly out of the stillness
That’s woven in the heart of your chanting storm
And in the precipice of the forecast
May you never come to designate
But the space between the notes
So that when it comes not to ever pass
We shall rejoice in the untold absence
That binds us as if pierced by an arrow
While we ask about the bow
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 6:26 PM UTC
It barely makes it bearable but bearable none the less
I only ever enjoyed you when we were in a mess
Needles on the draining board and dettol on your wrist
Meals before fainting slow empty bottles ******
Rolled up receipts to unroll
We're gonna need that dough
Amyl Nitrite. Woah!!
Orange stars and speckled doves
Tongues and lips and hands and legs and hips all pushing, grinding, grabbing trying to find a way inside you
Resonate when well oiled
Lucy was in the sky and I was in the palm of your hand, pixilated
Pipes, knives and bee hives for the honey in your tea
Crack on the pavement till we were like rag dolls
Bundles of flesh and bone with icky like indecision rummaging through drawers, ashtrays, pockets and old school bags to try to find something to keep the buzz alive and the birds at bay but more importantly to avoid sobriety with you
I think it's time to leave
I'll die for my love for you
But as for you my dear I'll see you next week when I pick up my things
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
Let me unroll rugs, prayers to furnish tonight
Promise to my Lord may accomplish tonight
Urdu sipped my blood since years back
Let me try my grief in English tonight
Stars walked around the sky over her mansion
Eagerly gathered to know her wish tonight
Rivulets flowing down your cheeks are havoc
Oh Lord! Who will relieve her anguish tonight
Evening of June and approaching misfortune
Silently my hopes wait to vanish tonight
Who cares for Life, Leila and Love
Let them cause my soul to perish tonight
Mirza, in Husayn's abode, swears by Lord
In divine Kingdom, he feels devilish tonight
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 5:57 AM UTC
Unroll me
Like a bolt of fabric
Inspect the weave of my pores.
I am a tapestry
Of tattoos
Freckles
And scars.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 9:34 AM UTC
A reminiscence of a kiss
A paradox of loneliness
Addictive vased solitude
Unscrewed from the walls
I drown in ecstacy
To deck on your shores
As the strong wind fades
I hold the strong anchor
Plucking the unknown
Compressed in reality
Pressing the known
Caressing the phone
To nip, heaped dips
Sinking down depths
The broadcast of us
Where earthquakes traps
Rub my soreness
Deflate the reforms
Unroll the society
Your tremor, my tenor
I extend my arm
Afar to your side
Hold my embrace
Feel my want, my all
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
Step over the threshold
And through the front hall
Full of shoes and possibilities.
Come to a kitchen table
Able to shed the cold
And unroll your soul
Against it's worn and warm knots,
Flavoured with cookies and coffee mugs
And echoes of late chats and early plans
and sneak-behind hugs.
Let the love that pools here soak
Into your marrow
Put aside tomorrow
And so launder your heart clean of fear.
Our home is your home,
Come pull up your chair.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
For awhile now i’ve been trying to find some sense of solace
or some place of serenity in a haven that only i know of.
I’ve filled countless pages with the ideas and notions
that would shape and build those walls of my haven
to keep all the things that would render me broken
and hurt away from my world and sliver of sunshine.
It’s gone now. That haven i claimed.
pushed aside like an unwanted fly,
someone else claimed my haven.
My haven of words, of language, of prose and poetry.
The only escape i knew i not only loved but was good at.
The only thing i ever felt a sense of pride in doing.
The only place i ever felt i belonged. My haven.
it’s gone.
she took it. just like she’s taken so many other things from me.
my strength, my joy, my self-worth, my childhood, my soul.
without my haven, i’m an armadillo continuously rolled up
so as not to feel the sticks and stones raining down on me.
the armor thickens and the bones stiffen in place.
It’s not so easy for me to be gentle now.
It’s not so easy for me to unroll my armor.
All i know now is this life without the walls of my haven.
no sense of joy in words, in language, in prose or poetry.
outside the sunshine, outside the haven, there is only numbness…
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 9:12 AM UTC
Aspire to inspire
And inspired you will be
By the beauty and accident of your pure existence.
Simple elegance contained with ease.
Beautiful nature child;
The Mountains adore you
(As you adore them).
Geodes grow up to your touch
Ferns unroll their fronds
Trees lean branches down to earth
All to be closer
As you walk by.
People are drawn to you
Pulled towards your smile,
Your sense of amazement and wonder
Brightens dull and concrete lives.
You are the brightest star
On a cold and foggy night.
Even without the moon’s glow
I think I should be able to find my way
As long as I could follow
Your happy glimmer.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
...I got my writer’s spirit amputated a year back
Doctor Perfectionism said it was a lost cause
Dead weight
Heavy like an anvil resting on my brain
The anvil of the hardy wordsmith I used to be
Nurse Inspiration was the one who removed it
With a scalpel
Sharp like a fox’ teeth plunged in my head
The fox that used to whisper clever plays on words to me
Mortician Motivation buried it deep underground
In a coffin
Shut like the gateway to my mind now is
The gateway that used to unroll a red carpet in front of my feet
For all intents and purposes, it should be gone
I would never write another word
But then what is this feeling?
This itch?
This urge?
Is it phantom pain?
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 7:06 PM UTC
When we're sitting in the theater,
watching the movie of the day.
All I want is to take her gentle hand,
and lead her far away.
Far away to where the reasons,
she said we could never be,
give way to the connection,
between her and me.
But I can't.
I can't because she said so;
she said it will never work.
She doomed it from the beginning,
because of all the irk.
All the irk that might happen,
if the "inevitable" does occur.
She wouldn't believe what I tell my friends,
when they ask me about her.
What she doesn't realize about me and her
is that things will never go cold.
But for now I'll just sit back, relax,
and watch our film unroll.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
It happened again today,
as it does too often.
A super sized new roll of
toilet paper unwound off
it's holder in a heap upon
the floor.
She followed me into the
bathroom and sat slyly
staring gauging my reaction.
I thought I could actually
discern a slight smile upon
her enchanting face.
What is it about cats that
makes them do that,
unroll all the Toilet Paper?
Are they merely mischievous
or inherently evil? I am in a
quandary to know the difference.
Dec 12, 2019
Dec 12, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC
have you ever felt
lost
in a deadly abyss of
thought?
it's emotionally
exhaustive
and socially
caustic
to be caught
thinking
thoughts
instead of
singing
songs.
with those
disturbing thoughts
come a lot of
perturbing feelings
and if you've ever
been unable
to explain or
detain
one of those feelings
just know that
you are not
alone.
not all of us can
assign a name
to an emotion
however benign
not all of us are so
well acquainted
with our own minds
that we can picture
the face in our brains
staring us down
but i'm daring you
the next time you
cannot justify
cannot simplify
or expedite
a feeling down
to a name
just don't
even
try.
place your finger
over that emotion
the way you would barre
your guitar strings
heart strings on
the second fret
gently
gently
run your other
hand down over
the sound hole
located somewhere
between your
stomach and
sorely neglected
central nervous system
and then pull
it back up
to play the
melody of your
most knotted
spinal chord
not too fast
not too loud
or if you find
it easier to see
the white notes laid out
unroll the shiny top
over your backbone
and press down
softly
softly
bending your fingers up
and down each
key of vertebrate
in an ascending or
descending scale
the length of which
depends upon
how tall you are.
slowly
slowly
forget
about
names
faces
sleepless nights
or how your insecurity
is still on par with
you at fourteen
when you first tried
to exploit it into music
but now you've found it best
just to tuck it behind your ears.
and learn
the cadence of
that feeling
explore each
note and tone
and play with
how it fits into
a song
surrounded by
other sounds.
you may never
play it again
you may play it
every day
for the rest of
your life
but all that is
irrelevant
in light of this
moment
a few seconds of
stilted peace and quiet.
listen to your
feelings
until your fingers
bleed
out the suppressed
emotions
society expects you
to ignore
play them like
you were in
an orchestra
and this was the
moment
of your solo
but don't
name
anything
unless you're
calling it cadd9
gsus4
em
or a7
and never
find yourself
or your
heart strings
afraid
of f#m
or even the darkest of
spinal chords
for i know that
everyone has cried
alone in the
dead of night
over the sound of
b flat.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 4:34 PM UTC
Unfuck your *****
When the moment arrives you pounce on it
You weren't waiting for it
But when it arrives you know this is it
You unfuck your ****
Unroll a series of new memories
To replace the old ones
Jun 29, 2022
Jun 29, 2022 at 12:13 AM UTC
Just let the memories go
watch your future unroll
the past will cease entering the present
and the future?
will become your new reality.
a paradise, no longer haunted by unforgettable memories.
a kingdom, to build a new life.
a home, to find new love and be free from it's constricting binds,
who's taste has turned foul.
Oh, bitter love, soon to be forgotten in the winding breeze.
The smell of salt...
the breath of sun...
The past is now forgotten,
like footprints in the sand stolen by the sea.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC