Athena was the goddess who first invented weaving. She was challenged by a mortal who thought she could do a better job of i than her, and in exchange for her ignorance Athena turned her in to a spider so she could always weave…. That’s why spiders are call arachnids
Chloe Hart
hair did by a black girl. or a basket. im not entirely sure what to be doing right now. so back to weave, beave….r!! haha ummm this is stressful!!!! weaving a basket or a black girls hair! im not racist i just think its funny!
Isabel
Sometimes I wish I could get a hair weave because then my hair could be any way I want it to be. Yet at the same time I couldn’t imagine having fake hair and pretending to be something I’m not. I’ll stick with my real hair and just be me, happily.
Veronica
lol. a weave. i’ve secretly always wanted one. that and dreads. the both amuse me :p
laughalot
I weave through the corn field,banjo in tow playing, rolling the melodious tunes from it.They flew through the air like crows flying off into the distant glowing sunset in the summertime
I had a cat once.It slept with me all the time. One day it pulled my hair. I called my hair my weave. When I did so at school people made fun of me for it telling me I couldn’t say that because I’m white. I didn’t care. Badass much?
Grace
She weaved stories into her blankets she made for us kids. We would sit and watch her, her hands moving in a smooth motion I could never master. And she talked. We listened, ears attentive, hearts on our sleeves. Always quiet as she talked about lovers and friends she once had.
Weave in and out of traffic – not dafe.W
Weave a rug or a basket – very beautiful.
Weave in and out of a life – not pretty.
Weave the dreams together into a life – curious.
J O'Neill
i weave a blanket. weave in a black girls hair is torn out and she is like “awww hell no!” haha, weaving seems to be fun but i dont know. the weave in the hair doesnt seem so fun, but i dont know that either. weave weave weave string string string.
mackenzie
The intricate designs of our lives,
Shaping itself into a beautiful pattern,
Weaving each strand little by little,
Making our lives whole.
Amanda
Ehmeing girls wear in their hair. Sometimes it looks stupid. Sometimes its really pretty. But you know.
Savanna
A weave is what black people use! My black cousin has a stinky weave!!!!:)
yourself into tiny little knots until your so tight you can’t breath and no one can get you undone.
like the colored girls get at the local salon.
like the Indians did as a way of life.
Jillian Dean
Weaving, in the dark, the young woman poked herself with the needle. She had never learned how to weave as her mother and grandmother, both master weavers had died before ever teaching her how to weave. She hoped that some days she could teach her own daughter how to weave.
Whitney
I thought I would together a poem
of thoughts, feelings, and general observations
I sat and searched for inspiration
but only stumbled upon one word:
Weave.
Weave a poem
a rug
a story…
Just don’t leave.
Tina
The worm weaves through the dirt
Mimi
She weaved dreams together, a needle stitch, each thread in place. Meticulous business. Even worse when she dropped one (she never bothered looking to see what happened to those people –maybe it was the guilt that motivated her apathy).
Mikey
flow
Mimi
The way things weave together in this world is something that never fails to astound. A second can make all the difference. A car crash could have been prevented if the man crossing the street with a pizza for his family had ran a little slower. If his parents hadn’t decided to force him to run track in high school, maybe the pregnant lady driving to see her husband would have survived.
Sean
Weaving the silken basket.. wait, that’s not quite right. One doesn’t weave silk. Do they? I don’t think so, at least. To weave.. what, then? I can weave thought, but that seems awfully metaphorical. I can weave.. something, anyway. Perhaps the material doesn’t matter. I can weave on a loom, at least, and weave something for you.
Isaac
weave is something that back people use to have more hair. It looks really cool on them and I think that only they can pull it off. To have a weave they cut all your hair and you can’t wash your hair. That is why you change it so often.
pinetree95
they wear weaves on their heads. and then when they are tarnished she has to weave her fingers. because weaving makes her happy and the weaves have become her life. infact, she has forgotten about life since she last lived without the need of a weave. she really feels as if she is a weave. she is now a part of her own inter-weaves.
eny
“Baskets. I weave baskets.” he said with a shy smirk.
“Baskets? Hah, dweeb. You’ll make no friends at this school.” I laughed. That’s how we became enemies. Bullying.
Dana Nathanson
spinning around a spinning wheel. weaves the basket intertwined with thread and pieces of simple twine. time. dime. pie crust
denyse baggott
“Bob and weave, just bob and weave.” Gramps called out from the porch recliner. “You’ve got to keep your head down, kid.” He advised.
“I am, already.” James grumbled. “This is too hard!”
“Everything’s hard when you start.” The older man chuckled. “It just takes practice, a lot of practice.”
“Too much practice!” James threw himself down on the grass and rolled over to lie on his back, staring up at the sky. “Ugh. I hate practicing!”
blankets and string and yarn and hair..through traffic basket tied in knots of spinning intertwining. spun.
denyse baggott
The basket weaver was hard at work, making what would eventually be known as the most important creation of his career. Not then, of course, would it be recognized, but eventually, unbeknownst to everyone, that simple, innocent basket – and it’s creator – would save their world.
Horns blared and shouts rang out as eh wove in and out of traffic, the engine of his Valkyrie screaming. Behind him, sirens wailed. He couldn’t get caught. He couldn’t be late. The consequences would be unimaginable.
A semi changed lanes up ahead, and he gritted his teeth. “Dammit.”
Quickly veering to the right, he downshifted, revved the engine, and popped the front tire up off the ground just in time to bounce onto the sidewalk. A portly middle-aged man in a business suit with an expensive briefcase blanched and jumped back, tripping and landing on his rear.
Luna weaved her way through all the trees surrounding her, they seemed to get closer to her as she kept walking. The trees seemed to be whispering threatening words to her. This didn’t fear her though.
‘Did you see her weave girllll?’ The sounds of the gaggling women on the bus while the sun shined through the dirty glass onto my face is what you call the sounds of the morning. Women, men, school boys and girls, all getting on the bus, waiting, watching, sitting down, listening .
Z bethel
Das ‘Tree of Life’ Poster sieht von weitem wie ein Querschnitt eines Baumstammes aus. Bei genauerem Hinsehen erkennt man jedoch, dass es sich bei den schwarzen Kreisen nicht um Holzringe, sondern um hunderte verschiedene Silhouetten von Tieren handelt. Das Projekt soll auf die Abholzung des Regenwaldes und die damit verbundene Zerstörung des Lebensraumes der Tiere aufmerksam machen. Den Print könnt ihr hier für 45 Dollar kaufen.
Hei I donna actully speek Germs but watevas.
Brown woven threads on a crooked stick, decorated with bright feathers and shells the color of a pink sky, being carried downtown and onto a bus.
D. Barndt
she encircled throughout each
weave
every follicle of fake hair
enflamed and enraged
like a battle engaged
like an engaged couple
dueling duets of deadly wit and debt
she uprooted
to leave
unlike the aged tree-trunks
so stuck in the mud
so cut and so stumped
the rings revealed
every year wisdom was missed
Phil
Weave. The first thing that pops into my head (unfortunately) is how many girls at work have weaves. I hate my job. I hate the people I work with. I want to do great things. I will do great things.
Faith
The last lap. I could hardly believe that my entire career was coming down to this 300 foot accumulation of asphalt into a checkered flag. All of the sleepless nights, restless days, and potent smell of engine fumes is coming down to my ability to weave through the last lap.
A new basket had been weaved with no less than with the hair of his fallen enemies. Their severed heads once tangled to their headstones. An impish smile dazzled the emptied sockets of his foes and with another generous scoop of salt into their hollowed skulls, this was sure to keep the witches away.
i want to place my hand next to yours. Weave our fingers together and never let go. you feel so warm when you’re next to me, and you make me feel so safe and comfortable. can’t i just lay like this with you forever?
Athena was the goddess who first invented weaving. She was challenged by a mortal who thought she could do a better job of i than her, and in exchange for her ignorance Athena turned her in to a spider so she could always weave…. That’s why spiders are call arachnids
hair did by a black girl. or a basket. im not entirely sure what to be doing right now. so back to weave, beave….r!! haha ummm this is stressful!!!! weaving a basket or a black girls hair! im not racist i just think its funny!
Sometimes I wish I could get a hair weave because then my hair could be any way I want it to be. Yet at the same time I couldn’t imagine having fake hair and pretending to be something I’m not. I’ll stick with my real hair and just be me, happily.
lol. a weave. i’ve secretly always wanted one. that and dreads. the both amuse me :p
I weave through the corn field,banjo in tow playing, rolling the melodious tunes from it.They flew through the air like crows flying off into the distant glowing sunset in the summertime
I had a cat once.It slept with me all the time. One day it pulled my hair. I called my hair my weave. When I did so at school people made fun of me for it telling me I couldn’t say that because I’m white. I didn’t care. Badass much?
She weaved stories into her blankets she made for us kids. We would sit and watch her, her hands moving in a smooth motion I could never master. And she talked. We listened, ears attentive, hearts on our sleeves. Always quiet as she talked about lovers and friends she once had.
Weave in and out of traffic – not dafe.W
Weave a rug or a basket – very beautiful.
Weave in and out of a life – not pretty.
Weave the dreams together into a life – curious.
i weave a blanket. weave in a black girls hair is torn out and she is like “awww hell no!” haha, weaving seems to be fun but i dont know. the weave in the hair doesnt seem so fun, but i dont know that either. weave weave weave string string string.
The intricate designs of our lives,
Shaping itself into a beautiful pattern,
Weaving each strand little by little,
Making our lives whole.
Ehmeing girls wear in their hair. Sometimes it looks stupid. Sometimes its really pretty. But you know.
A weave is what black people use! My black cousin has a stinky weave!!!!:)
yourself into tiny little knots until your so tight you can’t breath and no one can get you undone.
like the colored girls get at the local salon.
like the Indians did as a way of life.
Weaving, in the dark, the young woman poked herself with the needle. She had never learned how to weave as her mother and grandmother, both master weavers had died before ever teaching her how to weave. She hoped that some days she could teach her own daughter how to weave.
I thought I would together a poem
of thoughts, feelings, and general observations
I sat and searched for inspiration
but only stumbled upon one word:
Weave.
Weave a poem
a rug
a story…
Just don’t leave.
The worm weaves through the dirt
She weaved dreams together, a needle stitch, each thread in place. Meticulous business. Even worse when she dropped one (she never bothered looking to see what happened to those people –maybe it was the guilt that motivated her apathy).
flow
The way things weave together in this world is something that never fails to astound. A second can make all the difference. A car crash could have been prevented if the man crossing the street with a pizza for his family had ran a little slower. If his parents hadn’t decided to force him to run track in high school, maybe the pregnant lady driving to see her husband would have survived.
Weaving the silken basket.. wait, that’s not quite right. One doesn’t weave silk. Do they? I don’t think so, at least. To weave.. what, then? I can weave thought, but that seems awfully metaphorical. I can weave.. something, anyway. Perhaps the material doesn’t matter. I can weave on a loom, at least, and weave something for you.
weave is something that back people use to have more hair. It looks really cool on them and I think that only they can pull it off. To have a weave they cut all your hair and you can’t wash your hair. That is why you change it so often.
they wear weaves on their heads. and then when they are tarnished she has to weave her fingers. because weaving makes her happy and the weaves have become her life. infact, she has forgotten about life since she last lived without the need of a weave. she really feels as if she is a weave. she is now a part of her own inter-weaves.
“Baskets. I weave baskets.” he said with a shy smirk.
“Baskets? Hah, dweeb. You’ll make no friends at this school.” I laughed. That’s how we became enemies. Bullying.
spinning around a spinning wheel. weaves the basket intertwined with thread and pieces of simple twine. time. dime. pie crust
“Bob and weave, just bob and weave.” Gramps called out from the porch recliner. “You’ve got to keep your head down, kid.” He advised.
“I am, already.” James grumbled. “This is too hard!”
“Everything’s hard when you start.” The older man chuckled. “It just takes practice, a lot of practice.”
“Too much practice!” James threw himself down on the grass and rolled over to lie on his back, staring up at the sky. “Ugh. I hate practicing!”
“The results are always worth it.”
“Really?”
“Always.”
blankets and string and yarn and hair..through traffic basket tied in knots of spinning intertwining. spun.
The basket weaver was hard at work, making what would eventually be known as the most important creation of his career. Not then, of course, would it be recognized, but eventually, unbeknownst to everyone, that simple, innocent basket – and it’s creator – would save their world.
Weave me into oblivion, I’m as light as a feather,
As light as a feather,
As light as a feather…
Horns blared and shouts rang out as eh wove in and out of traffic, the engine of his Valkyrie screaming. Behind him, sirens wailed. He couldn’t get caught. He couldn’t be late. The consequences would be unimaginable.
A semi changed lanes up ahead, and he gritted his teeth. “Dammit.”
Quickly veering to the right, he downshifted, revved the engine, and popped the front tire up off the ground just in time to bounce onto the sidewalk. A portly middle-aged man in a business suit with an expensive briefcase blanched and jumped back, tripping and landing on his rear.
Luna weaved her way through all the trees surrounding her, they seemed to get closer to her as she kept walking. The trees seemed to be whispering threatening words to her. This didn’t fear her though.
Texture, basket, culture, african, beautiful, straw, wheat, yellow, golden, circular, handle, colorful, corn, brisk, crispy, fragile, mother, warmth, love, protection, memories,
‘Did you see her weave girllll?’ The sounds of the gaggling women on the bus while the sun shined through the dirty glass onto my face is what you call the sounds of the morning. Women, men, school boys and girls, all getting on the bus, waiting, watching, sitting down, listening .
Das ‘Tree of Life’ Poster sieht von weitem wie ein Querschnitt eines Baumstammes aus. Bei genauerem Hinsehen erkennt man jedoch, dass es sich bei den schwarzen Kreisen nicht um Holzringe, sondern um hunderte verschiedene Silhouetten von Tieren handelt. Das Projekt soll auf die Abholzung des Regenwaldes und die damit verbundene Zerstörung des Lebensraumes der Tiere aufmerksam machen. Den Print könnt ihr hier für 45 Dollar kaufen.
Hei I donna actully speek Germs but watevas.
love, confusion, beauty, pain, glory, hope, inequality, my kids, death, heaven, animals, love, humility, assholes, flowers, sunshine.
Brown woven threads on a crooked stick, decorated with bright feathers and shells the color of a pink sky, being carried downtown and onto a bus.
she encircled throughout each
weave
every follicle of fake hair
enflamed and enraged
like a battle engaged
like an engaged couple
dueling duets of deadly wit and debt
she uprooted
to leave
unlike the aged tree-trunks
so stuck in the mud
so cut and so stumped
the rings revealed
every year wisdom was missed
Weave. The first thing that pops into my head (unfortunately) is how many girls at work have weaves. I hate my job. I hate the people I work with. I want to do great things. I will do great things.
The last lap. I could hardly believe that my entire career was coming down to this 300 foot accumulation of asphalt into a checkered flag. All of the sleepless nights, restless days, and potent smell of engine fumes is coming down to my ability to weave through the last lap.
A new basket had been weaved with no less than with the hair of his fallen enemies. Their severed heads once tangled to their headstones. An impish smile dazzled the emptied sockets of his foes and with another generous scoop of salt into their hollowed skulls, this was sure to keep the witches away.
i want to place my hand next to yours. Weave our fingers together and never let go. you feel so warm when you’re next to me, and you make me feel so safe and comfortable. can’t i just lay like this with you forever?