The Goddess and the Weaver

‘Wilt thou wage with me a challenge?’ said the weaver to the goddess,

‘Thou art no mentor mine as much the seamstress of my bodice.

Thy patronage lists weaving, yet the loom is my domain:

 And, by my hand, true artistry thou straight shalt ascertain.’

Thou foolish girl, the goddess said, let wisdom berth in thee,

No good would come when all is done wert thou to challenge me.

 

‘My skill exceeds my youthful years, my name known far and wide,

The shining star of Lydia,’ the weaver said with pride.

‘Thou art not deft enough to in the very least equate

To my merit on the loom, for my two hands work as eight.’

Thou irksome girl, the goddess said, best thou give ear to me:

’Twill be useless in thy hubris, and ’twill be the death of thee.

 

‘I shall not yield,’ the weaver said, 'until ’tis I or thee

That’s crowned the mistress of the loom for all eternity.

And to ensure the stakes are high, let’s state the loser then

Must relinquish loom and thread to therefore never weave again.’

Thou galling girl, the goddess said, if this be how ’twould be,

The crown shall go to she who shows the better tapestry.

 

Thus sprung they to their looms, and by the following midday,

They reconvened to put their woven oeuvres on display.

The goddess spun the story of her win against the Sea

To have control of Athens when she gave an olive tree.

And added indications to the punishment applied

When a mortal would defy a god to satiate their pride.

But the weaver’s work entwined eighteen seeming tales of love,

But those gods were with those mortals that they took advantage of.

 

The game was done! The weaver won! The goddess in her wrath

Then beat her rival with her loom, whose dismal aftermath

Proclaimed the weaver hung herself, so shattered from the blows:

Her loom destroyed, her soul a void, her highs now ashen lows.

The goddess, though, looked from afar, and came to pity her,

That with a flutter of her hand, she caused the corpse to stir.

It twisted, twirled, and shrunk until the metamorphosis

Produced a spider free to weave in everlasting bliss. 

 

Now, no matter what the circumstance, no matter what the odds,

Woe would befall a mortal who would dare defy the gods.

So if ambition has thee strive to be a high achiever,

Pray, take a lesson from this tale of the goddess and the weaver.

-EDP

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I have to lodge a complaint against your Elizabethan lingo, which I don't enjoy reading one bit, but it suits your tale strongly nonetheless. I had to read this twice & really think on it, something I'm often too impatient to do (if I don't get a poem, I usually move on). Even tho your message is seemingly that we dare not challenge the Gods (i.e. anyone in power, which has a decidedly different flavor after having a self-proclaimed God in the White House for 4 years), I'm looking at this spider you leave us with & thinking, this competition is not over by a long shot. This is just the Gods taking a victory lap when they're too blinded by their own greatness to realize how badly they're losing. This is a powerful possibility (as far as what this poem can mean) & I'm sure there are many other meanings for those not as entrenched in politics as we in the USA are, given the upcoming prez election (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[emipoemi]

We're praying for you all across the border, and hope the nightmare ends come November (we have a bit of a nightmare of our own up north). But you can read into this all you want and figure out what it means and for all I know you can run with that. But this poem is no more than a dramatic retelling of the myth of Arachne (and don't hate on Elizabethan English, I pray - xp - I know we're in modern times, but if applied well, the lingo is strong). But glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.