The Spider’s Sleep In The Arch Above My Door

She eats her yesterday,
the night the bees fled.
Reeling in, unhitching
intricacy.

The freight train rumbles,
the coyote humbles its soft feet
in the melon patch
and pole beans
near her silent spinning
over the door we share.

Like me, she tosses dream-silk
to the nearest fragile limb
asleep in the dim light
to snag an anchorhold
on what she must do,
what cares to be seen to,
or believe in with the coming
of dawn’s jewel-dew.

Relentless under the impromptu
show of one lonely star in cloud-drift,
a screech owl’s rapid strike,
the crackle of street light,
her night work ties up single
tether points, casting
off broken ones, eaten,
prayers stretched from her hold.

Nimbled for the rising
of a take-for-granted sun,
she finishes a catch-all for a day
into which wanderers
might fly.

By Tricia Knoll

spider and web close up.


Knoll_Author_PhotoI wrote my chapbook Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press) some years ago and spent time looking for stories and events that highlighted the interface between wild creatures and humans in urban habitat. I live near a small creek in Portland which is a corridor for coyotes. Each fall a pileated woodpecker comes back to investigate my alder trees. I was captivated by this story of Isolde and the other red tails who have found niches in New York City. Website: triciaknoll.com

Photo of spider web by Noppharat Manakul

Autumn Shall Garner

There’s a spider on a lilac leaf, he’s brown and green with beige legs and seems a bit drunk. It’s October, it’s cool and

he drifts lazily on a short web, waiting for Indian summer to bring one more gnat or bottle fly.

I’m tempted to wrap him in tissue, bring him inside the house to live out the winter in the cellar.

There he could dine on centipedes, meet some classy house spider babe and (if she doesn’t eat him) they can make spider babies.

(I Think) I can safely assume he’s male, he’s still here uneaten by said spider babies that would eventually make him a widower,

and he’d miss the lilac leaves, ( I think) and drinking the October wind and spinning short webs and dreaming of fluttering

wax moths and mud wasps. And I would not think of him, amid the dust and cobwebs from spiders long gone, (winter home or not)

and if I saw him, I might forget he is here under my protection and I might squash him beneath my heel.

I leave him to the cool morning to build his web, to drink the wind and dine on what may fly or crawl,

before the lilac leaves fall.

By Cee Williams

a small spider on the green leaf


Cee Williams is a gardener and fisherman residing in Erie, Pennsylvania, US. His poetry tends to focus on the observation of, and his connection to the world and people around him.

Photo of spider on leaf by Decha Thapanya

Weavings

Gossamer spider webs
Shimmering wisps of summer
Nature’s tatted silk lace
Capture the imagination
along with their prey
Dew drops cling as glistening spheres
Reflecting tiny prisms of light
in the brilliant sun
Vibrating softly
with each gentle breeze
So many dreams vanquished
Life and death coexist side by side
in the lethal beauty of the orb’s web

By Ann Christine Tabaka

spider web in blue flowers


Tabaka Author PhotoAnn Christine Tabaka was born and lives in Delaware. She is a published poet, an artist, a chemist, and a personal trainer. She loves gardening, cooking, and the ocean. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her poems have been published in numerous national and international poetry journals, reviews, and anthologies. Chris has been selected as the resident Haiku poet for Stanzaic Stylings.

Photo of spider web by rumxde

Dragonfly

It was so beautiful,
gleaming huge and iridescent
gold and green and blue and black.
With wings that should have been clear,
filled with shining rainbows
not like this, twisted at strange angles
and dulled with sticky silk.
Not stuck there waiting
to be prepared for some spider’s supper.

I held it gently
and took it from the web.
I carefully removed the sticky silk
and saw the rainbows sparkle as they should,
saw it’s eyes brighten and gleam
with the prospect of freedom.
It took a while, this disentanglement,
a delicate task to free this fragile creature.

And when it was ready,
I opened my fingers and
let it fly away.
It bit me then.
No parting kiss,
but a bite that
left a bruise.
Such gratitude!

By Lynn White

brown dragonfly on twig


Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. Her poem ‘A Rose For Gaza’ was shortlisted for the Theatre Cloud ‘War Poetry for Today’ competition 2014. This and many other poems, have been widely published, in recent anthologies such as – ‘Alice In Wonderland’ by Silver Birch Press, ‘The Border Crossed Us’ and ‘Rise’ from Vagabond Press and ‘Selfhood’ from Transcendence Zero – and journals such as Apogee, Firewords Quarterly, Indie Soleil, Midnight Circus and Snapdragon as well as many other online and print publications.

Find Lynn on Facebook and and lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com

Photo by Dave Marks