Pieces Of Fragile Lace
A spider spins a micro fine thread, her gentle web to weave,
It is with awe, that we behold this art, one can't believe
This work, viewed on a frosty morn, portrays pieces of fragile lace,
How can a tiny creature create these patterns, with silent grace.
She works with great dedication, using skills beyond belief,
Securing her thread to one, and then another sturdy leaf,
Or twig, or gate, or fence, or flower, whatever is to hand,
A magical spun gossamer, her love sealed in every strand.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Spider Yarn
The spider spins his magic web,
With dexterous skill too hard to beat,
Each yarn so carefully knit,
In crisscross fashion, amazing to view.
Like a fabric buoyant in the air,
His gossamer kingdom hangs afloat,
Supported on leaves, twigs or walls,
It stays intact, never crumbling down.
At the centre, he proudly dwells,
Like the monarch of a vast empire,
With discreet vigil, he keeps alert,
To trap the spies that cross the bounds.
The arrogant despot never allows,
Intrusion from anyone around,
Those who dare to trespass his terrain,
Are meted out with the penalty of death.
Perchance if any strand is loose,
He repairs it all at once,
Never waits for the time to pass,
Or seeks help from anyone else.
If his domain is blown amiss,
With stunning speed he sets to work,
Never ready to accept defeat,
He goes on weaving his web anew.
The spiralling spider in his web,
Spins the thread of a ‘mysterious yarn',
With an edifying moral for you and me,
To marvel over one's own work.
poem by Valsa George
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Spiderman
Spider man, spider man
Does whatever a spider can
Spins a web any size
Catches thieves just like flies
Look out!
There comes the spider man
Is he strong?
Listen, bud
Hes got radioactive blood
Can he swing from a thread?
Take a look overhead
Hey, there!
There goes the spider man
In the chill of the night
At the scene of a crime
Like a streak of light
He arrives just in time
Spider man, spider man
Friendly neighborhood spider man
Wealth and fame
Hes ignorant
Action is his reward
Look out!
Here comes the spider man
To him, lifes a big bang up
Whenever theres a hang up
Youll find the spider man.
song performed by by Ramones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Spider And The Ant
I curiously observed an ant as it meandered,
ever closer to the spider's web.
In the corner of the window sat the spider,
a strand of web beneath its leg.
A waiting game was being played by the spider,
as the ant went this way and then the other.
How could it miss the web's support strands.
The spider bided its time and didn't bother.
The ant finally came across a strand and hesitated,
it tested its safety and then stepped back.
Surprisingly it climbed up to the labyrinth's centre,
the spider's sensors couldn't miss that.
It ran up the web and began to encase its prisoner,
but the ant fought hard against the thread.
Seconds later the spider returned to its corner
satisfied that its prey was almost dead.
poem by Orlando Belo
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To A Much Too Unfortunate Lady
He will love you presently
If you be the way you be.
Send your heart a-skittering.
He will stoop, and lift the thing.
Be your dreams as thread, to tease
Into patterns he shall please.
Let him see your passion is
Ever tenderer than his....
Go and bless your star above,
Thus are you, and thus is Love.
He will leave you white with woe,
If you go the way you go.
If your dreams were thread to weave
He will pluck them from his sleeve.
If your heart had come to rest,
He will flick it from his breast.
Tender though the love he bore,
You had loved a little more....
Lady, go and curse your star,
Thus Love is, and thus you are.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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The Orb Weaver Spider
The Orb Weaver spider spins her web,
Round and round and round.
She works away slowly and silently,
Without making a single sound.
She's patient and determined,
No matter how long it takes,
And, if the web gets badly damaged,
The whole thing she will just remake.
She secures her new web
Between a fence and a washing line,
Then retreats into the middle of it,
Hoping that everything will be just fine.
Unfortunately, the house owner
Hangs her tea towel right there.
The web is now in tatters
And has to be repaired.
This situation with the tea towel,
Happens again and again and again.
Having to repair the web constantly,
Is starting to become a really big pain.
Having seen this fine work of art hung there,
The owner shows the spider no respect.
She just carries on hanging it there regardless.
Whether the web is there or not, she hasn't checked.
The spider and the house owner
Are now at war and neither will give in.
Neither of them will budge an inch,
So neither of them will ever win.
But, the year rolls on and on.
Like the rest of her kind, the spider will die.
One day, she's just not there anymore,
Having gone to meet her maker in the sky.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Spider
Spider, Spider, weaving web-
Fine and silky, that can’t ebb;
What immortal Hand did give,
Engineering feet to live!
Swift legs moving on fine threads:
Insect prey finally dreads;
What finesse involves your act,
Smothering preys with great tact!
Gossamer-mesh baiting prey:
Caught in surprising, a way;
Wound by silken threads, so fast,
Die insects spun, quite aghast!
Thready sensors, zig-zag laid,
Helping hunter and to aid;
Moving majestically,
Howev’r strong the wind, may be.
What a cute beast? What a frame?
What made Adam give this name?
What gentleness? What great speed?
Catching prey with deadly greed!
Victor always in pinning
Lethally prey by spinning;
What superb brain, God-given,
Watching eyes, agile-driven!
Spider, Spider, weaving web-
Fine and silky, that can’t ebb;
What immortal Hand did give,
Engineering feet to live!
Written after William Blake’s, ‘The Tyger’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-6-2008
poem by John Celes
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The Web
Two old spinsters
Sitting in the barn,
One used candlewick
The other used yarn,
One wore a bonnet
With a white lace trim,
The other bobbed her hair
With a dragonfly pin.
They spun and they spun
‘Til the bobbins were full,
They'd squeeze out the knots
Put a twist in the wool,
They spun through the day
And on through the night
And glared at each other
If it didn't look right.
While up in the beams
Of the barn overhead
Two spinsters were spinning out
A gossamer thread,
They stared on down
With their little black eyes
And they spun round the bonnet
And the red dragonfly.
The webs floated down
Were glued to each face
With the spinsters spinning
At a frantic pace.
The wheels stopped spinning
With a sudden click-clack
As the spinsters stared
At those eyes, so black.
As the next day dawned
They came to the barn,
The men and the children
Of that little old farm,
The spinsters were spun
In a giant cobweb,
As they sat, eyes staring -
They were stone cold dead!
13 October 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Broken Thread
Broken Thread
Waking early I hear myself breathing
Covered up in my hand me down hand me down
Hiding under my patchwork freezing
With my wedding dress calling me, calling me
I dress myself in dis-function
Do I drown you in sympathy, sympathy
You could be my winter messiah
Scarred around and around me....around me
Cause im stiched up like an angel chord, I'm fixed up
They try to run and hide somehere in there defense
And now want to hand me down again.....
On a broken thread
On a broken thread
I choose to set you on fire
No-more wearing and tearing me, tearing me
Your still my only desire
And now it seems like your leaving me, freeing me, healing me.
Cause im stiched up like an angel chord, I'm fixed up
They try to run and hide somehere in there defense
And now want to hand me down again.....
They try to run and hide somehere in there defense
And now want to hand me down again.....
On a broken thread
On a broken thread
On a broken thread
On a broken thread
On a broken thread
song performed by by Natalie Imbruglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tiny Angel
.Tiny Angel,
Fragile and weak,
Spun from silken chalk.
Tiny Angel,
Fierce and strong,
Spun from silken chalk.
My fallen Tiny Angel
Fragile and weak,
Gave me strength and hope.
Spun from silken chalk.
My fallen Tiny Angel,
Strong and brave,
Spun from silken chalk.
My sleeping Tiny Angel,
Spun from silken chalk,
No longer fragile and weak,
Flies.......
poem by Christina Jayne
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Sonnet LXIII: The Gossamer
O'er faded heath-flowers spun, or thorny furze,
The filmy Gossamer is lightly spread;
Waving in every sighing air that stirs,
As Fairy fingers had entwined the thread:
A thousand trembling orbs of lucid dew
Spangle the texture of the fairy loom,
As if soft Sylphs, lamenting as they flew,
Had wept departed Summer's transient bloom:
But the wind rises, and the turf receives
The glittering web: -- So, evanescent, fade
Bright views that Youth with sanguine heart believes:
So vanish schemes of bliss, by Fancy made;
Which, fragile as the fleeting dews of morn,
Leave but the wither'd heath, and barren thorn!
poem by Charlotte Smith
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A Birthday
THE three Fates sat in a house of birth,
Ah, well a day; ah, well a day;
Their eyes were bright, but not with mirth—
They have no love for the sons of earth—
And their lips were parched and gray.
5
Their gray locks hung from brow to chin,
Ah, well a day; ah, well a day;
One held the distaff, and one did spin,
And one held shears in her fingers thin;
Three silent hags were they.
10
We saw not the thread which the sisters spun,
Ah, well a day; ah, well a day;
Nor whether in white or in black begun,
But on her with the shears, that elder one,
Our eyes were fixed alway.
15
A thread, I ween, of tangled years,
Ah, well a day; ah, well a day;
God stay her hand that holds the shears;
Our hopes are stronger than our fears
For the bud upon life's spray.
20
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Moral Cowardice.
.
Should I regret or just forget.
The things I’ve done or left undone
Accumulative unpaid debt.
Part of the web the fates have spun.
The three weird sisters spin the thread
and weave into tapestry
Each thread is chosen carefully.
Though blind the sisters see ahead.
The future fate of everyone.
No one escapes what they decree.
What is to will come to be
All that you did or left undone.
So I pretend it’s predestined
and just dismiss it from my mind.
Saturday,10 April 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Uncommon Sense
If there is no beginning how may end
advance as foe, be welcome found as friend -
for if the wheel turns all's spun pattern which
must weave itself through every thread and stitch,
Thus if there is no wheel what cares can mend
cares' mirage cares, last bend loops round next bend.
Ensure what's done is fun, spent full and rich,
as for regrets: there is no tent to pitch...
18 April 2005 retitled with minor changes 2 May 2008 -
robi03_1231_robi03_0000 XXX_ZXX
for previous version see below
If there is no beginning how can end
advance as foe, be welcome found as friend -
for if the wheel turns all's spun pattern which
must weave itself through every thread and stitch,
Thus if there is no wheel what cares can mend
the cares of cares - there's only one last bend!
Ensure what's done is fun, spent full and rich,
as for regrets no tent is there to pitch!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Spider-Man
While most folks sleep when night draws near
And dream their gentle dreams,
For Spider-Man the choice is clear
Despite the mad extremes!
While justice isn't always sweet,
Nor swift to ease the pain...
For Spider-Man no easy street,
Yet no good to complain!
Folks criticise the things he does -
He works outside the law...
Yet he persists despite the fuss
To overcome each flaw!
He perseveres and truly tries -
He soldiers on each time...
A warrior who spins and flies
And strives against each crime!
With super strength and spider-sense
He clings to any wall...
He fights his foes to save his friends
With courage to stand tall!
The villains vouch he's hard to kill -
It's hard to track him down!
To see him fly is such a thrill
As he spins cross the town!
For Spider-Man it's life or death -
With safety-net in tow...
Spectators stare and hold their breath
And wonder where he'll go!
For Spider-Man the danger waits -
It's always do or die...
And even if he hesitates,
At least he wants to try!
Give him a chance! He does his best!
Somehow he serves God's plan!
Yes, if you see him, you've been blessed,
'Cos you spied a Spider-Man!
poem by Denis Martindale
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Silkworm, Bachelor and a Spinster
A bachelor idles in his lonely garden
And mutters to the silkworm crawls on a maple tree.
' Hey! My tiny friend do you hear that sad song of my neighbor?
If I borrow your spinneret,
Then I could have make a long silky thread unbreakable
And weave a fine bedspread for her a New year gift.'
To all my friends a Happy New Year!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Spiderthread
Spiderthread
This cool early morning
when summer is remembering autumn
a spider hangs busy
off the end of a twig;
it has plans: a thread
stronger than steel, it’s said
which runs out and out,
back and back
beyond the horizon,
beyond the creation of the world
into the mind of God.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A silente creature
The silent creature
populates the human
minds
A silent creature
is invisible but
reliable and fizzy
This creature is
silent because she
needs to be
understood, refined and
she wants a
lot of aids
A silent creature
is an explosion
of life
To be a
silent creature is
a fresh and
wonderful sensation
A silent creature
is an angelical
messenger
She is a
happy, ancient, colorful
and vital imagine
A silent creature
tells many different
and interesting stories
Sometimes the silent
creature deceives to
defeat the racism
A silent creature
is defenseless from
the not curious
A silent creature
is a desirable
but desperate and
suspicious person
A silent creature
can be an
alter ego
She is a
guide of dignity
and human values
poem by Laura arwen
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Night Worker
A spider spun his web all night
and waited patiently.
A fly had circled all the morn
and buzzed there cautiously.
The spider watched and stayed so still.
No movement did he make.
And by and by the fly descended
and landed wide-awake.
He spotted the spider and tried his best
to escape the sticky trap.
The spider watched and slowly moved
and the fly with his handicap
became the bait inside the web
that the spider made at night.
The spider had his breakfast early
in the morning light.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Famine
The sinking sun is now undone,
the sky is fading red.
A spider black hides in a crack
and spins a silken thread
And babes will soon collapse and swoon,
on stones they call a bed;
With vacant eyes they fantasize
and dream of gingerbread,
And then are freed, though still in need,
from anguish of the dead.
poem by Terry O'Leary
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Weave In, Weave In, My Hardy Life
WEAVE in! weave in, my hardy life!
Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come;
Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight
weave in!
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant
weave! tire not!
(We know not what the use, O life! nor know the aim, the end--nor
really aught we know;
But know the work, the need goes on, and shall go on--the death-
envelop'd march of peace as well as war goes on;)
For great campaigns of peace the same, the wiry threads to weave;
We know not why or what, yet weave, forever weave.
poem by Walt Whitman
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