To An Ex....
what we told them that we did
was all those games of catching spiders
rested in their spun webs on the trees
beside the mountain river
we we really did they knew so well
but how can we ever ever tell?
that what they knew was not all that happened
as it was something else more that what spiders are
on their transparent
webs of illusions upon those trees
that in the first place
never existed
what we had were more than words
and thoughts
and so how can we ever tell ourselves
truly
that we have already forgotten?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Night Spiders Crawling
night spiders
crawling
crawling through
mind
encased
in black
satin
webs
deep
sleep
tra pped
drained
tread encased
in raw exhaustion
stung spun webs
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bad Boys Running Wild
Music :rudolf schenker
Lyrics:klaus meine, herman rarebell
Out in the streets
The dogs are on the run
The cats are all in heart
Out in the streets
Snakes are all around you
Dirty rats are on their way
They control you and theyll make you play
Out in the night
Glaring eyes in darkness
Tigers wanna fight
Out in the night
Spiders all around you
Spinning webs and make you pray
Tie you up and you cant get away
Bad boys running wild
If you dont play along with their games
Bad boys running wild
And you better get out of their way
Out in the streets
The dogs are on the run
The cats are all in heat
Out in the night
Spiders all around you
Spinning webs and make you pray
Tie you up and you cant get away
Bad boys running wild
If you dont play along with their games
Bad boys running wild
And you better get out of their way
Bad boys running wild
If you dont play along with their games
Bad boys running wild
And you better get out of their way
Get out of their way
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Iron And Silk
Iron keeps dirty habits when united,
Followers of the metal shall be rewarded;
The contestant proves his worth,
After the judges and the judgement,
Before this nothing has a present.
Anarchy is housed by the intellectuals,
Intelligently the rules are spoken
And their moods are represented
By the organizations of the spiders.
Crawling about, sneaking towards
Their goal, and lifting their webs,
A reality has emerged of mounting
Pressure, often the windows are open.
Thoughts of the evening weave
Their ways towards the horizon,
But spiders wrongly imagine our
Difficulties.
Their iron is their silk, and we have strong
Iron, that wields not being spun,
Forever the roses have been in our wreaths,
And eternally the spots on the face
Are ignited.
poem by Naveed Akram
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When spiders' webs unite, they can tie up a lion.
The Power Of Imagination Is Here...
when the rain hits the
water of the canals
spider webs are formed
to make the spiders
crawl and make you feel
the soundless hairs of their
feet
somehow you must seek the
aid
of an original thought
the magic of imagination
to see the needles of the pines
on the rain
you must learn to plant those trees
on the linings of your iris
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Spiders In The Night
Spiders in the night
Creeping round the walls
Now you'll feel him
Crawling over you
Creepy crawly things
Filling up your bed
Soon you'll feel him
Crawling through your brains
You think he's there
Beware his bite
But when you look
The spider's not in sight
Spiders reappear
Taking peoples names
Everything is taken down insane
There's no way out
And there's no key
But here's a clue
The spider's really me
You're written in his book
The spider won't forget
You won't forget
The spiders in the night
The end is going night
Itsy witsy friends
The spiders disappearing from the night
You think he's gone
You think he's dead
There's no escape
The spiders in your head
All the spiders in the night
All the spiders in the night
All the spiders in the night
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne from Bark At The Moon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Raven Coloured Spiders
Raven coloured spiders
crawl inside my eyes,
fingering my thoughts,
with their black, extended legs....
Searching for a mind
a mind full of webs, confusion and emptiness.
poem by Heather Moreton
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The House
For many years, the house
stood empty and forlorn.
The windows had been boarded
preventing the sunlight coming in.
No welcoming mat lay by the door;
laughter was a thing of the past
as spiders spun their webs
within the gloomy silence.
The house stood empty
abandoned by most living things
and there were those who said
spooky goings on went on
after night fell in there.
No one could prove it
because no one would stay there.
Only the fool hardy
would ever enter after dark.
The paintwork pealed
and the front door creaked
if someone dared to open it.
They say the house is haunted,
but no one knew
by what or who.
The house began to crumble
as each season came to pass.
The glory of its birth
lay somewhere in the past
and now the crumbling walls
would never reveal
any of the secrets that it knew.
Then a fire started
by a hand unseen
and the house finally died
within its own funeral pyre
15 March 2011
poem by David Harris
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Written laws are like spiders' webs, and will, like them, only entangle and hold the poor and weak, while the rich and powerful will easily break through them.
quote by Anacharsis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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4. Light-hearted Laughter
Much light-hearted laughter
Fantastical games
Played by the children
With so many names
Shrunken in size
Making dragonfly riders
Climbing up webs
Made by nine legged spiders
Floating in bubbles
Oh what a wheeze
This way and that
Getting caught in a breeze
Some you may think of
Are often much dafter
Than fantastical games
Making light-hearted laughter
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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The mind cannot support moral chaos for long. Men are under as strong a compulsion to invent an ethical setting for their behavior as spiders are to weave themselves webs.
quote by John Dos Passos
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Quarrel
'Let no one hope to find in contemplation an escape from conflict, from anguish or from doubt.' Thomas Merton
*
Words spoken drift like
mustard gas, doubt burning like
webs, unexpected
spiders brush my ears,
slip into my eyes as blind-
ly I run away.
poem by Steven Federle
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Life Webs
life vagrant
wanderers philosophers
suddenly here
perceived pulse pause today
perhaps gone
ephemeral tomorrow
seldom seen shape
shifting silent shadows
shift complexity meaning
in industrial life webs
spiders cast corporate
webs embalm age loyalty
catch flying money
chasing honeypot insects
philosopher enticer
attracts sudden knowings
swift departings spins
nothing materially valued
in time capsule tar pits
pumping up modern man
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Spring Time 'n Chocolate
Have you noticed the subtle changes
Lately along the roadway?
Color is popping out now
A little more every single day
The trees aren’t quite so bare
For green is peeking through
And some blossoms also we see
Their colors so sweet and so true
Just as sweet as chocolate
A treat for your eyes and your nose
As the weather becomes a little warmer
We are able to wear cooler clothes
I also notice the little bugs
Coming out into the elements again
Flies and bumble bees a’buzzin’
And spiders have webs to spin
Ah yes, spring time and chocolate
Both are welcome and deliciously sweet
Both make us smile when we’re sad
They are truly delightful treats!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Spiders
Spiders are singing in the salty breeze
Spiders are filling out tax returns
Spinning out webs of deductions and melodies
On a private beach in Michigan
Why can't they wish their kisses good
Why do they miss when their kisses should
Fly like winging birds fighting for the keys
On a private beach in Michigan
This recent rash of kidsmoke
All these telescopic poems
It's good to be alone
Why can't they say what they want
Why can't they just say what they mean
Come clean, listen and talk
Hello private callers, IDs blocked
The sun will rise, we'll climb into cars
The future has a valley and a shortcut around
Who will wear the crown of drowning award
Hold a private light on a Michigan shore
You fool me with a kiss of kidsmoke
From a microscopic home
It's good to be alone
I'll be in my bed
You can be the stone
That raises from the dead
And carries us all home
There's no blood on my hands
I just do as I am told
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blackberry Picking
I have fond memories of going blackberrying
On Sundays, with my Dad, when I was a child.
Situated on the very outskirts of our little town,
The lane was long and winding, lonely and wild.
We worked our way along the prickly hedgerows,
Plucking perfect fruit from amongst the brambles,
But the berries, which were over ripe or under ripe,
Were left behind by us, during our country rambles.
We picked plenty of plump, juicy berries,
And popped them all in to our plastic pot.
Dad seemed to know the very best time to go,
So we always returned home with quite a lot.
Along the way, we spotted spiders in their webs;
Of spiders, I have always been a little scared.
So any fruit which was located round about,
Was more than welcome to stay right there!
The blackberries were taken home to Mum,
Who mixed them up with apples, inside a pie.
I always felt a small sense of pride, as we ate
Those blackberries, picked by my Dad and I.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Nicklin’s Torment
I woke up in a cold sweat
and turned on the light.
A shadow was moving over me,
cast by a spider of the night.
By the time I’d blinked
it’d vanished from view,
but then I saw a larger one,
followed by another two.
I closed my eyes for a moment
hoping they would disappear.
When I slowly reopened them
the bedroom was spider clear.
With my hand I mopped my brow
and then saw several more,
they were crawling on the ceiling
and marching across the floor.
I told myself that I was dreaming
or suffering from withdrawal,
but that didn’t stop the spiders
from crawling up the wall.
Sweat dripping from my brow
was stinging in my eyes.
Spiders were now on my bed
at my feet and on my thighs.
The whole room was full of spiders,
on the ceiling, walls, and floor.
My bed was covered and so was I.
I screamed stop! But out came even more.
Spiders crawling on top of spiders,
in my mouth, nose and ears,
their scary eyes staring into mine,
I was choking with utter fear.
I tried in vain to fight them off,
but my hand didn’t move a one.
I must have blacked out just then,
when I awoke they had all gone.
Things are becoming better now
and the spiders are getting less.
I’m told they’ll eventually go for good,
along with my shakes, thirst, and mess.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Peace fot the Living People
A useless space between the sentences,
ghastly story does not end in black and white.
Again the heart cries.
I keep on knocking on the doors
and then return to blackness.
Sometimes people become insects.
Cockroaches, ants and spiders,
weaving their webs and hills,
crawling, creeping, clawing.
Flesh eaters. Pouncing upon hapless victims.
Depression. I am devastated.
Something churns in breast, dousing the spirit, lines and words.
Cannot sit quiet. Agoraphobia. Don’t want to talk
Somewhere a name crops up. Saint or beast.
Under the trees there is no shade. I walk barefoot.
Hungry dogs chasing the flies.
Humidity fills the eyes.
Silence of the night.
City has stopped running.
All the dead will speak now.
Not asking any revenge,
but peace for the living people.
poem by Satish Verma
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No, No I'm No Ovid!
A useless space between the sentences,
ghastly story does not end in black and white.
Again the heart cries.
I keep on knocking on the doors
and then return to blackness.
Sometimes people become insects.
Cockroaches, ants and spiders,
weaving their webs and hills,
crawling, creeping, clawing.
Flesh eaters. Pouncing upon hapless victims.
Depression. I am devastated.
Something churns in breast, dousing the spirit, lines and words.
Cannot sit quiet. Agoraphobia. Don’t want to talk.
Somewhere a name crops up. Saint or beast.
Under the trees there is no shade. I walk barefoot.
Hungry dogs chasing the flies.
Humidity fills the eyes.
Silence of the night.
City has stopped running.
All the dead will speak now.
Not asking any revenge,
but peace for the living people.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Elegy On The Garden Flat
Spiders like you've never eaten,
born in the night, in out of the rain.
That's the inevitable souvenir
of a year spent hunched beneath
new webs, spent stiffening shoulders
at the minute threshold of a tense cavity
- the freshly acquired taste for arachnids.
(A moment's silence
as we remember the day
we flushed the wiped-up trails away.)
We never found out where they came in
or, indeed, where they went out. And if.
You swore you heard crunching in the carpet.
*
Leaves died, and after them, the trees. And
when the rain came, the autumnal drains
would drown at our doorstep. Nature had
a habit of being intimate, to the extent of
being intrusive.
And as for the garden flat -
each saturated twist of leg
and grounded wet wing
would go there to die.
poem by Liam Wilkinson
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