walking down a lonely dirt path i saw there the web of some cold eyed bloated spider its belly heaving black and silver swells over the moth thrashing in its whitely seductive strands wings failing now like a summer romance like all love as the fangs sank in and love will cling for some few precious moments but not for long
that spider creeps in my mind carrying love wrapped for feasting in the shadows i see her over and over again the brown scaled wings of love dangling loosely from the fangs to feed what she is
she is life she is everything that is
the path has grown dark now and the spider creeps forever in my mind
"Bella bella, bruta bruta", my grandmother would say as she stroked my cheek lovingly and in the same breath would slap it with affection. Such is love/life. Such is this poem--beautiful and brutal. And brilliant as the web, A. Saved...
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
Lin
I, myself, don't like spiders. Like your poem, they creeps me out too.
Your poem is metaphoric. It talks about more than just a spider. Wonderful write!
Sandie May Angel a.k.a. Sandie Angel :o)