Home » Poems » Paul Willason » The Spiders Web

The Spiders Web

The evening coming on, its slow creep in the calm air, holding onto the days last warmth left by a departing sun. I sit and take it in, feel its familiar moods. First, a peace in the arms of a moment, a soft sink into the now. Then a twist of sadness in having to let something pleasant go, dragging behind it the thought of another day closer to the final. Above me, a spider spins its web. I can almost feel the sticky threads pull tight across my mind, each circuit made to knit this masterpiece in space sends a tremor along a nerve and limb. I imagine me the maker. How the night would be sprung on a trigger, set to snare a careless wing or a wandering bug, bound tight in an instant to feed a hunger. To live life like that - the world, time held on the end of a primed nerve, the slightest movement sending the soul off into a spasm. But then, the evening chill coming in, the ache of old bones, nerves gone numb. My mind still hanging onto the taut threads as I go.

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

Mark Toney

Date: 5/15/2023 8:44:00 AM

Paul, you brilliantly elevate normal experiences into phenomenological events. In this poem you're sitting under a spider's web, "closer to the final." But you gift us with, "I can almost feel the sticky threads pull tight across my mind, each circuit ... sends a tremor along a nerve and limb..." Your most excellent words in this and your other poems send my imagination spinning further, even hours after reading them. Kudos to you, sir!

Paul Willason
Date: 5/15/2023 10:27:00 PM

Very moved by your most generous comments Mark. Grateful that you gave of your time to read, digest and provide such a sensitive response. A welcomed guest in my little world. Valued immensely, regards Paul

Di11y Da11y

Date: 5/15/2023 12:00:00 AM

Nipped back to see what I missed, ahh the aging hadn't missed my attention. I'd just focussed in on the primed for information and on high alert. And of course got distracted on whether spiders have eyelids (they don't). I couldn't find out if the same types of spider might sit in the middle or sit at the edge of a web. I presume it's based on how likely they'll get picked off by a bird. I got into a tangled web of spider research after reading :)

Di11y Da11y

Date: 5/14/2023 8:28:00 AM

I think I may have had a sharp intake of breath at the mention of final days from the soothing words that were drawing me into the poem. I love the analysis of a spiders life, I also have observed them and they often find somewhere to hide out of sight and don't bat an eyelid (do they have those? I'll check shortly haha) and go and collect their winnings at a time to suit them. Perhaps there's personality types there too - I'm a middle of the web dweller at times. Excellent write.

Paul Willason
Date: 5/14/2023 11:29:00 PM

Thanks DD. The word final part of the reference to present, past and future. As always, value yr comments and support DD. This poem has a bit going on under the surface, mainly deals with creativity and aging. Take care

Lin Lane

Date: 5/14/2023 5:53:00 AM

hmmm Paul. A titch maudlin, nevertheless your ability to weave words that hold me as tightly as a spider's web is to be admired, and I do. Rather would I be the weaver than the one whose mind and body has been woven around.

Paul Willason
Date: 5/14/2023 6:21:00 AM

Thanks Lin for yr comments. Weaved this one out to the edge, playing on the ear as well as the mind to see how far the speaker had to stretch into the maker. Let it go its own way to some extent. Value yr words...take care.