Long Take to Poems
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Thursday, April 26, 2001 12:47:49 AM
Treasures of the Spider
Spider!
Beware of
the night feeder.
Tiny bat wings, swifter,
than the absence
of light, silent, merciless
terror.
By morning,
I survey the remnants
of your web, rent and empty
of you, just tiny whispers
of your once, existence.
Your uneaten prey,
all neatly wrapped
and dangling-
as a reminder
of all
that we
can't take to heaven
Suzanne Delaney
Written for a Golden Orb spider I
named Spideress.
See note - ScientificName: Nephila maculata
The golden orb weavers are one of the largest spiders. Their webs can be found hanging off sign posts, in or between trees and can even be spotted driving 100 km/h in a vehicle. The females can measure up to 45 mm while the smaller males measure only 6 mm. The male is often found in the web of his girl friend. Beside the male and the female boarders resides in the web. They are called quicksilver, dewdrop or droplet spider because their silvery body shines like drops of water in the sun.
Their webs stretch to a diameter of one meter between trees. It is easy to accidentally walk straight into one as they sit in the middle of their web.
It belongs to the golden orb weaver family, which is why its silk is yellow, and this silk is the strongest of any spider. Sometimes small birds or bats get caught in it
Cuckoo, cuckoo, the false songbird sings
a maiden has committed the original sin.
The seed in her belly she cannot hide
before it swells, she must become a bride.
Who was the father? Was it Bill?
(a name I recall she mentioned still).
He rejects her and the child inside
before it shows, she must become a bride.
She seeks a cuckhold to raise the child as his own,
and from there the lies are sown.
No church wedding for this bride
which wounds her ego and hurts her pride.
A pact with the devil is hastily made
a secret she believes she’ll take to her grave.
In exchange he takes her soul
an earthly creature that he can now control.
A blackness fills the empty space
filled with anger, laced with hate.
It consumes her but she hides her shame
seeking others on whom to lay the blame
She wreaks anger and vengeance on all those who know
even the family who welcomed her, before her belly began to grow.
She manipulates and dominates those who are kind,
but memories sow clues, like breadcrumbs, in a child’s mind.
The truth will come out, the stars reveal,
then those left behind can begin to heal.
The church bells will toll, although she won’t be missed
and her secret will be told, when she is laid to rest.
I tucked my soul away so no one could see it
long ago.
I barely remembered
to pull it out after all those years.
The pain, too great to bear, too long in hiding
from the prying eyes of my own kind.
Little did I know that the animals saw everything.
It’s funny how we think of friends.
They have to be 2-legged; human, but
Others saw my pain.
An old dog will take To a stranger who knows
the agony of the lash;
And a camel won’t spit on one whose soul it has seen.
People don’t like to admit that they are animals.
Perhaps those we call animals don’t like to admit it either,
but humans are the only animals who destroy
everything around them, including each other.
I feel like the missing link.
I’m the animal who sees and
shares the pain in my own soul with the other species.
Ashamed of my own kind;
I cannot stop this process.
Once there was a young boy
He sat on the floor playing with his toys
How sad he looked in his eyes
There was nil that could relieve his sigh.
Then his eyes caught the attention of a kite
It was a grand kite and just waiting for flight
Red and blue colors favored all and its tale
How wonderful it would be to take it for a sail?
The boy got up and looked out the windowpane
He saw a scenic landscape decorated the outer pane
It was a play world waiting for kite flying that day
So the boy grabbed his colorful kite and went on his way.
Now all his kite needed was a gust of wind to take to the air
He took the string and ran swiftly forth with no care
The kite soared up in to the sky like a theatrical display
A smile painted the lads face as he continued to play.
Hours passed by as he enjoyed watching his kite
It danced around the sky like a bird soaring in flight
Then a sudden lack of wind caused his kite to sail low
So the lad ran as fast as he could so his kite couldn’t slow.
One more time the lovely kite climbed up into the sky
The wind speed swished it back and forth to fly
How, the boy never wanted to see the sight come to end
Alas, all came to a stop at the corners bend.
Slowly the breeze died and the kite fell to the ground
The boy just stood and sighed without any sound
Sadly it was time to lay the grand kite to rest for today
He was tired and had no more energy left to play.
Power of the Mind:
The fact that other people's words and actions can break your heart might be alarming
But what is truly terrifying is your mind’s ability to shatter your Peace of Mind & soul.
Surrounded by people yet all alone
Trapped within this solitary zone
A world where chaos and hate overtake
Every bit of happiness that may try to escape
Laughter and smiles never seem to last
Because I am haunted by memories of my past
Running the distance with nowhere to go
These are the days of my life, a Broadway show
Screaming for help, does anyone hear
The demons of death are coming so near
Echoes in my head tormenting me all day long
Breaking the woman who was once very strong
What does serenity mean anyway
Is it the swag in my step or just the words I say
Deep rooted evil no time for a true soulmate
Wondering why joy is always a day late
Suicide is the easy answer many times I have tried
Happiness seems to be the tears I have cried
Unable to distinguish what's real from what's fiction
Hope is an illusion, an optimist's prediction
What will it take to get me right
A visit from the devil on a lonely night
Angels prepare to battle and take a stand
To remind me of their Holy land
When I want to give up, they push for me to be strong
In my head I hear their harmonious song
A tranquil state I now find myself
Dealing with the hand in which I was dealt
Good vs evil, what does it really mean
Am I dirty when I appear to be clean
Life is an illusion a constant mind trick on me
Who knows what my fate will be
Heaven and hell are both fair game
Will I succumb to peace or fall down in shame
Surrounded by people yet all alone
Trapped within this solitary zone
Its just a Depression and Anxiety
A Pure Black Day of Life .
Which had appear once in life of strong persons.
This is the truth and to become normal again
We should accept the wisdom of our all illusions & optimist’s Prediction.
By Aliza Kashmala Kiran
Gradma singing her passionate Neapolitan songs
from a balcony adorned with scarlet roses...her deep voice
not a soprano's, but delightful and expressed in humaneness;
her long golden hair brushed by the summer's aromatic breeze,
to spark a new passion in her lively blue eyes!
And has she ever told anyone about
carrying along that secret?
When grandpa left Italy, in clandestine disguise,
for a long, hopeful jeouney to America in the late thirties,
grandma sacrificed and suffered much; and when the Nazis
invaded the peaceful town of Baiano,
grandma made trips to the small mill in Arciano,
to grind grain and make her delicious bread:
encountering many dangers and fears ahead...
making her the heroine History won't recognize!
Have the historians overlooked her incredible courage,
and let her carry along that secret?
Women and young ladies, including grandma, adored
the handsome and fearless man Mussolini,
who resuscitated the old concept of the Roman Empire with evil ways...
manipulating the puppet' hands of the loyal Fascisti;
woe to me, if I had lived and rebelled in those dreadful days:
I would have been imprisoned and possibly been killed!
Out of grief and anger, I speak against
every injustice and not carry along that secret!
My uncle, Stefano, was taken to England by the British
as a prisoner of war...a coerced man so torn;
and Emma a kind-hearted English woman ,
and a lovely nurse with an impeccable humanity,
visited him often and brought him a home-cooked dish;
someting wonderful could have bloomed between them...
but all records and details have been lost instead,
and mine rely entirely on faded pictured filled with memory!
What unthinkable steps, the dictators of this earth take, to gain
their day in an unpromising sun: suddenly power and pride...gone;
Hitler's land devastated by the armies of justice...
with no shot-down bodies falling into self-dug ditches!
Powerful people could have prevented this inhumane slaughter with haste,
but silently watched them die... carrying along that secret!
If I had three wishes
I would wish that you love me
Wish you three wishes
And wish that you wish me three wishes
Then take to the wishes you wished me
And wish for a future with you
Wish you three more wishes
And wish that you wish me three more wishes
Then take to my growing wishes
And wish that you wish us the best of wishes
Anytime you wish from your wishes
Then wish you another three wishes
And wish that you wish me another three wishes
I would keep on wishing for wishes
Using already wished for wishes
Until I had thousands of wishes
And then take just one of those wishes
And wish that we put together our wishes
And hand them to God
That He may wish to His preference for us
Just an old cowboy
Riding all day
Working the cattle
Bailing the hay
As the end of the trail
Comes into view
He ponders retirement
And what he will do
Will he take to the rocker
Sit around all day long
Whittlin on wood
Sing an old song
He pulls on the reigns
As he gazes upon
A beautiful sight
As he keeps riding on
A sunset so splendid
You'll think it's a dream
As you become
A part of the scene
As the cattle all graze
The day comes to an end
As he sits by the fire
And takes it all in
He makes out his bed
And looks up to the sky
And thanks God above
He is one very blessed guy.
When at last we go silent
deep within this internet hive,
will the delayed surprise
travel more or less than a minute or an hour?
Did she or he die, or were they always
apocryphal names written on dead air?
If we ‘pass’ known only to a few
who knew our covert compulsion to speak
to the invisible, to write to strangers,
(a secret we may take to the grave)
shall we miss being so mislaid?
Will a minor fame, a little flame,
die with only an ethernet epithet
knowing it left a mark so digital
it could be deleted by a fingertip?
When we go silent will they suspect,
assume that we are just gone away,
or imagine they hear once more
a phantom voice on distant lips
some other day?
What does it take to step up to the plate?
Every time there is a mistake
Life seems unfair at times and you get out
Other times "HOMERUN" is just shy of foul
Family and friends are your team
Communtication and practice prevent your defeat
Without it you make mistakes and get tagged out
or cause an ERA and begin to doubt
So when it happens that final day
when its bases loaded, two outs and your up to the plate
3 balls 2 strikes and your down by 3
You decide how its going to be
Sure, in the end it doesn't matter who wins or loses
The decisions in life always leaves its bruises