Little Miss Muffet ran away with the spoon
and a bowl of curds and whey
but it's no mystery as the rest is history
for Ms. began a business on the self-same day
first on the card came cottage cheese
now it's plain to see how and why
then her company soon had a hasty addition
when she made tasty cottage pie
for one so young to start such an enterprise
successful and spider-free
it comes as no surprise
hers was a cozy cottage industry
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Christmas Eve, the air is crisp and still.
the house is wrapped in darkness and damp cold.
the tree stands bare.
no tinsel gleams,
no ornaments glisten~
just a skeleton of expectation.
A spider descends~
its eight legs tapping a silent beat
across the chilly, wooden floor.
it glides its way up the tree.
with silken thread and delicate grace,
this tiny architect
weaves a silver web of wonder
across bare evergreen branches
thread by thread,
a delicate geometry unfolds~
one spun from moonlight and instinct.
no plan, only the patient unfolding
of silk and silver hope.
morning arrives.
the sun brushes gold across
frosty windowpanes
striking the spider’s web
and igniting it.
no longer bare, the tree shimmers~
a spectacle of interwoven
silver and gold light.
This is how Christmas magic works~
not with fanfare, but in the quiet,
turning absence into lace,
turning want into wonder.
My name is experimental LSD,
and I'm on a psychedelic spree
inside a spider's tiny brain,
operating him like a wrecking crane.
All eight legs have their own lever,
I pull this one, that one, or whichever.
Dig these groovy spinnerets -
consciousness expanding jets.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
wire gauze tremors~
pointed spinnerets pivot,
dew traps dawn’s first light
s ~p~ i~ d~ e~ r ~
c^ a^ l ^ ^ n ^ °°°°°°
m -e a-t-t-a -c-k-e-d b-y
a `r`a`c`h`n`o`p`h`o`b`i`a ````````
r--a----n ---------- t--------------o---------------- f- ---------l---------e---------e--------------
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
silken architect
legs tracing frost on the sill
weaving moonlight lace
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
interlunar spiders weave
dew-strung galaxies
strobing moth surrenders~
dusk feasts on silver regrets
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
dawn’s breath etched equations
across abandoned geometry~
a jeweled net hung
where night’s
eight-legged architect
froze
mid-thought.
each strand a silver integral
solving for cold.
The Itsy Bitsy Spider
Met the Farmer in the Dell
But Bitsy bit the Farmer
And the Farmer's hand would Swell
So the Farmer called his Wife
To the Barn that's in the Dell
Her Foot that wasn't Itsy
Then sent Bitsy straight to Hell
cobweb on corner
this fence is weirdly brand new
fast acting spider
For Brian Strand's Your Choice Z Poetry Contest
15 June 2025
\ * | * /
\ o | o /
\ *| */
\o|o/
\ | / glimmering silk threads,
-----------------
/ * / o|o\ * \
/ */ o | o \ * \
/_*/_o_ |_o_ \*_\ morning dew drops softly cling,
\ \ | / /
\ \ | o / /
\ __\_|_/__/
\ | /
\ | / nature's woven art.
\|/
(_)
/ | \
First Place
I feel a slight touch on my arm and look down
and………….it’s a spider
Despite the heavy circumstances in my life and a
migraine weighing me down
I fly to my feet and spin around trying to dislodge
the creature that is much more nimble than I am
I try leaping as each joint in my body complains,
I try flicking it off, but as we are both moving,
it evades me and continues to run down my bare arm
I rush to the door and fling it open and continue
my graceless dance on the porch as the neighborhood
begins to wake up for the day, I am pretty sure I am
yelling at this point and I feel sweet relief as the
eight legged arachnid jumps from me to the porch railing
as I sigh and begin to realize where I am and who else
is present. I wave to my neighbor and say a chipper
“good morning” as my face floods with color and I realize
I am acting very odd, but to be honest, who cares?
The spider and I are both safe it’s not crawling on me
anymore. I sigh and begin my day, hopefully without
encountering any more of God’s eight legged creatures.
A friendly spider addressed a fly,
"I'm glad you could drop by".
"Thanks", said the fly, "for sharing your thought.
You're glad, but I wonder why".
The spider replied, "Why not?"
I watched a man play with a spider
On the end of it's own web the other day
Curious
How what keeps one safe
Can be another's play toy -
Playing you like a puppet,
Moving to its masters every whim
The question is
Who is the puppet and who is the master?
Inspired by the inimitable nursery rhyme
The itsy bitsy spider
By Michelle Morris
20/12/2023
Remember the itsy bitsy spider
Trying to survive the water spout?
Whether rain or shine
That spider didn't give up or pout
Rainbows will come
Seasons will flow
And that itsy bitsy spider
Will learn to live and grow
So, if you're feeling down
Or struggling in the rain
I hope you'll remember this song
And learn to have fun and dance again
© Michelle Morris, 2023
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