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
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apcqD2T4xqw
"Everything Old Is New Again"
In the silver garden of morning
a morphological discovery
A spider weaves his silk spinnerets
embiopteran:
Orb weaver of a different kind
with spiral wheel-shaped webs
in a field of lavender
his tangle webs/funnel webs
He is a feather leg spider
immersed in cribellate silk
enjoying the camaraderie of a girl
who comes from a fairy world
Cactus Dancer
Graceful spider dances on sharp cactus spikes
Spinnerets leave webs of dainty filigree
Each web a masterpiece of sublime delights
Silk filaments wear dews as the moonlight flees
Eight tiny feet twirl over the spiny heights,
On prickly thorns leaves a magic feathery,
Mysterious craftsman spins the intricate
Cobweb sculptures spun in orbs magnificent
9-8-22
Contest: Ottava Rima
Sponsor: L Milton Hanks
Rhymes checked with www.rhyme zone
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
his foundation flows
around my ankles
flooding ‘tween the trees
baubles of aquamarine
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
paradise soaked with many suns
storehouse of spinnerets
orange, yellow, blues
shining, twinkling, twirling
those leggy-legs
brown and skinny twigs
in swamplands of serenity
soaking up the sea and sun
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
my mind in wonder -
ivory pearls, like roots,
surrender to the soil of wafting sea
my pinwheel irises whirl
swoosh in waters?
climb vainglorious bark?
play with the suns?
the artist tempts me with his brush
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
8/17/2021
The Golden Orb Spider of Madagascar
sits and spins and spins all day.
When she has spun a bucket of rich silk
an official takes it away.
What have you done with my spinnerets
and where is my hourly pay?
Your spinning is created into gossamer silk
and you work for a cricket a day.
Soon the silk will become richly made gowns
to be worn to the upcoming dance.
After the dance, the gowns will hang
for years with never a glance.
So, what was the point, cried the spider, aghast.
That was very hard work, you know.
Get busy and spin, said the man with bug spray,
you have yards and yards to go.
So, what is the message of this little tale,
the harried spider is anxious to know.
"Quickly go hide, leave your spinning behind,
change your name to The Black Widow!"
in the public square
you are not to be questioned
just admired
for your dark demonstrations
of being
the hanging black spider waves its life at you
perhaps the arachnid lover is demoralized
by your hidden beauty
hard to tell
you cringe under its radiant otherness
in the public museum
take the tour backwards
let the man with the megaphone mouth
spin his webs not from the center out
but outer to inner
inwardness opens windows in closed walls
be kind to the blank eyed watchers
here is a beautiful oil on canvas
there is a spider in the corner
that no one notices
for it has no frame
its eight legs tremble
The man in the bus-driver cap
extols her still not living attractions
the ugliness of the moment
is memorized by the whole gallery
only the Picasso remains free
of the taint of paint
A fat woman sighs into my face
threads exude
multiple silky spinnerets
droop from sticky glands
I want out
the way I came in
but am now too endangered
to weave my way out of this
carry out picture palace
Today I hugged my tarantula I can’t believe I did
I don’t know what came over me I must have flipped my lid!
I thought that she would merely run that thought soon I forsook
When after I had set her down a combat stance she took
Her carapace shot vertical, her pedicel stretched long
Staunch pedipalps in earnest zeal drummed out her battle song
Opisthosoma thrust up high, hairs bristled on its end
Chelicerae with puckered fangs intended to offend
Her beady eyes locked onto me, her fovea relaxed
Her legs in octal synchrony sprang open to the max
Determined to aspire, her spinnerets now spun
A dainty strand of robust silk that glistened in the sun
Before I knew what happened she wrapped it ‘round my head
And then with otherworldly strength, she pulled that steely thread
I struggled to resist her she quickly reeled me in
A contest even Hercules could not have hoped to win
So there we were, now face to face I bid myself adieu
I shut my eyes and said a prayer resolved that I was through
I thought for sure that she would bite or otherwise attack
But neither of those did she do, instead, she hugged me back!
Oh how she spins a web of silk
It glistens in the night,
Her long black legs a work of art
Her body is a sight,
She moves with great precision
As she spins a rapid pace,
For her next victim doesn't know,
What danger they're about to face,
As she completes her web of lust
She views it from afar,
Her legs stretch out in agony
The feeling is bizare,
Her spinnerets are swollen
From all the work they've done,
And if she's very lucky
She will capture more than one,
She hides below wrapped in a ball
Pretending she is shy,
And then an unsuspecting guest
Meets pain until they die...
At
first
a fib
nothing more
or that’s what he thought
but one economical truth
wasn’t enough, so his spinnerets spun some fresh lines
one needs fairly few words to speak the pure truth, but many more so to hold up a lie
______________________________________
N.B.: dedicated to my two of my favorite Italians, who share a "growing" propensity.
and maybe Sylvio Berlusconi, too.
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