Spiders

I have no illusions about being a writer. As with many people, I like to express myself, so I write about the things I think and talk about. I suspect the handful of readers who know me in real life find these posts similar to our conversations. (Some posts have come from those conversations.)

Fiction, let alone poetry, are skills a bit beyond my ken, but every once in a while something pops out of my brain. Seems some thoughts don’t work as well dressed in basic prose (although you’d think it goes with everything).

This has been sitting in my Drafts folder since August 2012, and given that it’s spring and I’m cleaning out the backlog, it’s definitely time to get rid of the…

Spiders

I share my world with spiders;
I like the wee beasties.
They live their little lives,
While I live mine. (A giant among them.)
I regard their predatory nature.
Tiny hunters, fierce and fatal.
Small solitary watchers;
Do they, in turn, regard the giant?
Do they tell stories to their young:
‘Ware the giant! Stay off the white walls!
Do not draw the giant’s eye,
Least the tissue come whisk you away.

I’m a computer programmer by career and hobby, so I have a natural affinity for things that come in packages of eight. I also love that they eat other bugs, especially the occasional ant.

And Spiderman always was one of my favorite Marvel heroes. (Come to think of it, he may, in fact, be the top fave.)

Stay friendly to spiders, my friends!

About Wyrd Smythe

The canonical fool on the hill watching the sunset and the rotation of the planet and thinking what he imagines are large thoughts. View all posts by Wyrd Smythe

2 responses to “Spiders

  • Wyrd Smythe

    Last week I had to kill a wasp that found its way inside. One of my few phobias involves needles, so I’m not big on wasps. Dealing with it definitely got the adrenaline going.

    About an hour later, still a little janky over the wasp, I’m sitting at my dining room table and suddenly there’s another wasp on my hand! Freak out!!!

    Except it was just a big spider that had rappelled down from the hanging light above the table. I’m sure it was as surprised as I was. (The surprise didn’t last long. The tissue came for his offenses.)

  • Wyrd Smythe

    (And, yeah, I always liked both those Burns poems. 🙂 )

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