Different looks and poisons Make your web, unique and mighty  Curiosity draws them near you Fear, or respect, run them away  Simple yet complex Perfect and flawed Irresistible and undesired  Daunting and appealing  Eight legs, one spider Real or fake is a powerful tike jj2017

Each strand of web stretches across the void vibrating as the spider dances toward its pray each leg is part of precision instrument conducting its lunch into a cacoon, so many eyes watching, such a fierce warrior, I think I will be leaving now.  …

Eight legged creature Spin your web Let us stop Admiring our own Creations   Through your eyes Sparking strings are spun Let the lovers Learn where Our beauty grows   From the heart Small and vulnerable Bitten more than once

I saw a giant huntsman spider perched in the middle of the wall just underneath my dusty windowsill. And without thinking, I quickly gathered up a physics textbook in my arms and flung the entire brick of a book across the room at the windowsill….

Laboriously, the ascent began anew. Trudging along after another disappointment, another slip trip, miss collapse One day, maybe it won’t be raining and Sisyphus can try again, try and not do The insanity is building now you can see it on his face, in the…

Iridescent, invisible strands of webbing are affixed to the taillight and bumper of the old car in the space next to mine. The round brown body of the small spider patrols the web looking for passengers or any others waiting for a ride.

It starts with the letter “A ” And sings like a bird I don’t know from whence it came but to follow it I went down Oops! I didn’t mean say,  “What the…..” l’ll turn around now and the other way walk.   Credit: Emily…

The pond at the end of Clearview Street wasn’t much of a pond, really. More of a puddle. A big puddle. A big, scary puddle that I vaguely recall as the place where only boys could go. A low spot in an otherwise flat landscape,…

“Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal has ever dared to dream before” (credit goes to Edgar Allan Poe and his poem The Raven) No longer certain if my thoughts are burden to significant doubting But they flourish at night when I just might question if I…