The spiders dance

What is it that one fears?

The spider’s steps to death

Creeping precise

Accurate with every spring of the sword like legs

Or, the web of things unknown

Paralyzing with the peculiar and unpredictable

Left without mobility

As fate finically closes forward

Perhaps the fortuitous fangs

Instilling the ominous fright of oblivion

Crushing ones will, diminishing the soul

Becoming merely substance and a afterthought

So what is it that you fear?

The ability to step where you do not

For you cannot, comprehend

The venom

The end of the known path

- Or when all paths find their end.

Scragles and Slakjaw

Here’s a story of Scragles and Slakjaw

Of matted fur and swollen paw

The person that feeds them won’t heal their disease

The person whom feeds them just breeds dependency

Yellowed eyed and ribs galore

They’re fed but near dead

Where dead is almost something more

There’s no point in doing what they can.

To do what others can’t

Is a true gift from man

So they sit and wait

With dirty plate

For slow death.

Butterfly

Butterfly, with dampened wings

Don’t fly far from me

the droplets that weigh you down

Not only magnify the radiance

But yet the subtle strength

in those soft mosaics

The winds of the world may always seem

to blow a turbulent course

But let my breath lift you higher

From my lips an upwind force

Gliding from leaf to leaf

Your conquest is all but inevitable

But to rest on the breast of ones breath

Can bring peace to the worry

Of challenges still left.

So butterfly

Don’t fly far from me

For ones eyes need such beauty

To give a reason to see

And purpose to breathe

Than simple survival

Through the storms of our seasons

Ones flight

Is to the delight

To those on the ground

Blowing in the wind.

I Like Cicadas

I like cicadas,

People think they are noisy

I think people are noisy

I played with them as a child

And I learned of nature

Life and death and how seasons mature

I learned pity, respect,

And the accepting of rules we couldn’t expect

And lo’ I fed them to my cat,

And used them to chase my friends

but for the most part I’d send them on their way

With best wishes, as it suddenly, like a bad golf slice,

Veered off slamming into a wall.

I couldn’t help from proclaiming “ouch” within my head.

And I couldn’t help feeling a pinch of sorrow for the little guy.

All that for sex.

Life’s a bitch indeed.

Slugs on the other hand,

The dreaded pop, and you knew

There was to be goo

On the bottom

Of your shoe

But I as a I child

Was repulsed by the idea

of a summer shoe,

I was not the only one treading

Though a gross reminder,

At least I’m not the one

Squished between the toes

Just to get across the pavement,

life’s a bitch indeed

I played with them as a child

And I learned of nature

Life and death and how seasons mature

I learned pity, respect,

And the accepting of rules we couldn’t expect

I tried salt, Never again

Though I knew nothing of karma

I began to fear it.

A a dish of beer, It might kill them,

And they choose to drink it.

Though things become a little more grey, When with age,

the slugs begin to look like your friends

And so I begin to think twice about leading slugs to their dishes.

Weather evil or nature, The apathy of others,

Life’s a bitch indeed

Earwigs,

Pinching invading my pool float squatter.

Ah, but what did we learn of leaving our things around like junk

Might just be a home and a cool glass of water

And not everything is as tolerant as a cicada who flies to “thunk!”

Maggots, grubs, and worms,

Slime to be sentenced as fish food

Until you find that if you don’t tell ma

They’ll eventually remove that squirrel carcass for you.

Now hmmm, what’s the symbolism?

Does every one have their roll

Or do they all have their use?

Or is everything what it is

And with them some verity?

Perhaps life is indeed a bitch,

But I still don’t believe it excuses one

to be a downright dirty leach.