Poet: Irene Nissen

Golden Garden Spider

A golden garden spider
lives in a plant
by my pond,
a plant whose spreading spikes
each end in a profusion
of compact purple booms
that may have attracted her
to this place.

The spider sits commandingly,
in the centre
of her silken orb,
the outer threads of which
seem held aloft
by the plant's "arms",
as if in subservient duty
to her sinister charms.

She rarely moves,
but waits in patient stillness
for an unsuspecting victim,
an inattentive gnat,
any off-course flyer,
to become entangled
in her almost invisible snare.
She waits in sun.
She waits in darkness.
Through summer showers
and capricious winds
that jiggle and joggle her,
threatening to unravel
her intricately woven,
but uniquely deadly seine,
she waits....
vigilant, yet serene.

As surely as dawn
follows night,
the waiting ends.
A tiny distracted moth
struggles....entangled
in the unrelenting
gossamer threads.
The spider moves
with unrivaled speed,
grips her conquest
with her powerful slender legs,
and beneath her contorting body
she wraps her hapless sacrifice
in a silken tomb.
Unchallenged in her furtive reign,
she returns to her hub of power
to wait...and wait...and wait...again.

Trees

The trees stand like soldiers,
guarding the forest,
guarding the deer,
guarding the bear,
guarding all the animals
that dwell in there.

In the dark, green woods,
in the shadowy glen,
the animals live safe from man,
guarded by the soldier trees.