Poet: Irene Nissen The Write Place

Irene is a retired teacher who never liked spiders until she found this beauty in her yard in the summer of 2006. She hopes her garden will be blessed by another golden garden spider next year.

Comments for the Author

Golden Garden Spider

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.

Read Irene Nissen's Cottage Story

This poem was written for Emma Stacey to read to her class and to use as a performance piece to boost her confidence. She invited students to step up and be "the trees, the deer, the bear", and a few other animals that the children suggested they could be, while she read the poem

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.

It's Halloween Eve
And it's my pet peeve
That people lock up
And don't stock up
To share in the spirit of the night.

As the darkness thickens
My Scorpio heart quickens
I make my rounds
And relish the sounds
Of little ones scurrying for treats.

The scent of toasted pumpkin wafts
On the crisp October drafts
The leaves crunch underneath my feet
The whole experience is sweet
And I savour another Halloween night.

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Poet: Irene Nissen The Write Place

Golden Garden Spider

Trees