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Spider
A spider, small and black
crawls across the arm
of my white rocker.
I rise to follow it
through the weaving wicker,
down the leg, then along the rail.
It finds a crack
in the patio brick,
disappears beneath
twigs and dust and
clay.
I sit again and watch
two Mallards
asleep in the grass,
the rhythm of my rocker
fluent once more.
***
Style / type:
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity):
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage:
Content level:
Not Explicit Content
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Region & Country
United States
Favorite Poets
I tend to read Ted Kooser, Jim Harrison, Paul Simon, Robert Frost. I like minimalist poetry, and poems reflecting on nature and Mother Earth.
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Comments
Lavender
Mon, 2021-04-05 09:20
Hello, Teddy
The contrast of the black spider on the white rocker prompted this poem. Poetry is everywhere! :)
Thank you so much!
L
author commentGeezer
Mon, 2021-04-05 07:41
This is...
a great narrative! Exactly as I might have done in the same situation. I try hard not to kill spiders, [I say to try hard not to, because if they get on me, I have a visceral reaction and act quickly, which might kill it.] However, I have followed spiders, as you have done here and I followed yours. Having satisfied myself that it was gone, I enjoyed the scene of the two mallards
resting the grass. Very placid, enjoyable scene, easily followed. Nice work and I'm not surprised. ~ Geez.
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There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
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Lavender
Mon, 2021-04-05 09:25
Hi, Geezer
It was pretty cool following the small black spider against the white background. My mind went from being still, to busy, and then back to still. (I don't kill spiders, either.)
Thank you, Geezer!
L
author commentMichael Anthony
Mon, 2021-04-05 12:04
I enjoyed this capture of
I enjoyed this capture of moments L. Well done! Being a fan of brevity in my own work, this one really resonated with me - so much observed and shared, but compact and elegant - good stuff!
Best
Michael Anthony
Lavender
Mon, 2021-04-05 15:04
Hello, Michael
It was such a quiet little moment, and then it was over. Yet, it somehow worked its way into a poem.
Thank you for your input!
L
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