Wednesday, 6 November 2013

Poetry Thursday 85 - Love, wasps and spiders

These photographs were taken from my lounge window on the morning of November 6th.

The Spider and the Wasp

A wasp was flying home to rest
tired and ready for winter's sleep.
When quite close to his balmy nest
stopped by tendrils sticky - broad sweep

Natural aggression and struggle didn't serve
to free the beast from the wild snare.
Fear beginning to tear at his nerve
searching for the source of danger - aware!

Like several lifetimes the wasp struggled
always wary of suspected threat.
The cords tight grip was re-doubled
tired and afraid he began to fret.

A subtle movement, slight vibration,
the overture to his inevitable end,
signals the approach of assassination
the creature coming no insects' friend.

She's smaller than him and very wary.
The sting of a wasp could be her demise.
Spider descends her ladder now assuredly
at last certain of no nasty surprise.

He re-doubles his efforts to try and get free.
"Now, now my dear," she croons "just be still
you're not well enough to be able to flee!"
She closes on him rapidly and wraps for the kill.

The wasp is immobile all is over
he is dimly aware of her ministration.
Preparations made to add him to her larder
the darkness welcoming wasp to perdition.
©David L Atkinson November 2013

Where is love?

There was love, and more than once,
but it was always transient.
Love was strong and joyous then
but fleeting, without substance.

Then love cheated and offered permanence
its’ devious face conning to peace.
When it had thoroughly ensnared
love vanished as a wraith in a breeze.

Not satisfied the essence trapped once again
promising contentment and extracting grief.
More hearts to bleed and cry and need
but too ready to discard with unbelief.

And now like a winged shadow flitting
across the edges of awareness love mocks.
Out of reach - regarding the subject as a toy
something to amuse but giving nothing.

Age does not diminish the need
but the ghost – like promise – is further away.
Only a painful memory, a hint a tease
rather than a tangible reality.
©David L Atkinson November 2013

God Bless