sticky (Remove filter)
Sticky
that first call alerts him,
eight legs run to the cot,
threads stream behind,
silken, the best he's got
each year they tighten,
vibrations excite more,
never stops watching,
repairs those that tore
escaping is impossible,
your destiny unfurling,
a decade like a second,
years like nets whirling
this one will never age
anymore than his web,
th...
Saturday 17th April 2021 10:37 am
Recent Comments
Nigel Astell on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
3 hours ago
John Coopey on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
5 hours ago
John F Keane on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
6 hours ago
John F Keane on A Cut Above
6 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
9 hours ago
Mike McPeek on Fallen Leaf
13 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on The Forgotten
14 hours ago
Rolph David on Sonnet: Imigh Hotovely, Imigh Smál Damnaithe! Imigh is Póg mo Thóin! [Out Hotovely, Out Damned Spot! Out and Kiss my Arse!]
15 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on His Majesty’s Stay Out of Hell Cards: “Divine Right” and “Convention”
16 hours ago
Hélène on Elementary
16 hours ago