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Jonathan ROBIN

(22 September / London)

Spidey, Spider Parody William Blake The Tyger and Anne and Jane Taylor, Twinkle, Twinkle


Spidey, spider spinning fast,
I will trap my fly at last,
eight eyes witness final swings
and roundabouts of online wings.
What brow[n] beaten beatle stagged
in cocoon so neatly tagged,
what wet silk that sets dew scene
for caught-on-hop grasshopper green?
Silk’s redigested once prey’s bagged
for protein’s precious, times are lean.

Spidey, spider, biding time,
reinforces reeling rhyme,
scuttling hither, thither, waits
sliding stealthily relates
patience monumental which
line by line shall seamless stitch.
Architect arachnidae
delicately weave, stay sly
attuned to clue vibrations rich
of honey bee or dragonfly.

Spiders stretched white web world wide
digesting juices from inside
before man's ancestors evolved,
and after they'll be buried cold
will still persist as climate change
restricts, extends, contains free range.
My countless kin waged battle royal
against ants, termites, trouble, toil,
my brood will win, grow wings though strange
this may seem now, span tree and soil.

Spidey’s kin spin, far outnumber
lazy men on planet earth
whose tasteless haste and waste encumber
ecosystems, stifle birth.
Prudent spider seeks solution
ingests pest guests. Man spreads pollution.
See impatience, profligate,
seed destruction at his gate,
while web dissolves, thank evolution,
daily may disintegrate.

My mobility remains
when struggles stick to glue goo pains,
chirps, once strident, silent fall
gone with wind is curtained call.
Twinkle, twinkle, spider’s mate,
you shall find your fate too late,
headless abdomen cavorting
still recycled while lust’s sporting,
courting ends as fornicate
vets pro_testee’s rigor morting.

Spidey spinning left to right
pluridextrous appetite.
Hung with dewdrops, webworlds wait
hungry weave, anticipate
larder stocked by afternoon
juices syphoned prove true boon,
from mini mite of wispy weight
to the great tarantulate,
arachnid art’s bye-bye cartoon,
dried insects die incarcerate.

Though man for some five thousand years
has spread two feet through vale of tears,
I've eight, soon, late, the odds are great
time man's mime leaves forgotten fate.
My many offspring prospering
with steel strength string and piercing sting
shall raise their eyes from man's sighs see
octoganal eternity
the motto 'Time where is thy sting'
is in my tail's tale everything!

Submitted: Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 24, 2013


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Poet's Notes about The Poem

(5 December 2007 revised 4 February 2009)

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