The Spider


The Spider

The spider died


At least I assume it died alone

I’ll never know

I found it on the carpet

At first I thought it was a bit of dried grass

Then I thought it was a seed head

Finally I realised it had drawn all of its legs in towards its centre

As I prodded it to check it was dead a single pointed leg fell free

It looked ready but unable to attack

I scooped it into the lens of the spectacles I’d removed to take a closer look

What did the world look like to you?” I wondered

And where are your friends?

Your family?

Did you have a home?

Will you be missed?

Will others grieve for you?

Will they speak of your deeds, your charming manner, how you made them laugh?

Will they be sad?

Will they know?

Did you have belongings?

Is there an inheritance to be had?

I realised that all I had were questions

Foolish questions

I dropped you into the kitchen bin

With regret

You, who I didn’t even know, now heavy on my conscience

How dare you!

You come into my home


Disguising yourself as grass

You die in my hallway

And now

I’m feeling guilty

About disposing of your remains


That’s not you, is it?

That’s me

You’re just a dead spider

I’m still alive

While you’ve shuffled off this mortal coil

I have to face this day

This day

Full of woes

Unmet needs

Unfulfilled desires

I’m tired, you’re not

I’m hungry, you’re not

I have stuff to do can get stuffed!

Except you can’t, can you?

You tiny little thing

There’s not enough of you to stuff

And yet today you are writ large within me

Connecting me with my own grief

The sense of loss that perpetually surrounds

Memories of our near and dear

Now not here

And then I get it


July 31st

Half way through the year


Is my last day here too

Tomorrow I am leaving

The sanctuary of the house

That has been my home

Your end is also mine

And so we exit together

I would say hand in hand

But I couldn’t touch your spiky foot

And those questions...

Do you have a home?

Today I can say “Yes” and smile

Tomorrow I will say “No”

Which invites further questions

And the fear I had

Of my dead spider friend

Because surely we have shared

Something special today

Will become the fear

I have

Of bidding one more

Pillar of security


nature poetry
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Johnny Seven

I'm a father, a writer, a poet, a musician, a traveller, a dancer, a lover of people and always visual. 

I say "Everything I write is true". And it is. I'm also full of shit. At my best the shit is "quite entertaining".

I hate reading. 

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