Sun, 09/26/2021 - 22:13 -- woila

The first draft of our first poetry assignment for Creative Writing this semester.

Mostly uploading for comparison purposes once I finish the retooled workshop-ready version.

Dated: 09/08/2021

Note to anyone who reads this:

Pardon the minor errors throughout this poem. I am too fond of comma-and-redundancy seasoning; I want to pepper it on everything, and I haven't been able to resist breaking the rules of good cooking writing to do so. At times I even do it unconsciously. My professor's advice, as always, ought to keep me from reaching for the shaker next time I write. :-)






Biding in the burrows dark

beneath the mouldy leaves; the dank and dreary soil

I sat inside the confines of my home,

watching the twinkling

daylights and moonlights

dancing on a string

that a passing visitor had laid outstretched.


In each silken strand,

I saw a mirror of turning time,

reflecting in my eyes: a thousand more cavernous dewdrops,

clinging, quivering, to silk of mine,

held, tenderly, by nimble hands.


I’d gone to tug off more old skin, and leave it to curl where I’d stand.

I went out to pull at a string inside the web, longing to drink from the shining dew;

I reached an outstretched, limbering limb, as a thumb on an unthimbled hand.

Where the web was snugged, I tucked it to me, and it broke

turned into dust again.


An artful vision, lost to dark

wherein I’d gone and done it again.

But from the corner I saw

Thumbelina’s smiling spirit

lying in wait,

just emerging from my tepid, shining shell.

Retreating once more

to a soil I’d find in another burrow.


But it’s all right.

Even should I have to spin it from the dust and salt of the earth,


I’ve got more web.

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