Humans and Spiders and Love and Poetry

A Human Who Needs Other Humans

She had sores on her face
And her clothes did not fit her
And she was running from group to group
Drunk, and dirty, and clumsy.
No one wanted to be near her
And all the people snickered and laughed
At her pitiful ways
Then she came up to me
And my friends
And wanted to shake my hand.
She just wanted to talk
To me, to anybody.
I did not want her to touch me
And she soon moved on
Sad and lonely.
I will never see her again.
And I know now
I should have shaken her hand
I should have smiled
I should have sat down
And listened to what she had to say
If not for her sake
Then for my own.

Mary Oliver

I drink in her words like tea
Sometimes two or three poems
Are sufficient for me
And I think of her and her muse
Whenever I walk the woods
Or soak in the river.
I think of her and her muse
When the bluejays nest by my patio
Or the spider weaves its intricate home above my head
I wonder if anyone loves Oliver
The way that she loves the world
And if my spirit will ever find the kind of peace
That hers has
Lying amongst the grass of the fields.

Spider’s Worship

The spider ran in circles
Nimble and gymnastic
with threads of silk
Ingeniously maneuvered
Into patterns by two back legs
Such a beautiful design
By so tiny an architect
And for no other reason
Than to gather food and water
Needed to continue the worship
That is its sweetly simple life.


If I could speak the language
Of the spider’s web
or the oak tree’s branches
I would know the words of God.
And if I could hear the music
Of the stoney creek bed
Or the windy wispy clouds
I would finally know the sound of His voice
How foolish am I?
To walk through life so full of pride
When I can not even understand
The simplest of things


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