The Master Weaver

In the calm still moonlit night
she silently wove a silken tapestry -
spinnerets spewing slender strands
light as air but strong as Kevlar.

A silvery armature spanned the trail
clinging to trunks and branches.
Rappelling down from its pinnacle,
she fastened radii to her deadly wheel.

Spiraling in from the outer ring
she knitted her way to the center
to await the tell-tale shudder
of a fly or moth flown into her snare.

She took no note of the hiker
paused alone on the trail -
transfixed by the dew laden spiral
shimmering in the rose-glow sun.

It mattered not to the spider
that a man would find her work pleasing
and it mattered not to the man
that the web was not woven for art.

August, 2006

Dorothy A. Holmes apwlts2
Ah! A wonderful poem...I can see it! Dorothy Singing Still

sonetta
how wonderful to read your poem about the spider web....so different from mine but we touch upon a similar sentiment....

Susan Jarvis
I agree with both Alison and Fool, and would like to add that this poem is laden with equisite imagery and figurative language that lifts this poem to superlative heights. I am particularly in awe of; 'she knitted her way to center/to await the tell-tale shudder'. Perfect! :)

Fool
I agree with Alison below... the Stanza 'it mattered not... is incredible.

Alison Cassidy
'It mattered not to the spider that a man would find her work pleasing and it mattered not to the man that the web was not woven for art.' This stanza took my breath away! The perfect finale to an accomplished and most interesting poem. Welcome to poetfreak, Robert. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥