The Spider as an Artist

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1. The Spider holds a Silver Ball The Spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl unwinds He plies from Nought to Nought In unsubstantial Trade Supplants our Tapestries with His In half the period An Hour to rear supreme His Continents of Light Then dangle from the Housewife’s Broom His Boundaries forgot...
2. The Artist The Artist and his Luckless Wife They lead a horrid haunted life, Surrounded by the things he’s made That are not wanted by the trade. The world is very fair to see; The Artist will not let it be; He fiddles with the works of God, And makes them look uncommon odd. The Artist is […]...
3. The Spider and the Ghost of the Fly Once I loved a spider When I was born a fly, A velvet-footed spider With a gown of rainbow-dye. She ate my wings and gloated. She bound me with a hair. She drove me to her parlor Above her winding stair. To educate young spiders She took me all apart. My ghost came back to […]...
4. The Spider “Oh, look at that great ugly spider!” said Ann; And screaming, she brush’d it away with her fan; “‘Tis a frightful black creature as ever can be, I wish that it would not come crawling on me. ” “Indeed,” said her mother, “I’ll venture to say, The poor thing will try to keep out of […]...
5. The bouncing spider schnyder schnyder The bouncing spider Had a song Wound up inside her She’d had it taped On a silken spool This was the song She sang as a rule O little fly Come be my friend I have fly’s gold For you to spend I’ll wrap you in silks To make you pretty If you […]...
6. A Spider sewed at Night A Spider sewed at Night Without a Light Upon an Arc of White. If Ruff it was of Dame Or Shroud of Gnome Himself himself inform. Of Immortality His Strategy Was Physiognomy....
7. Artist He gave a picture exhibition, Hiring a little empty shop. Above its window: FREE ADMISSION Cajoled the passers-by to stop; Just to admire – no need to purchase, Although his price might have been low: But no proud artist ever urges Potential buyers at his show. Of course he badly needed money, But more he […]...
8. Artist's Life Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote, Mad with melody, rhythm rife From the very first to the final note, Give me his “Artist’s Life!” It stirs my blood to my finger ends, Thrills me and fills me with vague unrest, And all that is sweetest and saddest blends Together within my breast. It […]...
9. The Artist's Duty So it is the duty of the artist to discourage all traces of shame To extend all boundaries To fog them in right over the plate To kill only what is ridiculous To establish problem To ignore solutions To listen to no one To omit nothing To contradict everything To generate the free brain To […]...
10. Portrait of the Artist as a Prematurely Old Man It is common knowledge to every schoolboy and even every Bachelor of Arts, That all sin is divided into two parts. One kind of sin is called a sin of commission, and that is very important, And it is what you are doing when you are doing something you ortant, And the other kind of […]...
11. A Noiseless Patient Spider A NOISELESS, patient spider, I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated; Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself; Ever unreeling them-ever tirelessly speeding them. And you, O my Soul, where you stand, Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, […]...
12. "In White": Frost's Early Version Of Design A dented spider like a snow drop white On a white Heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of lifeless satin cloth – Saw ever curious eye so strange a sight? – Portent in little, assorted death and blight Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth? – The beady spider, the flower like […]...
13. Design I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth Assorted characters of death and blight Mixed ready to begin the morning right, Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth, And dead wings […]...
14. Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town ‘Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town The golden broom should blow; The hawthorn sprinkled up and down Should charge the land with snow. Spring will not wait the loiterer’s time Who keeps so long away; So others wear the broom and climb The hedgerows heaped with may. Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge, Gold […]...
15. The Host Of The Air O’Driscoll drove with a song The wild duck and the drake From the tall and the tufted reeds Of the drear Hart Lake. And he saw how the reeds grew dark At the coming of night-tide, And dreamed of the long dim hair Of Bridget his bride. He heard while he sang and dreamed A […]...
16. 16-bit Intel 8088 chip with an Apple Macintosh You can’t run Radio Shack programs In its disc drive. Nor can a Commodore 64 Drive read a file You have created on an IBM Personal Computer. Both Kaypro and Osborne computers use The CP/M operating system But can’t read each other’s Handwriting For they format (write On) discs in different […]...
17. Somewhere upon the general Earth Somewhere upon the general Earth Itself exist Today The Magic passive but extant That consecrated me Indifferent Seasons doubtless play Where I for right to be Would pay each Atom that I am But Immortality Reserving that but just to prove Another Date of Thee Oh God of Width, do not for us Curtail Eternity!...
18. East India Grill Villanelle Across the table, Bridget sneaks a smile; She’s caught me staring past her at the man Who brings us curried dishes, hot and mild. His eyes are blue, intensely blue, hot sky; His hair, dark gold; his skin like cinnamon. He speaks in quick-soft accents; Bridget smiles. We’ve come here in our summer skirts, heels […]...
19. The Artist as an Old Man If you ask him he will talk for hours How at fourteen he hammered signs, fingers Raw with cold, and later painted bowers In ladies’ boudoirs; how he played checkers For two weeks in jail, and lived on dark bread; How he fled the border to a country Which disappeared wars ago; unfriended Crossed a […]...
20. The Artist All day with brow of anxious thought The dictionary through, Amid a million words he sought The sole one that would do. He wandered on from pub to pub Yet never ceased to seek With burning brain and pencil stub The Word Unique. Said he: ‘I’ll nail it down or die. Oh Heaven help me, […]...
21. Death Wants More Death death wants more death, and its webs are full: I remember my father’s garage, how child-like I would brush the corpses of flies From the windows they thought were escape- Their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies Shouting like dumb crazy dogs against the glass Only to spin and flit In that second larger than hell or […]...
22. Portrait of the Artist Oh, lead me to a quiet cell Where never footfall rankles, And bar the window passing well, And gyve my wrists and ankles. Oh, wrap my eyes with linen fair, With hempen cord go bind me, And, of your mercy, leave me there, Nor tell them where to find me. Oh, lock the portal as […]...
23. Penniwit, the Artist I lost my patronage in Spoon River From trying to put my mind in the camera To catch the soul of the person. The very best picture I ever took Was of Judge Somers, attorney at law. He sat upright and had me pause Till he got his cross-eye straight. Then when he was ready […]...
24. To A Young Artist It is good for strength not to be merciful To its own weakness, good for the deep urn to run over, good to explore The peaks and the deeps, who can endure it, Good to be hurt, who can be healed afterward: but you that have whetted consciousness Too bitter an edge, too keenly daring, […]...
25. In An Artist's Studio One face looks out from all his canvasses, One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans; We found her hidden just behind those screens, That mirror gave back all her loveliness. A queenin opal or in ruby dress, A nameless girl in freshest summer greens, A saint, an angel; every canvass means The same one […]...
26. Robert Burns Immortal Robert Burns of Ayr, There’s but few poets can with you compare; Some of your poems and songs are very fine: To “Mary in Heaven” is most sublime; And then again in your “Cottar’s Saturday Night,” Your genius there does shine most bright, As pure as the dewdrops of the night. Your “Tam O’Shanter” […]...
27. 161. Epigram Addressed to an Artist DEAR -, I’ll gie ye some advice, You’ll tak it no uncivil: You shouldna paint at angels mair, But try and paint the devil. To paint an Angel’s kittle wark, Wi’ Nick, there’s little danger: You’ll easy draw a lang-kent face, But no sae weel a stranger.-R. B....
28. The wanderer Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, I found a shell, And to my listening ear the lonely thing Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing, Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell. How came the shell upon that mountain height? Ah, who can say Whether there dropped by some too careless […]...
29. Full Moon and Little Frieda A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket – And you listening. A spider’s web, tense for the dew’s touch. A pail lifted, still and brimming – mirror To tempt a first star to a tremor. Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with […]...
30. Alone and in a Circumstance Alone and in a Circumstance Reluctant to be told A spider on my reticence Assiduously crawled And so much more at Home than I Immediately grew I felt myself a visitor And hurriedly withdrew Revisiting my late abode With articles of claim I found it quietly assumed As a Gymnasium Where Tax asleep and Title […]...
31. A New Broom I bought a new broom today And swept the cobwebs down, A thick accumulation of dregs, A mass of tangles and smut. I whisked a conglomeration of dust That forever stuck-inaccessible. Lifted the rug under which was hidden Years of grime that Made traversing treacherous with things that trip you up. I rolled that rug […]...
32. Felix Schmidt It was only a little house of two rooms Almost like a child’s play-house With scarce five acres of ground around it; And I had so many children to feed And school and clothe, and a wife who was sick From bearing children. One day lawyer Whitney came along And proved to me that Christian […]...
33. The Troubles of Matthew Mahoney In a little town in Devonshire, in the mellow September moonlight, A gentleman passing along a street saw a pitiful sight, A man bending over the form of a woman on the pavement. He was uttering plaintive words and seemingly discontent. “What’s the matter with the woman?” asked the gentleman, As the poor, fallen woman […]...
34. In the Rangitaki Valley Valley of waving broom, O lovely, lovely light, O hear of the world, red-gold! Breast high in the blossom I stand; It beats about me like waves Of a magical, golden sea The barren heart of the world Alive at the kiss of the sun, The yellow mantle of Summer Flung over a laughing land, […]...
35. The Red Blaze is the Morning The Red Blaze is the Morning The Violet is Noon The Yellow Day is falling And after that is none But Miles of Sparks at Evening Reveal the Width that burned The Territory Argent that Never yet consumed...
36. At leisure is the Soul At leisure is the Soul That gets a Staggering Blow The Width of Life before it spreads Without a thing to do It begs you give it Work But just the placing Pins Or humblest Patchwork Children do To Help its Vacant Hands...
37. Genius Genius, like gold and precious stones, Is chiefly prized because of its rarity. Geniuses are people who dash of weird, wild, Incomprehensible poems with astonishing facility, And get booming drunk and sleep in the gutter. Genius elevates its possessor to ineffable spheres Far above the vulgar world and fills his soul With regal contempt for […]...
38. The Apparition When by thy scorn, O murd’ress, I am dead, And that thou think’st thee free From all solicitation from me, Then shall my ghost come to thy bed, And thee, feigned vestal, in worse arms shall see; Then thy sick taper will begin to wink, And he, whose thou art then, being tired before, Will, […]...
39. How many schemes may die How many schemes may die In one short Afternoon Entirely unknown To those they most concern The man that was not lost Because by accident He varied by a Ribbon’s width From his accustomed route The Love that would not try Because beside the Door It must be competitions Some unsuspecting Horse was tied Surveying […]...
40. Ariste Let ancient stories round the painter’s art, Who stole from many a maid his Venus’ charms, Till warm devotion fired each gazer’s heart And every bosom bounded with alarms. He culled the beauties of his native isle, From some the blush of beauty’s vermeil dyes, From some the lovely look, the winning smile, From some […]...